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Inside my heart, my soul, tonight
You said something sweet again
I expressed my happiness in your action
And you resolved to continue
Until it was no longer possible.
I have never felt the intensity
Of pure, unadulterated joy before
The balloon welled up inside my chest
Until I had to laugh out loud
To release the pressure.
I felt tears in my eyes:
An over-abundance of emotion
You set my soul on fire.
Forget me.If only you knew
how far we've come.
The endless black
has much to show;
for it's piercing
white globes, riddled
with the dust
of angels, speaks
a language we've
we could comprehend.
Interview With a 20-Something.This is your last chance
To p u l l some meaning from life
Better make it count.
sati(ate) and leave wanting.Yes, I can see where the irony lies.
These days, I sit and watch professionals
cook on the television;
fancy food that judges barely taste.
And it doesn't fill me with the deep disgust
that I think it may once have.
I can see it in my head;
the girls at dinner parties
ashamed of themselves and
feeling like every eye is on them
like the eye of Sauron watches over.
They excuse themselves,
Pour their heart and soul in the oval
of a porcelain bowl.
They don't feel good enough
unless they're starving.
The "hunger gnaws"
but they cover up their feelings with
I was the young child on the other side
caught in that periphery.
Small hands and
dirt stained clothes;
the utmost appreciation for life.
Years later my father would say to me,
"You don't even know half the things I fed you,
when I told you we were having venison."
That one statement,
forthright and testimonial
to the labor of our life.
The "hunger gnaws"
would come at night;
and I would see the bea
A Circumstantial Sadness.I'm a horrifying conglomerate of emotions.
I know I should hate you.
But I can't help but love your memory.
And I think Arabella is a terrible middle name. It makes me want to vomit and swallow.
I'm pissed off, mostly at myself.
I walked away, purposefully placing each step, cutting each string that tied us together. But I can't cut these heart strings. I will never have scissors sharp enough. And they're reaching up, wrapping their way around my throat. I'm choking on my depression.
If someone could take this place you left behind, I might feel a little better. But no one could come close to reaching the mark.
How can someone fill the place of blaring boy bands in a camper in the woods?
Sneaking around those old abandoned houses, making them our hideaways from things we didn't want to feel.
How can someone live up to the years we spent together?
Crying in hallways, on parking lot curbs and the middle of our living room on Houghton, spilling my heart out about the hole he left in it wh
An echo of love.i dream so often
and people that cannot take form
a hallowed feeling
has been dug out from my chest
you filled me instead
left me among the amber leaves
i hear the beating
of my soul that winds down this road
light, shimmering rainbows
and butterflies without end
will you fill me up again?
your voice, barely a vacant whisper
(when you wake and find me gone, your heart along with me)
will my heart return to me?
I listen closely, you're an echo now
(in the hours of the morning, when daylight weaves across the sky)
and will you come with it?
Only the sound of birds, greeting our burning starlight.
will you come with it?
Once More, With Feelingpetrichor
that smell of earth after the rain
the sense that brings my memories crashing
like the waves of Lake Huron
back down upon me again
it reminds me of you
and it reminds me of her
carefully we would step though the cluster of young oaks
fallen twigs and leaves that have piled
for years and years
i tried so hard to live quietly
but you were my sister of earth, not blood
an immense, rolling storm-head
menacing to those around us
a little brash, three parts bold, and mostly just stupid
i didn't think back then that things would ever change
and I so desperately longed for them to
even though the stagnation was so...
i would sit calmly for hours
and listen to the song of the trees
as the wind danced among them
a carefree child who knew nothing of my sorrow
when a man, broken down but still standing
places the weight of the world on a young girls shoulders
he is ignorant of the pain
blinded by the build-up, the symbols hissing constantly in his ears
Does it Work?The starting point blinks
On this computer screen
Full of your beautiful poetry
Tabs of social networking
Here I sit alone.
Is this truly the computer age?
Is this what I have to look forward to?
I need to know that people still want to look at my face,
See my skin and laugh at the graceless way I walk sometimes;
Not the cold, soulless captured moment that I posed for so perfectly.
I try so hard to impress you
While living one thousand miles away;
While living through the eyes of a machine.
Is it working?
My mind deals with
Overcomes my judgement
Today it's no different
I can't take it anymore
Observing my image but
Nothing is revealed
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
To the person who holds my best friend's heart...I know that is is kind of weird
But I felt that I should write this down.
I need to tell you what I feel
And tell you what he means to me.
He's my best friend and he's a good man.
Please, give him the love and respect he deserves.
He may seem goofy but he's very sweet.
I know this because he was always there for me when I was sad.
Now, I know that you're not bad
Cause he would never choose someone who's mean.
But I still want to tell you just in case you forget in the future;
Please don't break his heart.
He's been through so much
And he doesn't deserve something like that.
He is the kind of person who smiles even when he's hurt by others
And would take any pain for the people he loves.
I know, I've witnessed it.
I know he may seem kind of childish sometimes
But don't let it get to you.
It's just his way of expressing himself.
He's very caring and I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy.
He doesn't look like it but he's very kind and thoughtful.
He'll put your needs before h
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
1:33 amto the angry young
hungry ocean eyes:
i do not wish to know
what crawled inside
your ribs to
i just wish you would
let it leave.
Can you look deeper?You see that girl you just bullied?
The one you harassed over her choice of art?
The art of a man beating a woman to death?
She saw her father kill her mother when she was five.
You know that man who likes to photograph himself in dresses?
The one you called a homo because of his choice of clothing?
Well, his parents wanted him to be a girl instead of a boy.
So they made him dress like that everyday to pretend he was a girl.
You know that woman who writes stories about child rape?
The one you bullied until she didn’t know how to cope with life anymore
Her uncle has been in jail for the past eleven years.
He raped her daily for seven years of her life.
What about that guy who favored abstract artwork?
Do you remember him he liked to use the colors red and black a lot.
He was nearly beaten to death when he was fourteen.
He only knows nightmares because he remembers seeing his blood on the wall.
What about me? Do you remember me? Even just a teensy little bit?
You bullied me because
Maybe.I think the wedge has been driven in too deeply.
It's so deep, it's cut our porcelain bodies in ha lf.
But I'm left with the top half, the one that thinks and feels: the heart that won't stop pounding, won't just give up and let it die.
Instead, I pretended I had the bottom half. The one with legs that w a l k e d a w a y.
But we both know that's not true. Those legs are still there, waiting for the day when all the kings horses and all the kings men...
And so we write.
The words come naturally, most of the time. But I'll admit, sometimes I shine them. I add a little sparkle for dramatic effect. Because I'm not living my life c o m p l e t e yet.
And I need to learn that that's okay.
You would have been the one to tell me if it was okay. I miss your honest opinion.
Maybe I'm the one at fault. I'm letting the perception of 'disappointment' in their eyes block my way. Maybe not. Maybe some people know best.
I'm fucking sick of may
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More