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FamilyDon’t rely on those
who love you
for everything about you
that is beautiful,
because that is not enough
to merit trust.
Instead, turn to those
who love you
despite everything about you
that is ugly
because when you let go,
they’ll still be holding on
and when you give them your back
they will still be there when you turn around,
ready to forgive
even before you’ve mustered the courage
Turn to those
who you call brother and sister
though you don’t share a lineage;
those you call mother, father, children
through a bond thicker than blood,
because though they did not give birth to you,
they give life to you.
It does not fool me –
a visceral understanding
allows me to see through this veneer:
of stones solidified by struggle,
and cemented into place by insecurity.
Painted with patterns of positivity,
it deceives passersby so well
they never once think
this façade is framed by a fortification,
and just beyond that barrier
wanders a soul, tangled
in a maze of its own making.
This fortress fabricated from fear
is possessed by the spirit who haunts its passages,
and makes of it a prison,
but this confinement was not crafted consciously.
Tattered by trauma, the body became a bastion,
walls within which the mind withdrew
to dwell, like a shadow in a shell.
And just as I see through the false front,
I hear the stifled screams beneath the laughter.
You’ve become raveled in your refuge,
and though I mean to rescue you,
I will not destroy your defenses,
steal from you this sanctuary
and leave you naked to unknown elements –
no, I know this stronghold is a shelter,
Late night, Early birdA caffeine induced Insomnia,
I forgot what morning feels like,
I'm the first customer.
A shot of espresso in a cup of coffee
to forgot I'm tired
and a cigarette to feel normal.
It's cold, I'm shaking,
not sure if there's a relationship,
and here it is:
Early birds are trying
to get a head start
populating the roadways,
I want to tell them,
hey, man, hey!
the worm is a myth.
Fish Eye ViewIt’s not my fault
you expect a fish
to walk on land like you,
but maybe it is my fault
for taking the bait,
letting you yank me into the air
to deal with the questioning criticism,
“Why can’t you just breathe like everyone else?”
I know, you tell me you care
but I’ve swallowed enough worms
to know what that means -
You care what others say.
You care about the comments,
about how I have fins instead of feet.
You care about a perception of me,
because when you look
down into this pond,
you see a distorted reflection of yourself.
You don’t know the schools I swim with,
you don’t know the depths I live in,
so you don’t know
what’s beneath the surface.
So here’s the situation:
either I’ll live to be
a disappointment in your eyes,
or I’ll suffer to be
a disappointment in my eyes,
and guess whose eyes I care more about.
I’m sick of this suffocation,
so take your hook out of the water,
and stop trying to save me
Used to beSober used to be “normal”, but now it’s “not drunk”. Drunk used to be a destination, but now it’s a way-point. The shelves of brown liquor used to be an adventure, but now it’s a road map. The clock used to be fifteen minutes ahead, but now it’s as good a time as any. It used to be the future, but now it’s tomorrow.
It used to be a glass half-full, but now it’s ice. It used to be one drink, but now it’s another. It used to be a pleasure, but now it’s a tolerance. It used to be a cigarette, but now it’s a filter. It used to be today, but now it’s tomorrow.
Imperfect MachineMaybe from the dust of stars,
which span from one side of the universe to the other,
you were conceived to be a beacon of hope,
with a guiding light, dissolving the darkness of human life
to see what is and what could be,
to help others discover their own internal benevolence,
to make the world a brighter place,
And maybe you were meant
to be above and unfettered by this reality,
to give the clouds their silver lining,
but you were dragged down to this earth
by one who did not comprehend or appreciate what you are
and, injured and confused, you lost your way.
So maybe from the ebb and flow of existence,
which spans from the beginning to the end of time,
I was crafted like an imperfect machine
and sent after you, following a dimmed shimmer,
to see you for what you are,
to help you understand and believe,
to make you embrace and be,
And maybe I was meant
to stumble onward with faulty parts
and attempt to fix other broken creations,
learning to work with dysfunctional tools,
having a purp
Something about Spring in CaliforniaSomething about Spring in California
makes me want to
quit my job
start a new romance
write about Spring in California
So I did,
so I will,
so I am.
Something about Spring in California
makes me want to miss my exit,
so I can keep driving down the freeway
with the wind rushing through my open window,
even though I finished my cigarette
several miles ago
makes me want to get a drink
when the sun goes down,
so I can stand outside the bar
in the warm twilight and share with strangers
my feelings on the weather
makes me want to cut ties
with the world of responsibility
lose the feeling of my feet
on the ground, and float until my head
is in the blue, blue, slightly cloudy blue.
