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Deviant for 11 Years
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Literature
Rosy Cheeks No More
The cream colored wraps that bind them
Look as if the fibers will tear:
Thin onion sheets to give way at any given moment
And the raisin contents inside will shrivel and glisten in the light.
Puckered like disease and leather,
Once functioning bodies
Now hug their knees in brine.
I am too wrapped in thick papyrus or cotton,
A peel that mimics theirs.
My sinews look tired and vacuumed.
I mirror the sad wretched state of dehydration.
Vinegar and relief scuttle like Kafka beetles
Under my cloth.
Deflation rather than release from my own broad layer,
The strangled air is sucking oxygen for dearth.
I turn and show myself to them,
The onion raisin men with eyes of oily shells.
They cannot raise their heads from between their legs
Or from their chests.
But I give alló
Worn through the fragile paper never meant for a lion
And impress the dead with cigarette fingers and an exhale.
But they are the color of cream and I don't want my rosy cheeks no more.
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Literature
Paintbrush Pastel Vaudeville
Go on, pull your antics.
Let's make our circus dips and swirls.
Paintbrush dancers,
Gentle creases frowning carnie eyes,
Veterans of the trade.
Crazy, absurd, all glitter and lights;
Disguising nostalgia.
That's theatre.
The pregnant chords of alien music,
Birdie flutes,
With matching birdie girls, thin, flaunting,
Corpses of a dead era.
It's the familiar, don't you hate it?
But we can mask it with our sugary stench,
If that's what you want.
No matter how many young hopefuls
Scream, popping their lungs like zeppelins
And honeying their throats with gravel and exotic smoke,
Yelling, 'we believe in true love';
It doesn't make Cinderella rise from the grave
Let's play our circus dips and swirls.
If we don't, it will only leave us colder.
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Literature
How you like them apples, Eve?
I listen to the sounds they speak
And mull them over slowly.
Hold them in the space below my tongue,
Running my cracking lips along the spoken word,
Rough, bitter, membrane of dry, outdated wit.
Although their feelings register--
Click and bounce to turn
A scholarly, analytical wheel--
My mind is set on bluebirds and Ophelia:
Innocence inevitable and disregard unworthy.
Now, impatient and aler,
They write me kinder-notes on simple book
With blue, shifty ink born of shaky hands
With grotesque ghosts
Shuddering up the fingers.
As light, I prism away, a rainbow pirouetting on the wall.
I skip in the rain like Gene Kelly
While they rot in frusteration
Exhaustion
A lack of action while their paper journals
Turn to soggy dust.
Are you angry now, dear mother?
Are you bothered now, good sir?
To suck and spin and turn undoubtedly
Without the flaws of sympathy or listening,
Makes me the more creative of you two--
If Darwin were here, he'd make me a saint.
For I have the ungodly, corner-cutting,
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Literature
If it worked before
Red ecstasy, like crushed lipstick
bending in on itself at the knees, creaking and needing practice.
Flecked turqoise,
suave reeds
saying please
pluck your arm off my back, thanks.
Joy and Pain, wearing white flowy dresses, manifesting themselves
in my limbs, energy flowing into my perfect fingers;
albino and shadowy.
Waving like puppets
"Goodday"
but never "Goodnight".
Everyday before I crawl into my bed as a cat,
I say a prayer of protection.
It's on ripped paper, hanging above my head, pressed against the wall like insect
with yellowed tape, feeding on the power of the plea.
I feel like Macbeth, and magic.
I don't think I'm pathetic, I'm dancing to the
calyspso rhythm of the world, collapsing in on myself in gentle repitition.
Like the orange waves
of twenty stories,
building walls around me then melting back into the sky.
I'll just spin forever,
a pheonix and explosive
recreating myself from the ashes of red.
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Literature
Spider
Spider creeping
Spider crawling
never knowing where to next.
Eight directions
Eight connections
frozen still or moving
Quickly! quickly! before the fatal footstep falls.
Are you dead or are you sleeping?
Teach me to be silent yet.
We can learn a lot from spiders
how to listen-
how to bite.
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Literature
I spy, I sip, I try
I sip my drink slow and easy.
Flowing like honey, blossoming in my throat.
I like cream in my coffee, thank you
when all the cool cats drink it black.
I let the feeling expand in my stomach,
beaded like mercury,
parachuting from chaos into control.
My head reels from such emotion, digesting and rolling in my organs.
I feel dirty, like the color of
coffee.
But never black.
Never charcoaled beyond recognition.
Liquid love, juiced misery, or is it all in my mouth?
I'm shaking now. The coffee is taking all my warmth, stealing it away and hiding it.
Hide and go seek, it writes and boils.
Trick or Treat.
But I drink it slow,
so I won't become ice too fast
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umbrella birds :iconlearning-to-fly:learning-to-fly 0 12
Literature
Choice
You chose me.
I have been thrown into a boiling sea where
I keep my head above only when you hold me.
All melts.
Shivers creep across my neck like small spiders legs.
My neck is smooth and soft
where you lips caress it, singing it into nostalgic sleep;
into a childs lull.
Our inner rhythm is thrown,
hand tracing hand, echoing
each other's song and dance.
Our kisses laced with coffee, and
secrets.
While we roll on the pregnant, thrashing ocean
the spawn of an age of confusion, of FUBAR, of risks must be taken.
This is our island of security.
The wind our music.
The storms fury our cushion.
