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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
What Dreams May Come
As I lay me down to sleep I dream of tales untold.
Lovers who can drive me wild and some who leave me cold.
Bitter dreams of bitter things and sometimes streets of gold.
Dreams of timid angels and of some who herald bold.
Flying high o'er barren lands and seas of aqua hue.
I relish sights unseen and cherish every hidden view.
Earth relinquished planet Janus now is born anew.
Wondering if truths held dear were ever really true.
Heaven's carriage with no riders sailing toward the moon.
Wishing wells and private hells and Macy's day balloons.
Under water still can breathe a miracle lagoon.
Living happy dancing slowly singing lovesick tunes.
As I lay me down to sleep I dream of tales untold.
Some are newly painted and some dreams are really old.
Never given thought to meanings as these do unfold.
Waking hours living life have kept my dreams on hold.
Another Red Devil
A red devil was drowning,
I guess it forgot
that people can drown
and devils cannot.
I jumped in to help,
I don't know what for.
I swam to the devil
and pulled it to shore.
"Thank you," said the devil,
as we dried in the sun.
"How shall I repay you
for what you have done?"
And I said "Don't worry,
it's nothing at all.
If I need something someday,
I will give you a call."
Silver Slips and DancersIt’s there in the beaten mirror she holds
In broken hands she cries of a defeat
The night will take her before she grows old
And they will cry, “narcissist” in the street
There, she dances softly on the surface
And shows the swan what it means to pirouette
But she cannot break exteriors face
found so ashen from the year’s cigarette
They will write books about that wayward girl
Speak of once easy laugh and softest eyes
That such light could be consumed by this world
should show that both bones and beauty will die
Pressed fingers to lips form a last cachet
In silver, shard veils, sashaying away
RageRage, building inside.
Rage eats away the heart,
Rage, can't think straight,
Rage taking over your sanity,
Rage, feel the violence,
Rage, you hate the world,
Rage making everyone your enemy,
Rage, you can't control it,
Rage painting your vision red,
Rage killing the happiness,
Rage, why won't it go away?
Rage is destroying my world,
Rage hurting everyone near me,
Rage only brings misery.
Love Sonnet #3Love Sonnet #3
My tranquility, my peace of mind
Cannot be found outdoors
Nor can it be found in a throng of men
They have a voice like a lion's roar
They never frighten or intimidate [me]
Nay! They only disgust and bore me
My peace of mind, my joy at heart
Is found at home, with one
Who I love and who loves me
From dawn till dusk, till dawn
For I know that we both crave much love
And we cannot bear to live alone
Aye! there is but one source of peace for me:
That is my love, my sweetheart, Puabi.
Forget MeIt's funny you can't forget me,
You still bring up my name, the cause of your pain,
I'm the cause of all your friends to run away,
You speak of the day as if it was only yesterday
Putting your own spin on the storyline of events,
You say this, you say that, but what does it matter?
My name is only a tool to gain others' sympathy,
When in truth they'll never know the real me,
Erased in your life I remain only a memory,
That's what you wanted, the path you chose,
Forget me now, I don't want to be part of this show,
What's done is done, just let it all go,
It's behind us now, why can't we forget?
Com on don't tell me you still have regrets?
What happened happened, no changing the past,
The words to be said you're speaking them last,
There is no apology to the friends you had,
Why do you remember me when there is no forgiving?
It be best for both of us if there is only forgetting,
Forget me, let this memory be erased,
I don't want to be a memory that causes pain,
If I could, I would take i
LandonLandon he came to my wooden table,
His dark youthful portrait eclipsed the sun.
It could have been a playground; it could have been a stable,
Wherever it was, it was where he was from.
His ignorance astonished me in a beautiful way,
He didn’t seem to care what the class had to say.
He was so weak; he was knocked by the wind,
But a harsh word or two could never change him.
Landon was rebellious in that he was kind,
He saw a dull Virginia boy as a heavenly sign,
Of an end to his internal bleeding, his quiet suffering,
Whether he’s nursed or dies.
But on an airless Georgia afternoon, I ran away.
Said that I would return come what may.
Forever underground he’ll waste away,
For it’s my belief he died that day.
But I never knew what he became,
Probably blended within a scene.
I like to think he ate a poison berry,
Or maybe fell from a tree.
He could have been nailed to a cross,
Along with the rest of his kin.
Or maybe he faded from existence,
Or rather existence faded
The curse of a Disable HeartThe curse of the disable heart.
We feel too much,
So we get hurt so hard
For we are the cursed one
Of the disable heart.
We are big target
So we get hit easy
From insulting comments
To unkind staring
We wanted to be normal.
We want to be belonging
But we are not accepted
Not even in our own family
For we are embarrassment
By what we do and what we say
We sometime wear thing differently
Or wear something from yesterday.
We are the unseen
Cause we put our family to shame,
To the point that we are not invited
Cause they have forgotten our name.
We are the black sheep.
And we carried the most scars.
We are the cursed one
The curse of the disable heart.
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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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More