|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
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.
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
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
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.
PlannedI had a plan for today,
a box, a smile, and a card.
That didn't pan through, anyway.
I knew what I wanted to say today,
sorry wasn't part of it.
Thats what ended up being said anyway.
So instead, today, know that you
were on my mind.
Thats what I knew would happen anyway.
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
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,
the split the spread the threadyou were standing in the lamplight with all the grace and incident of the black sea
and i sat with a scrape of skin pressing into the carpet uncomfortably.
a shift of light moved us quietly into arms, some forgotten touch newly placed.
the only stirring in all the world was the moving of our chests
which at their crests would touch—a faithful mythology of meeting.
titular gestures carried italics and lost their momentum mid-air.
we were xerics of this arid landscape brimmed with sea air.
the shifts of light moving our bodies glared ceremoniously,
our puckering sensations forming a stunning tear.
we danced as statues with flesh and touch
more soft and real than our real bodies ever had
and covered the subway floor with our gritty concrete shards
—a bloom of breaking that spread and mixed and marked
that linoleum floor, grounded stone(fire)works.
a warm and gathered silence of togetherness.
the still beat of murk.
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
Internal Bleeding StrawberrySummarry: Some nightamres can lead you to another one, taking out your innermost instincts; Ichigo is about to suffer it.
He tossed in his bed unable to sleep, anxiety had gripped his whole being, and the cold in his room was so thick that he could barely breathe. Again nervously he squirmed on the white sheets under their sweaty skin.
The doors of his lungs were closed in eternal despair
Whispers in the darkness were perceived, they were saying his name, and they were shouting threats, words filled with pain, agony, hatred
Cracking sounds were heard in the corridor, scratches on the walls, the steps of someone coming to his door.
He panted, panted in surprise but wanted to scream, but it seemed his voice had
The knob turned slowly and brown orbs opened in surprise.
The bedroom door opened cautiously, emanating an audible cracking sound.
And Ichigo swore to see a gold glint peep through the slot, seconds later it closed crashing with thud.
The whispers, be
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.
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...
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More