Giggles explode to keep us from weeping, there is nothing to laugh at, there never is.
But all this forgotten
in the hypnosis of our eyes
and the womb like rhyme of the sea.
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eyes :iconlearning-to-fly:learning-to-fly 0 8 walking shoes :iconlearning-to-fly:learning-to-fly 0 2
Literature
Made of Wood, Made of Water
Listen.
Quick, listen.
When you listen in the woods, you hear
the Trickle.
Water, ripe and frothy, dripping from a rock
or leaf.
Running Water,
but running from what?
But you hear it, quick.
Listen harder
Do you hear the pulse of the tree
silent and strong
pulsing and alive.
Awake.
Standing Tree,
But where does it end?
Hear the silence, most of all.
Focus, breath, let it be.
The forest moves all around you
infused with the Great Creator.
Infused with
love.
Any kind.
Soft, gentle,
made of wood,
or made from water-
Trickle.
Listen as the Silent Giver
makes us whole.
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Literature
Normal Norma Jean
NORMAL NORMA JEANE
Characters-
Maggie Amelia (Maggie) - teenager, learning to become an adult. Father died when young-left her feeling confused and angry. Mother oppressive and unfeeling towards her emotion. Medium build, regular features, wears hair down and tousled. Wears dark colors. Anti-social but doesn't know it. Simply accepts the fact she has no friends. Mentally unstable (depression, mood swings, psychosis)
Eileen (Mother) - late thirties but looks older. Works part-time mornings at a pharmacy. Lives off the insurance money her husband left. She has a very robotic, perfect fifties homemaker feel about her. Tries to stifle her daughter's grief over father because 'young ladies shouldn't show emotion'. Doesn't understand Maggie's mental status and refuses to blame herself for anything. Wears hair in a neat bun everyday (never lets hair down). Wears light colors and an apron. Her own mother had this same robotic feel. Has never talked about her husband's death.
Marilyn- A mouse t
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Literature
price to pay
I love this.
The soft pastels of summmer sunrise
blossoming in your cheeks.
While I drip out of your life like coffee.
No difference made
from when it began.
Seeing your smile
but never for me alone.
From the beginning of the start, shoot away from the heart
and now I'm
Praying
I'm not yet forgotten
Wishing
I myself could forget.
My ornate misery being
STOP
wanting it all to
STOP
or all be explained
in the simplicity of emergency.
I wonder if you realize
you hold my well-being in your palm.
Like an ant
who sees your pulsing blue eye
through the blinding magnifying glass
while it bubbles and twists
burning
to explode.
The sun and I hold identical fury.
I love the fact
that the faster I run toward you
the faster you
chamelionize
into the sunrise.
:iconlearning-to-fly:learning-to-fly
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Literature
reflections are only honest
The plastic sheet
framing two bare chested women
carrying bowls of fragile rose petals
painted by a scruffy looking European man
reflects my eyes and face
looking
blank.
But I am looking.
I'm looking at the violins in the corner
sad and sorely sounding
silently praying
tender fingers will once again
massage their strings.
Looking at the faded faces frightened
up against a wall
caught in time
like a shuddering fly in a spiders web.
The quirky wooden musicians-
The ornate shrine to a long dead brother
whom you're soon to follow-
A red lamp, making my reflection
against the two rose women
look absolutely terrifying.
My feet want to dance, be  ballerina toes, swishing and swaying to music,
maybe made by violins,
posess all pain and hide it deep under matresses and folds of
skin.
My angry arms wish to move like smooth snakes, be made of porcelains and move like a doll might seem to.
Frightened, skittish, strangely grounded.
But my face
foreign to me like a lover I have yet to meet
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Literature
your skin
Your skin is glowing
and I like it.
Eyes glancing off reflective mirrors
shouting my face
back at me.
Each one dripping with
sweaty monotony.
I hate cliches
but
you're a sight for sore eyes.
Fuzzy arms and
a very hard head.
A laugh that sounds
oh so much like a broken blender
but so soft on melting ears.
Maybe if I wrap myself in you
(pause)
I'll be happy?
Or quite possibly understand
what makes us tick.
Are we like clockwork
you and I?
Will we go through tedious life
pounding the street with tired feet,
Me
always a second
behind
You?
I will understand the world
who is last chosen for the team
so often.
Why do you glow so?
I feel dotty and too rhythmic
on an earth that lacks percussion.
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Literature
to una
I sat at the table.
She stood at the door.
Framed by the hard light of overcast with a chance of rain.
She walked in.
I cringed.
I backed away.
From the fiery, violent
mass of woman
scowling
at those who threatened
her world.
A simple smile
became a
growl and snarl.
Laughed if you fell,
but picked you back up
if you were hurt.
But only if you were really hurt.
Competitive?
Very.
Scary.
I did not
understand
why she saw me as
nothing.
Or
maybe
too much competition.
The last time I saw her.
I still at the table
but sitting differently.
She still at the door
but a sillouette against the tearful sunset.
She was
leaving-
mascara streaks
on blushing cheeks,
squeezing whoever came up to bat
and landing a sloppy kiss on their cheek as reward.
With me, in the shadow
realizing how
fragile
she was.
How soft
and sensitive.
She couldn't trust,
ran away
from love.
I couldn't handle this.
I can't.
Handle this.
She's building walls
around
and around herself.
She could never be hurt
under all that
armou
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Activity


