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Sweet LilacDecember 25th
As I stroll through the gates, the chilly winter air stirs around my scarf and hair. How is it where you are? I suppose it isn't quite as cold. I have to double up on the layers, wearing a sweatshirt underneath my winter coat. It still has yet to snow here, though. I remember when we used to play in the snow. You loved throwing snowballs at my head until mom yelled at you.
The leaves still float down from the trees, as though they continue to hang on for dear life. How sweet it seems now. I used to watch you rake the leaves from the kitchen window, remember? I would be in the warm house, preparing hot cocoa for you when you finished. You like yours with lots of whipped cream and marshmallows, and even some cinnamon. I get mine like that now. I like to pretend I’m still sharing it with you.
The few stems of lilac in my hand quiver with the breeze. Mom told me they stand for joy of youth. I figured that would be per
Sinking Beneath the WavesIf I could sink beneath the waves
I perhaps would be rather content
For you see, the ships that sail above
Know nothing of the ocean itself
The deep blue waters are peaceful and relaxed
As the sailors and surfers would say
But I can sink beneath the waves
I know there is another story to tell
The foamy whitecaps that swirl above
They tell but another myth
That the ocean itself is just as what it seems to be
All water and no depth
But the blue sea cannot be clear
Or else the secrets would fall through
If you learn to sink beneath the waves
You’d know just how beautiful it is.
Inside, and out.
Lies.What are words to you
Nonsense scrawled across a page
A space filler of sorts
The hiding place for lies
Lies that you will not dare stain your tongue with.
Memories recorded down
Fingers stained in ink
The words you said
The promises you made
The lies you told
All of these locked deep within my heart
And in my brain I keep them
For they hide the bitter truth I dared not reach for
Though I could see it
The stains on my own fingers show not me
They show what you wanted me to be
Show what I tried to become
And what I could not master.
But these red stains will change
Will become what I am
And your own marks already show
They show the bitter truth of the false face you show
Of the tales you tell
Of the claims to innocence
And I will try and muster all of my courage
Just to prove my worth.
Little MockingbirdOh little mockingbird,
Please be strong
The other birds
They know the words
But won't sing along
Oh little mockingbird,
You haven't failed yet
Crow and dove
They fly above
There's no need to fret
Oh little mockingbird,
The skies are still blue
Though the eagle cries
The heron lies
And they laugh at you
Oh little mockingbird,
Your wings may be small
But you are bold
And you won't fall
So oh little mockingbird,
Please stay strong
The other birds
They know the words
So sing your sweet song
Shrouded by the shadows
A wispy veil enchanted with secrets
Hide my insecurities
It hides the fact
That my wingspan is too short
To reach my dreams
Icy black chills down my spine
The fears that have been creeping
Still out of sight.
HopeHope is nothing but a dream
Spun with silken stars under the twilight sky
Hope is nothing but fantasy
Sewn piece by piece of the fabrics of myth
Hope is nothing but lies
A blanket of falsehood
Only used for the sake
Of keeping our cold hearts
I, Too, Have a StoryI, too, can make stories
I can scribble them down
On loose sheets of notebook paper
My pencil in my hand
And I can form the words
Like a puzzle in my head
And piece them one by one
On the blank canvas in front of me
Not only for myself, but for readers
Readers all across the world
Pages turning and smiles forming
Inspiring those who read
Inspiring them to write
Just as I
They will understand what it means
To get your thoughts out to the world
I, too, have a story
Stunning SilverStunning silver stripes your skin
Red rivers flow and flee
The bitter tears taint you cheeks
As sorrowful sadness consumes your soul
Depressed thoughts deepen your doubts
Pleads and promises are in the past
Love, like lies, never last
CHIME Chapter 1CHIME
Lafayette has had enough. She sits on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. She rests both her arms on her knees, and buries her face into them. She has been sitting like this for half an hour.
She lifts her head and looks in the mirror. She sees her pale, freckled face, stained with tears. Her long, jet black hair is tangled in a mess. The sleeves of her shirt are wet from her crying.
She wonders why it has to be like this. Why does she always feel so empty and sad inside? Why does everything have to go wrong? Why can’t she live a regular, peaceful, and happy life?
It all frustrates her. From her fighting parents, to being neglected and left alone by her friends, she can’t seem to find a shard of happiness left inside her fragile heart.
The teenage girl's eyes are weary from crying. Her throat aches and she coughs, only making
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
The Sounds Are ConfiningDarkness fills the space.
The fog pours in.
She feels like a waste.
Impossible to win.
A stab in the back.
A blow to the pride.
A soul painted black.
And nowhere to hide.
Happiness is torn.
Her heart is pounding.
Her patience is worn.
The sounds are confining.
She's feeling trapped.
Her eyes are shining.
Her heart is snapped.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More