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HennaYou trace the lines that circle my fingers.
They skim over the heart,
past the butterfly,
between the dots,
and over the sun.
The pads of your fingers rest on my palm,
move down my arm,
and go over the lines
I didn't draw.
Momentary Life When a simple gesture makes your day over and over, you know that living is the best part of life. Not just simply going through the motions, or surviving, but experiencing and being able to remember. Being able to look at a moment and know instantly that everything happened the way it did just for that single, solitary moment. Those moments that seem to fill eyes with luster that lay dormant until the magic of an experience brings it out, those moments are life.
You plant a seed and wait for it to sprout, life is when it first pops a stem out of the ground. You wait for it to grow, through rain, sun, and snow, until there is its first bloom. That is life. Life happens in moment, seconds, between blinks of an eye, so when people say "your life flashes before your eyes," they mean those few precious moments that make the experience of living something other than existing.
Existing is no mean feat, but greater still is to live, because what are we
JealousVelvet pressed against my feet,
it's a deep green with strays of lime,
and it creeps slowly up.
It traces soft lines against my skin
burning me, but I never notice.
I never notice the jade scars,
the people they turn away,
and the pain others feel when my velvet
The LabrynthCool stone,
glaringly white to match the pearlescent light
that scatters the shadows cast by feet.
The tree in the center
gently sways to the rise and fall
of the air.
The simplistic nature of silence
has the shadow casters deafened.
Their shuffling towards the tree mindless,
their intensity second nature.
perched on rocks,
haphazardly on weak branches,
This is where the rise and fall
that stirs the leaves
becomes the rise and fall of our chests.
Where the palms that touch to form our center
becomes the veins and arteries of the beating;
the collective beat.
Here is where I am not I,
but I am part of us,
and we are part of each other.
Hearts and hands that reach out
in the flesh after being hindered by distance
for so long.
Hot TeaHot tea, blue steam,
and warm smiles fill the room.
I sit and wait perpetually.
My life stills and the room fills;
a song paused mid tune,
Hot tea, and blue steam.
My companions are my mug and your pills
I know you have to be back soon,
I sit and wait perpetually.
The haze swirls and mills
forming a bright moon
hot tea, blue steam.
Pictures blur as my mind drills
further into a possibility that croons
I sit and wait perpetually.
The door opens, my cup spills,
cares are strewn,
hot tea, blue steam,
I sit and wait perpetually.
LunchBack pressed against the warm wall,
sun splayed over the top of my head
as it rests at the bottom of a window.
My knees are bent and close to my chest,
feet planted onto the floor
as if they were set in stone.
I sip casually from a bright pink can
grimacing as the "all natural" juice floods my tongue
with the taste of preservatives
My jacket sleeves do little to combat the air conditioning
that is blasting despite it being
nearly 75 outside.
I wish to sink into the wall I rest against,
letting its warmth confine me
in the sublime release that is sleep,
and have it hold me captive
until I am ready to leave.
I wish the can in my hands would be filled
with the ambrosia it advertised,
so that when I let it drop to my throat
I do not feel like I am drowning in a deluge of lies.
I swallow anyway.
covered in filth
have never seen dirt,
or walked on sun-warmed soil.
authoritative in demeanor
that lay wrinkled,
A fallen executive to be,
held up by ticky tacky,
no one wants to look the same.
RewrittenCan time ever be rewritten?
I hardly believe so
Even if I could turn the clock hands back
Am I capable of changing the past?
I ponder this question often these days
Struggling through the daily hours
Watching people safely from my dark little corner
Wondering if I can resist another meltdown
Given the oppurtunity I would rewrite my life
Start another story
A story I couldn't be ashamed of
Then perhaps the last ten years wouldn't seem like such a waste
Can time ever be rewritten?
I know that isn't so
I just cope with the reality of right now
And hope I'm strong enough to live with the past
SolitudeFrom dusk to dawn,
in this desolate place
that we call
I feel that
with no way out,
Without a future,
without a purpose,
my yearning soul...
As the darkness
As the numbness
of my sanity
Beautiful.They say I’m beautiful
Because of the way my crystalline heart reflects light off its fractured surface
Well, that isn't a reflection
It’s rejection of the light because it’s all too much to handle
Throw myself away into the dark without even a candle
‘Cause I don’t want to recognize all the pain I’m in
Or realize the truth behind what I am or who I've been
And I tried to make things right but I just keep on making wrong
I never listened to the angel on my shoulder when she called
I count my tears like they’re experience
And my scars like they’re mysterious
And that’s a feeling I’ll remember –
Watching as you left
Watching as you ended what was meant to be forever
And I can see it in their eyes; everyone can empathize
So they say that I’m beautiful because they don’t know what else to say.
But if being broken is beautiful, then it’s the ugliest way...
back then,i was a wildflower girl,
(battle the mountain,
savor the rain.)
2 am, this is when i miss you most, because
i am not atlas,
i cannot carry the world
on my shoulders,
in the darkness,
in my shadows,
so i will just tell myself
to hang onto
hope, because i have nothing left anymore, not even
the boy who tasted my name
like sucre on his lips, not even
the boy who knew
every inch of me
in the moonlight,
TwiceLet's take a picture
I feel uncomfortable
Yet I can't say no to you
'Cause for some inexplicable reason
I told myself you cared all these years
You just wanted to see how much you could exploit from me…
Let's talk, it's important
I'm not a child
I won't fall for the same trick twice
MadnessMadness is a gift.
It gives me my best stories.
The words are an offering.
But I pay a steep price.
I lose myself in other worlds.
Reality becomes irrelevant.
All that matters is the stories.
The characters consume me.
I create and destroy worlds.
Words are my weapons.
Words are my freedom.
Yet I pay for these words with my mind.
Madness is a gift.
It becomes my greatest muse.
I just offer myself to the abyss.
And the words come running in my place.
Depression and I are Fuck BuddiesWhen I was young I made a friend.
She was kind of quiet-
a loner, like me.
She wore a long cloak of stars and melodies
that would wrap around us both when she got close.
As we got older
we became closer-
until she was all I could see.
She gave me words of comfort,
whispered when no one was around.
And I would hold her close,
Keeping her curled up inside.
Even when she was mean,
I would forgive her.
If she made me cry,
I would hold her closer.
We are never apart for very long,
though the people around us would try
and rip us from each other’s grasp.
She would simply disappear
for hours or days or months.
And soon she would sneak in my bedroom
with her cloak of starlight and music
and hold me in a lovers’ embrace.
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More