deviantID

learning-to-fly
Sarah
Artist | Literature
United States
Current Residence: North Carolina
Favourite genre of music: musical theatre, alternative, classic rock, some country/bluegrass, anything, really
Favourite photographer: diane arbus
Skin of choice: moi
Interests
school's out, and I've decided to join the dA family again.
I've written a lot this year--hope i can share it all.
much love to all you guys.
as always, comments appreciated.
love,
me

Comments


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:iconsylvanslang:
sylvanslang Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2009
SARAH
LKJDHFDKJ
hahaha I'm officially really truly super creepy.
This made my day.
-Kels
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:icondecomposingdreams:
DecomposingDreams Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2006  Hobbyist Writer
Something Random:

*Has 444 pageviews
*Last visited 4d 4h 4m ago.

Anyway..


I just wanted to say Hello! and I hope you are doing well.


:hug:
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2006
Thanks so much for the :+fav: on Puppy Love 2!!! :heart:
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2006
Hey!!! I'm sorry that I missed "seeing" you!!!
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2006
:wave: Thanks for stopping by!!! :)
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2006
hello, friend! :)
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2005
Hey, friend! Thanks for stopping by! :)
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2005
Two :+fav:!!! I am honored! :thanks:
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:iconrazortire:
razortire Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2005
Thanks for the :+fav: and the Friendship! :)
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:iconbosniak:
bosniak Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2005
thanks for +fav... appreciated :boogie:
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