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I love it when you read to me.Today is the eve of your birth. Generally, one wouldn't know that. Usually, it comes as a surprise. But, your mother is impatient, and she was ready now. Pros and cons. But, it gives me time to say a few things before you come into this world completely unprepared for everything it will throw at you. Tonight is your last night sleeping and growing safely in your mommy's belly. It's your last night of real, true, absolute peace. Peace you will never know so well again. And the first thing I want to tell you, is to enjoy it. Savor it. While you're surrounded by fluid, and every word is muffled, and you feel invincible, take it in and enjoy it. Fall in love with the sound of being closer to someone than will be humanly possible in 24 hours. While you're still in the dark, don't take darkness for granted.
Tomorrow morning the process will begin and you'll be woken up too early and pushed around until you are where the rest of the world needs you to be. This will be the story of your life
Sweet ThingMy skin hurts. Literally, my skin. Not my muscles, or my bones, no. My skin. It's not burnt or calloused or cut. It's sore. My clothes hang around me, and that is all people see. Clothes hanging on bones like a metal hanger. When I pull my belt tighter, my skin pinches my spinal cord and tells my brain I'm in pain. I press my oversized hand to my chest and wait for a knock. I wait too hard, or too long, or something too much, because my skin pinches again. I am sore. My outsides are sore. My cheeks are soft and when I hold them between my fingers they hurt like the rest of me. I have no injuries, or marks anymore. Nothing that obviously, and brutally, and absolutely in your face says that I am injured, but my skin hurts. I can't say it any other way. I don't feel it any other place. My outer shell, my epidermis hurts.
My stomach used to. I woke up the day after we had out first kiss and I threw up. You made me sick a few times. More like too many to count. You are right though, the fir
Obsessive Compulsive DisorderWhen I was little, it use to amaze me how colors were made. In art class I would sit and mix paint because blue and red didn't stay the same when they fell in love. Every single color found its match and danced beautifully as I swirled them together. Black and white were my favorites. I'd pour the creamy paint into a bowl and watch as black and white swirls, turned into grey swirls and owned the container holding it captive. Grey was amazing to me. Because black and white are nothing alike, and grey is in the middle. Black is dark and scary and demanding. And white is graceful, and trusting, and clean. Grey is nothing. Grey is bland. And safe. Grey is careful. And I would do anything to be grey.
Friendship is black and turns to ash in my hands. It is dust, so hard to hold. I am keeping still so none escapes, but it feels like at any moment, the wind will kick up and steal it all away. Every move I make is monitored and judged. I am wary about my words and am second guessing everything.
Saying Goodbye to ChristmasWhen the sun hits the trees just right, I didn't know this, but it looks like the world's on fire. Its rays sneak through the branches and reflect off of cars and land on the table across from me. I'd much rather stare into the street than look around me. Out there I start to feel like a year, even a single night. The wind is chilly and I can feel it past my skin. This sort of thing doesn't happen anymore. This sort of feeling got lost within too many nights leading up to another move. All the boxes and trips and packing is exhausting. And when you do it so often, eventually settling down becomes like unpacking, you only bring out so much, because you know pretty soon you'll just be putting it away again. Moving only a few minutes north, or south or any direction that feels more like home. Only after this many moves, everywhere starts to be another house and nothing will ever feel like the first time.
