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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 few years gone by...Wake up. Get to work. Get home. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Every day of my life. It's so boring. Where's the thrill, where's the excitement? The passion? The love? My life is so dull but so full of problems. Like the depression I'm still fighting. The self harm I never managed to completely overcome (oh God, the scars all over me. So ugly...). The memories of a rough past, keeping me up at night. Only one thing keeps me going. The online life I've been building for so long. The friends I've made there. The sweet and kind words, the wonderful things I got so see and read. The things I made myself that make me proud. My real life is a bore but my Internet life makes up for it.
30 Trans QnA
1) When did you realize the term transgender referred to you?
well when I was younger I was always considered a tomboy. Instead of barbies and dolls I would play with trucks and pokemon(I actually know how to play the card game). Anyways I had my hair all boyish and had a whole bunch of guy friends, all that fun stuff. Later I started to wonder what it would be like if I were a guy and have dreams of being a guy. Early 2013 I had a break down about how I'm not a guy and I cut off all my hair crying. Then after a while I learned about what genderfluid is (thanks Nick). So I started labeling myself as that and was okay. Though when I looked into the mirror and saw a girl and was so upset. FINALLY I was done from people calling me a lady, because I just stopped feeling like a girl I felt like a guy 95% of the time, so I just say I'm trans.
2) How did you choose your name, and what names were you thinking about using and why?
Well I actually changed it 4 times. Before I came
The Rain ChildWhen I was younger, I longed for independence because with independence came solitude. Something that reminded me of my unique childhood…
I remember when I was just a little boy and every time it would rain, I found myself staring out of the window for hours and hours contently watching the rain run down the side of the house where it gathered into a great big puddle on the uneven pavement. I would listen to the droplets as the hit metal gutter and I’ll never forget its melodic tune. It’s hard to say that I was an average child: I saw puddles but I did not long to disturb them. I did not wish to jump in them; however, if I did wish to bother the puddle, it would be only by me sticking my finger in it quickly to watch the ripples slowly disband.
Every night that it would rain, I found myself unable to sleep. This was not because I thought the rain was disruptive, but because I was intrigued. Oh, how I longed to be on the city streets with nothing on more than my old b
Vis de o noapteaEra noapte si calatoream cu trenul. Stiam ca trebuie sa ajung la doar o statie distanta si totusi cautam un loc sa ma asez in ultimul vagon. Era plin de lume si zarva desi nu reuseam sa vad chipurile lor, iar eu paseam printre ei zambind, cu ochii in pamant si vorbind cu o prietena veche la telefon. Cautam un loc sa ma asez si printre multimea de oameni si locuri ocupate te-am zarit pe tine. Tu nu m-ai observat. Trecusem deja de tine, neatent fiind si tarziu realizand ca esti tu. M-am oprit pentru o clipa in loc, m-am intors si te-am privit. Te cunoasteam, dar nu erai tu. Pareai schimbata. Erai trista si parca ceva te macina, iar privirea iti era pierduta in mizeria ce se intindea pe podea.
"Alo" se aude in telefon."Mai esti acolo"
Am realiza ca trecusera cateva clipe fara sa zic nimic...
"Da, scuze am vazut un chip care mi-a atras atentia"
La fel cum vocea mea atrasase atentia ta. Aveai ochii in lacrimi, iar fata iti parea lipsita de viata. M-ai privit mirata. Ai vrut sa imi vorbesti
My First Sole Kiss
MY FIRST SOLE KISS
Honestly, I have not a real date when it happened, but I was seven or eight years old. Her name was (or is, I don’t know nothing about her) Patricia, and she was 18 years old, she was the maid of the house, with long black hair, not fat, not thin; she had the features of a native girl, strong taino roots are in her physic. Patricia used to work as maid in my hose from 8 of the morning to 5 of the evening, Mondays to Saturdays; Saturdays she worked only to midday.
When I arrived from school at midday, Patricia has made almost all of her duties. When I eat my meal, and watched some cartoons, my dad went to work and I stood at home with my grandma and Patricia, alone. Patricia, when was doing the cleaning of the floor with the broom and the swapper, usually was barefoot, and usually stood that way when everyone (adults) left home for work.
Patricia was very kind with me, always talking to me, playing with me, so we created a friendship and a trust very uniqu
Un nuevo Comienzo en Equestria capitulo 10Hola amigos estoy devuelta aquí en DeviantART, una vez mas lo siento por el atraso pero no les aburriré con lo que paso los dejare con Mi Fanfic
Un nuevo Comienzo en Equestria
Capitulo 10 Los elementos de la Armonia
Previmente en My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic-Rank incluido
Twilight: YO… vengo de…. Canterlot
Rank: solo es muy timida
Rank: Entramos por atras?
Fluttershy: Seria lo mas prudente
Rank: Mi Reina Nightmare Moon permitame unirme a usted para gobernar en la noche eterna
Nightmare Moon: Recuerden este dia por que es el ultimo, apartir de ahora la NOCHE DURARA PARA SIEMPRE
Rank/Nightmare Moon: JAJAJAJJAJAJAJAJAJA
neun.Einmal hatten wir ein paar aus unserer Klasse eingeladen. „Wir“ heisst Till und ich, und „ein paar“ heisst auch Mädchen. Wir wollten Pretty Woman sehen, aber Till war natürlich dagegen. Till wollte Top Gun. Er zog mich beiseite, um mich zu warnen. Till hatte Pretty Woman schon gesehen und wusste darum, dass es eine Kussszene auf einem Klavier gibt, die viel zu gewagt sei für eine solche Gesellschaft. Aber Luzia war auch dabei und so war Till schliesslich in der Minderheit. Luzia hat ja jetzt auch ein Kind, seit langem schon eigentlich. Tja, das waren damals die Modis, die man mal mehr und mal viel mehr erfolglos umwurbte. Beatrice war auch so eine. Da staunte ich natürlich nicht schlecht, als ausgerechnet Till ein paar Wochen später plötzlich mit ihr rumknutschte, zwar nicht auf einem Klavier, aber auf einer Party.
Es war Till, der mich schliesslich ermutigte, den Brief zu schreiben. Ein Liebesbrief sah damals standardmässig et
Watercolor paints, dA had a spotlight on them. They can be used beautifully, magically, and so wonderfully.
However, I must confess; I am terrified of using watercolor paints. Yes, I am terrified. I don't why and I don't care.
Perhaps, perhaps it is due to my experiences in school. When we did get art lessons in elementary school, few and far between as they were, it was inevitably using watercolor paints. Crayola brand, white case. Now, when you watercolor paint it is a good idea to have a cup of water nearby to clean and wet your brushes. So, the teacher would hand out red solo cups half filled with water which we would then place on the corner of our desks. The teacher would warn us not to spill the water, as the entire floor was carpeted and we didn't need mold growing.
I'm a natural klutz, if I could actually walk without support I'd probably trip every two inches and I'm
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
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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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