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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
Little BirdLittle bird,
where have you flown?
how much have you grown?
How is your broken wing?
The one that I cared for,
that I put in a sling.
do you think of me
as I do you?
Do you wonder where I've gone,
what I've gone through?
do visit me again;
you've been the only one
I've ever loved;
my only true friend.
PerfectionWhat is perfection and what is not?
Does anybody know that besides god?
Is someone out there who can tell me?
Or do I have to do die and ask god, maybe?
Question over question flying through my brain.
If I don’t find perfection, will my life be in vain?
Everyone had flaws and makes mistakes.
Maybe I have to lower the stakes.
I’m looking for one, just one perfect thing only.
But as time goes by even I get lonely.
Cold and empty, but beating is my heart.
I want perfection, even if it’s just a shard!
Moving on as the time passes me by.
No perfection, no matter how far I fly.
Each and every place, no perfection there.
Can humans be perfect and worlds rightful heir?
Now I am standing close to the edge, full of fear.
Suddenly it comes to me, I smile and see it clear.
No matter how and where you grow up, you are perfection.
Because you are only you and not someones copy or reflection.
My Personal DevilHis kiss was that of fiery coal,
A peppermint-feel upon cracked lips.
His hands had gripped my soul —
Oh, the feel of ecstasy!
His eyes obtained the celestial sky
And were like the chilly arctic breeze.
There was no chance that I could deny
Such lively things…
His alabaster skin was so gentle, so smooth,
Mocking a similarity of mine as I awake at sunrise.
His touch had a way to soothe
The scorches upon my body…
My personal devil’s love was euphoria;
He had wrapped me in his hellish ways.
My body had been eaten away by chorea.
Yet, I crave his blaze.
Ignite me in the love you share!
Burn me with your singeing lips.
Show me how much you care!
Then drown me in your flickering flames.
His heated hands were placed upon my face.
His snakes spiraling up my legs.
Our lips were near a kiss, which he did not place,
And, instead, withdrew himself.
His deadly presence, his own personal darkness,
Was brightened by the sun.
I slowly awoke in emptiness
And lost my personal d
DescendSomething dark and something cold
like iron gripped my soul
and in the chains I was shackled
Two halves, once a whole.
Grim and cruel was the dungeon
that was created by my mind
in which love and loss battled
but remained intertwined.
And in the end it was clear
that love could never win
that loss presides over all
my dark dungeon, wherein.
But in the final moments
of their battle in my head
love took leave and descended
to reside in my heart instead.
Cyhydedd HirDoth thou ever hear
A voice in thy ear
Speaking loud and clear
Through each season?
Doth this voice so bold
Speak of doubts untold
Of spirits grown cold
Doth thou know the light
Shining ever bright
From the moonless night
Within the shade?
Can thy poetry
From deep within thee
Begin to fade?
No AirI never expected to love you.
I never expected to care.
I never thought you would be on my mind.
I never noticed if you were there.
I don't know when it started,
But I hope it never ends.
The way I feel with you tonight
Is more than I can comprehend.
And when you talk
about things that I don't know
I lose my mind a little.
But I love the way you glow
I can't help the butterflies
I can't concentrate when I'm with you
The truth is -- if I'm honest --
Sometimes I want to kiss you.
So maybe it's no secret,
And maybe you don't care,
But when I see you my heart beats fast
And suddenly there is no air.
ParasiteWhen the day turns into night,
it begins, the everyday fight.
They begin to talk in my head.
If anybody found out they would tell me I’m mad.
I don’t know if the one who thinks is me.
Can’t these voices just let me be?
Speaking and confusing my thoughts.
For me these things are only frauds.
What if the things that I think are not mine?
Should I just lay here and whine?
I think they corrupted my soul.
No, maybe even my body as a whole.
This is the side of me that I have never shown.
At times like these it is dangerous to be alone.
My head feels like it’s blown off with dynamite.
I don’t know, maybe my brain is occupied by a parasite.
HushListen closely and you will hear,
The thoughts that I have never said,
The hushed whispers with every heartbeat.
The shadows cackling in my head.
All my sinews are laced with secrets,
binding my body to my soul.
Tell me, is it truly worth it,
leaving so much truth untold?
I'm not going to point fingers,
because they say I'm the one to blame.
But I'm sure I'd hate myself a little less
if I found another way to bleed my shame.
And so I beg you, listen.
Whether you care or not for me.
I just need someone to hear my voice,
So that I may set my spirit free.
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
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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