Not that it matters now, now I'm a tumbleweed and if I ever settle anywhere I can onl
Letting Go or Giving Up?Rain is murdering my window. The wind keeps sounding like a scream and it echoes in my head even after the trees stop casting spooky shadows on my wall. The water streaks the glass and races toward the bottom of the pane, I pick the underdog and I always lose. It's kind of hard to win against gravity. The lightening illuminates my bed and I can see my frame shaking in the storm. Pretty soon my eye lids are heavy and even sooner the sun is up and I slept through shakes and terror and being afraid my house would float away. Afraid that the waters would rise to my second story and my daddy wouldn't hear me scream and worse he wouldn't come to rescue me if he did. When the sun rises in the morning I can never even tell that my bed was home to nightmares, cold sweats, and violent shakes, because, what other way would I child say, I'm scared? When my eyes open and my window is dry and my walls are still purple, even though the night before, they held no color at all, it
PagesThe paper of the book was rugged and used and starting to turn awkward colors from spills and sun and too much life. Corners bent and the edges were all soft like feathers rubbing against the tips of your fingers, or better, your wind burnt cheeks. The binding cracked and little pieces of dust floated into the air and took to the wind. The cover was red once. A beautiful, shining red, vibrant like the blood in my veins. Or so I imagined, as I let them echo out a story. The corners held tears and rips and soft fabric that I think, maybe, once was paper. The middle pages began falling out and tape just wasn't enough to suffice anymore. The ink was faded and smeared and It covered every inch of every page. My fingers ran over its bumpy surface and drank in the words through my skin. I soaked every memory up. I flipped the pages and let the sweet smell of the past fill the air. It was sweet and it was bitter and it filled my senses with regret. Maybe the last page wasn't ready. Maybe the l
Sandcastles Maybe it started when I began placing too much worth on the little white seagulls that fly over the bay. Maybe when the sunshine started being responsible for my happiness everything started to go downhill. Maybe it was the sound of an air conditioner whirring loudly in the background, or the feel of smooth cotton around my bare arms, or the way the warm wood was soft under my feet. I think it probably started with a lot of things. Maybe it started when those little birds started feeling like an excuse to smile at a big body of water. When the rain started lasting longer and the sunshine seemed impossible to find, that was when it started. Maybe. That air conditioner made the whole world cool, only it never reached outside that room. With cold metal frames holding up years of memories. Hours of building a family. So much time spent thinking up jokes and games and things that only half of us would come to remember. And that whir
Make It A Sweet, Sweet GoodbyeI can't even write about the color of his eyes. I can't tell you that they were blue or green or that they sparkled when he talked about love and sports. I can't say he had the greatest smile or that his laugh was enough to make birds sing. I can't say his hugs were out of this world and that receiving one felt like receiving a gift. Like every time was like unwrapping a smile. And maybe that sounds like too much. Maybe that sounds too good. Like whose arms really hold that much heaven. Maybe it sounds too perfect, But these are things I cannot tell you. I can't reminisce his childhood filled with silly tales of dragons and snow ball fights and bus rides. I can't say he grew up gracefully and never faltered in his choice to live as if it was his decision. I want to be able to look back, and smile, and tell you all these things. I want to be able to answer when you ask why I'm crying and paint you a picture of the most beautiful boy. But I can't.
I can tell you only what I know. And the
The Best MotherMy dad doesn't pay me any attention. Oh, poor kid, another wasted individual with daddy issues. I know how it seems. And you're probably right. There isn't anything special about me. No sad story except that I am here, and nobody wants me. My mother is a beautiful woman, and I know she tries to love me. She tries so hard. I know she sees my art work. A talent my father gave me, no doubt. She sees my grades and my great decisions. Trying to live up to Dad's history is tough, but I do my best. I'm rarely out of line. And I know she tries to smile at me and touch my shoulder often enough to make me feel it. She tries to remember talent shows and birthdays. They do a pretty good job. But I can still see the glaze in their eyes when they're attending just to keep me sober. Can't have a failure on their hands. I can see their plastered on smiles when I win some dumb award that doesn't even come close to my father's accomplishments. We are rich because he made it so. We have fame a
Simple Girl Complicated ProblemsI know I am not the daughter you wanted
But at least you got it right the second time
My little sister found her place in your hearts
But I feel I have never really found mine
Why would you care to listen to your first born?
When you have a fresh blank canvas to create
All of those things that you wish I could have been
Had I not developed such negative traits
But those negative traits make me who I am
And shouldn't you love me without condition?
See my stubbornness as being strong minded
And when I talk, don’t interrupt just listen
I know I am not the daughter you wanted
I scowl but I still need your loving embrace
Though you barely acknowledge my existence
Apart from to tell me what I've done wrong today
But why would you ever want to talk to me
When an argument is never far away?
It’s the tone of your voice that hurts me the most
Rather than the words that you choose to say
To think I was once a baby in your arms
With such innocent eyes I could do no wrong
In many ways I
Young JanuaryI saw her at the local supermarket
She could have been no older than ten
She was buying some refreshing beverages
To quench the thirst of herself and her friends
On this summers day they had waited outside
Lacking patience they were shouting her name
‘January, hurry up we have to go home!’
From the shop young January soon came
Rushing past me at the speed of her childhood
My lonely heart skipped a beat or two
Either from her soft brown hair that touched my arm
Or the smile she gave as she passed through
Did I hurry through my shopping on purpose
In order to catch young January up?
Fumbling my loose change as I left the store
The cashier complained I’d given her too much
I feel everyone’s eyes boring in to me
So away from the store I swiftly fled
Knowing fine well that I should just return home
But something made me follow the girl instead
Pretending to read the receipt in my hand
I watched closely in the corner of my eye
Which way would young January be walking
LegacyIt is always the damn same song.
Always are the wrong people strong.
Why do they think that your way is wrong?
You’re asking yourself what is left when you’re gone.
Your whole world starts to spin.
Their skin and nerves are very thin.
Want to use you like a soldier made of tin.
When you know the only thing you can do is win.