So I did,
so I will,
so I try.
Free Coffee and Forgotten PensCoffee at the bar – I mean, its not good, but it’s free and that’s a helluva lot cheaper than at the café. Free, like this pen I found on the ground outside the café, and I’m just happy to discover it works. It works, unlike me, because I quit my job to be a writer, so that’s why I like things that are free, like dive bar coffee, and forgotten pens. But back to the coffee; it tastes a bit better then you throw in a shot of whisky. The whisky isn’t free, but hey, they don’t serve Irish coffee at the café – I mean, they probably from upon it, but they know me, and if I brought a flask and kept it subtle, they probably wouldn’t care, but I don’t like diluting good coffee, but I have done it before. Let’s move on.
I quit my job because it was killing me. It wasn’t stabbing me in the chest or slitting my throat, but I’ll put it this way. This is what I thought when I decided, months in advance
Pre-AlcoholicA pocket full of black, narrow, chewed-up
straws with the trace residue of
gin and tonic from the dive bar where
they call me Caesar, where
men shooting pool bet five bucks
a game on a slightly slanted table, where
friendships are formed over a cigarette;
Half-gnawed ebony plastic tubes
when I reach for my wallet
symbolize the transition I knew was coming
from black coffee at the cafe
because it was never really about
the cappuccinos, just as it's not about
the cocktails, it's nothing more
than consuming a beverage at a location,
wearing away the novelty of an atmosphere
in search of inspiration to translate
into words etched in dark ink.
So, here's a compromise:
I'll get a cup of coffee,
with room for whiskey.
a small tidbit of a personal pieceprompt: talk about a place you love, conveying your peace with it without outright saying that you love it.
I have three lamps in my room, and two of them are hardly very bright. Both sort of cast everything (except for the cluttered corners) into a soft glow. The other only works when it's dark outside and the other lights are off. It throws everything into a blue-ish glow and somehow makes it feel like a place faeries would escape to.
The bookshelf is small, but it's enough to fit my favourite books and memories. The walls and ceiling are painted blue and green and are covered in posters and art and doodles so I can't see enough of the colours to regret the crappy decorating job I did as a kid. My blankets are soft enough for my cat to sit on and he smells like sugar cookies and looks like home so I'm happy if he is. The desk is covered in marker that bled through my paper and paint that I couldn't get to stay on the page.
Sometimes it's sil
Awkward Anne: Intro to the High School SeriesAwkward Anne: Intro to the High School Series
Do you know how everyone dreads their first day back to school? Some people are worried about friends, who you sit with at lunch, classes, or even getting bullied. Me? I've done it all. I've endured social anxiety, crappy classes, and getting bullied. The fear is crippling. But, that was all back in elementary school. High school is my ticket to lead a better schooling experience, but fate just loves intervening in my life. Follow my trials through the “good 'ole days” in a series of short stories. If you're an incoming Freshman, I suggest you either run and hide while your mind is still pure, or learn from my stories. Either way, enjoy!
Weekly DiaryWeekly Update
As the "Project Introduction" suggests, I will participate at my level best to stay active on this website. And as I was previously thinking, what better way to do that than to post a written entry each week, reflecting on happenings.
Well, what else is there over drawing something?
Continuing from last week, I’ve been able to notice several facts on this continent and actually living here. I think the beach is an absolute stunning view and I am passionate in this warm weather all year around. However, I feel out of my element. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been raised up north or perhaps it’s because I have no family here. I have my doubts that the second reason involves this thought but I am not believing this area to be a suitable settlement for me in the future. I really think Lee is feeling the same way, being so out of her element here. But being in such a relaxing area is a fantastic place
Love for ColdPlayWhen I first heard Coldplay, I was with my sister. She had been listening to her new favorite radio station for hours while she played with her dolls. We were both 11 at the time. Having different moms, our birthdays were in the same year, I didn't care. We were 100% related as far as anyone cared. The DJ at the time announced the song. Clocks, by Coldplay. The song started and I put down my notepad in interest. It was an amazing song, calming, gentle. After it ended, I got out of bed, where I had been writing. I went to moms room, asking to use the computer. After a few minutes I carried the laptop back to Me and my sister's room. I looked up the song, downloading it to the computer for future listening. Then, I proceeded to look at what kind of band Coldplay was, and what songs they made. Since that day, Coldplay has been one of my favorite bands. 'Clocks' continue to be one of my favorite songs by them. Although I do listen to other bands, Coldplay is the one I listen to the most. I
Bawling BrawlYou're a bully. A pathetic nuisance like any other.