Want to sort out because you differ.
If you don’t do as they say, they’ll get stricter.
They don’t want to see you as the victor.
The only thing left will be a picture.
When everything you see and hear is a conspiracy.
And everyone thinks that you are crazy.
You are unique, only once in this galaxy.
The words you say and things you do are your legacy.
The Cold, Hard TruthThere are no happy endings,
the fairy tales all lied.
Cinderella is still a slave,
Snow White, the Beast, and the Mermaid died.
Sleeping Beauty never woke,
Because Philip never kissed her,
Alice didn't find Wonderland,
the Rabbit must have missed her.
Peter's still in Neverland
with the Lost Boys, growing older.
The Snow Queen's heart didn't thaw,
the world keeps getting colder.
Rapunzel is still in her tower,
her long blonde hair gone gray.
The captive princess has lost hope,
there was no prince to save the day.
Falling StarsTwinkle, twinkle, the stars fall down
Down into the ocean, where we shall drown
Over and over until we awake
In a place, where we will break.
Your tears are the stars and your smile the sun
There is no happiness, for sorrow has begun.
Run, run, child! Run away now!
Please do not do this! Please do not allow —
Bang! Bang! The gun goes off.
So, child, let those stars takeoff.
Wind GrownQuiet grown
With green and ground
The ash and sound
Until the green has 'nother play
A wat'ry stream
Down with a tide
Across the beam
The first to know the last of one
Breath of space
Carved by your arm
A heady place
Awaits no harm
Because no eyes will watch or plea
Wind is wrapt
Around you braced
By time that kept
You wings misplaced
One cannot fly where wearies went
Height and breadth
Come with the stars
While nourished wealth
From flanks and far
The form is kept but not the brain
Stones will crack
Under your weight
Streams run black
The light you take
Unknown on high there's but your will
The path you made
Will flood and break
No more remained
Your flanks are slaked
Come back when you are broke and burned
Now hole refilled
Where life was held
The ash was forged
Until the wind the self will stay
OldOne learns in life that there's nothing to be learned.
That once you won everything there is nothing to be earned.
That all your lessons in life were unconcerned.
Memories and pictures in the attic must now be burned.
One thinks that there is nothing to think about.
Because the things they think are now allowed.
Because they are stuck when they want to be unbound.
When they want to lift themselves off the ground.
You'd never thought your young heart could grow old
And when the unspoken truth is being told,
You're labeling them as bold, heartless or cold.
You're scared of death. After all it's foretold.
HappinessHey you! (What huh?)
Yes you! (Oh no)
Yay you! (Uhh..)
Bless you! (Just go..)
Turn that silly frown around
And think of the things that you love.
You're walking the line with your eyes cast down.
So I got a little something for you, kind of..
Dream the dream which makes you sweet and strong.
Free your mind from worries and hate.
You'll have that feeling you wanted all along,
Even without a soul mate.
You don't need someone to love you,
As long as you love yourself.
Most of the people have no clue,
That happiness works that way as well.
Don't hold on to all your emptiness.
Everyone wants joy no one wants pain.
Smile for a while and let in the happiness,
For you can't have a rainbow without a little rain.
A smile can shine the darkest of days.
It can bring a little spark of light.
You can be thankful In so many ways,
That all turned out to be alright.
As you sprint down the hill that is filled with flowers,
And enjoy life at your hearts content,
Queen of NeverthenAtop the ashen bones, arrayed like thrones of Men
Sits none so dreary as the Queen of Neverthen
Great cobwebs, dust, and stolid, stale decay
Dead memories forgotten where they lay
A world, still and ever gray
That suffocates the ones who trespass in her den
Within a rotten skull, a fetid rat emerged
As swift as plague it bore and chittered as it surged
Low creaks and clatters sound akin to life
Its rodent teeth soon grinding like a knife
The Queen was happy with this strife
But nothing ever lasts save those who would be purged
Oppressive silence soon returns to her domain
Admiring her flock that she will never deign
A dull light shines behind their pallid masks
The company of corpses; all she asks
You Will Drown In The MusicThese lyrics will seduce you
take you anywhere they please
hold tight, it's about to take you under
why even try to breath?
just let it reach you one more time
before you start to leave
This will be the song of a lifetime
let the beat tear open your heart
we live by the smash of a drum
we breathe at the strum of each guitar
just let the song capture you
as soon as the first verse starts
This is how we get out
from under every watchful eye
we take one look at the crowd
than close our eyes and dive
we let the music pull us down
and tear apart our minds
I know you've got to feel this
the beat running through your veins
I can see it in your eyes
it's the only thing keeping you sane
breathe it in a few more times
cause this song will never change
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