From an early age, you slammed me down,
and I didn't even realize that it was you doing it.
You were subtle and I wasn't being strong because I didn't have a reason to be.
I got sick of you fast. I refused you.
You don't deserve to be a part of my life.
And you think I'll forgive you?
No matter how many times you ask,
plead, beg, cry, whine, scream, and yell,
you will never be a part of me because
I am stronger than you,
I am wiser than you, and
I can play your game.
You want to kill me.
You hate me. Now?
I hate you.
I want you dead.
I choose to live.
I choose to fight.
I want you dead.
I am meI am me. I am a girl with an adventurers heart, but I like being indoors. I am a girl that loves attention and always wants to be on stage. I am a strong person, but people beat me down. I am kind hearted, and always ready to help. I am a girl with pain, but I always smile. I am a girl that cries, and tries to be strong. I am a person who loves to listen to stories, but hates to read. I am random, but I make sense.
I am me for real. I may be random and weird but people love me for that. I may be weak, but my heart holds me as strong. I do feel pain but I get over it. I love adventure stories. I love helping people in need.
I am me and I am proud.
The Lone PineappleSo, picture this: its 9:00 pm in the small town of Goch, Germany, with only teenage stoners and elderly mobs roaming the streets. A foreign girl in a t-shirt reading "okemos choirs" is walking home from a restaurant alone, staring judgmentally at the stoners and respectfully avoiding the gazes of her elders. Suddenly, she stops and looks down. A lone pineapple is at her feet. The girl stares it it for a moment, thoroughly bemused, and then continues her journey home. The end.
***I shit you not, there was a pineapple on the sidewalk...just laying there...what type of self-respecting pineapple just lays around on the middle of a sidewalk, so that anyone can trip over it?***
For an Hour in SummerMy skin was almost red. So painfully burnt that even the slightest wind made it sting. My throat was rough, drier than it ever has been. My lips were chapped and cracked and tasted of saltwater. My clumped hair was almost dry, rougher and curlier than usual. My whole body was badly sore. Exhausted. Smiling left wrinkles at the corners of my eyes and hurt my sunburnt cheeks but I couldn't help it. I just had to smile. That time, nothing mattered because I was happier than I have ever been.
It happened not so long ago. In fact, it was just about two months ago, summer of 2014. I haven't seen my cousins for almost four years since they moved to America. We practically grew up together and are very close. It was on June 2014 when I finally got to see them again in the flesh. They even brought a few friends with them. They were only staying for a couple of weeks so I was looking forward to every single day of their stay. I didn't have time to be passive. That's why even if I'm really scared
How did i get here? A Short Bio by MeHello, reader. So how was your search through DeviantART fueled by boredom and inspiration coming along. Well if you have a minute, i want to share something to you. If you don't have the time or just want to do something else, i understand completely. I’m always use to that for many years. So How Did I Get Here? Here’s part of my life story that i hope you might learn something from it.
So it all began with me as a baby knocking my head on a corner of table, leaving a strange mark on my head just like Harry Potter. It it was not magic like you read or seen on TV or in books. It’s like magic but it was Creativity that was sparked. Since then, i never stopped drawing or having fun with junk and clutter. From kindergarten to elementary school, i love drawing and creating things that came from my heart and soul. Some things that i encounter became so precious to me that i just kept it to me forever.
But there are some things in life that i’m not proud of. Creativit
An exploration of the egoFootsteps echo into the emptiness and fantasy of the Two AM reality. Sauntering amongst the heavy shadows, the clever/cynical/overly-sexual/crude/sophisticated writer knows as J.M.Kauftheil waits with a Scorpionic intensity for an unsuspecting inspiration to wander too close. J.M.K. is a wild card, a thrill-seeking journalist, penning fiction and narratives based on his shifting imagination and his strange, exciting, fulfilling, and sometimes unpleasant experiences. Unbridled poetry rolls through his breath, abstract mechanisms expressing his impermanent, swirling emotions. Words are J.M.Kauftheils playground.
The experimental and adventuresome wordsmith doesnt quite see himself as an American citizen rather, he feels himself a resident of the young 21st century, with fingers spread out to the Twentieth and beyond. Considered by many to be an old soul, he nibbles the fruits of the new, savors the wine of the past, and makes merry in his own ti
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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