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Penniesim that kid that you see as naive
you don't need me
but you want me to be
there for you if you want to
and what do i get
and you don't even sweat
on the big things the stories
i'm raging and roaring
you're whoring yourself out again
and its boring
i'm boring a hole to the life you uphold
got a role
so i'll play it but this game i'm saying
i don't need your silence
one more reason i'm writing
show me a feeling
or i'm right
not gonna roll
its a no go
i got a feeling you'll give up
not gonna get with this get up
show me you're reeling
you're not though
gimme a story
or show me.
i'm that girl that you found intriguing
truth is i don't think you can perceive me
not even sure that you even see me
but one of us lies and its easy
get up and get go
i got no pull here to stay
so i let go
rush me i'm pushing away
but i'm back though
i don't even know
soul to soul or im solely alone
YoursI'm okay for now and I'm standing tall
but in a second I'm backed up against the wall
in my head my back arches
but my head just falls
and my shoulders drop
and my thoughts hit the floor/
you glance across the room and my mouth creases up
in a way it gives away and you give me that look
the smile slips down and I'm on one foot
my fingernails click, I say I'm okay, but/
You know it's not true, you can see right through me
peel back a smile and my eyes look roomy
it's not quite a lie, but it's not quite true
we'll drop it for tonight and I'll call another truce/
I'm tired of the way you think I'm being obtuse
and the only thing I've got is 'it's me, it's not you'
in actuality it's everything I've ever been through
the reality's duality and one of me'll lose/
so call it off for a second and i'm feeling like water
slipped through your hands but i'm inside your pores
stuck to your skin and I'm feeling remorse
I can't save you from me more than I can be more/
than I am, than I should be
TeethSing me out a story
I don't need a reason just to rhyme
I got my paper A$ lined
that shit you're selling, I'm not buyin.
the only thing that's left of me
chew me up and spit me out
but either way I'll break your teeth-
RamblesBut then I think
this pen and ink
wants to write the
ins and outs of my mind
and then i find
the final line
why is it then
that I'm not fine?
I write about
falling and how
it's different for me than you
but the truth
it's not a hard line
and all in all
my life's quite fine
it isn't perfect,
but then I suspect,
a million people have it worse than I.
Every night I do it.
I chew on thoughts and bury words
squashing sentences at the bottom of the bright ideas pile
the light switch is on but every bulb's blown
I repeat and repeat and repeat
scrap replay, replay rethink, remember
it changes and I forget
and then it's never what it was so
the words evolve, adapt
getting chewed and mangled
and then I forget the point
and I sleep
or I dream
and the problem's solved til the night comes again.
It's quiet and im still
emptied but soft
I feel fleshy and light.
I can feel every ounce of me wiegh down as I float
and the memory of words
I can't move
and the past is immovable
but it's quiet
cotton soft quiet.
In the dark when I close my eyes
in floods light.
of my eyelids
im holding no pictures
no more now than i knew
can't solve and can't prove
but the light
and the quiet
the soft and the new
the good and the hope
these might carry me through.
PulseIt's bright and it's broken
it's flickering, rusted
the heart of a creature I couldn't have trusted
for fear or for hunger of minor disaster
a flesh that's quite warm yet it's lacking in lustre
a blister of truth
or a wrinkle of trust.
It's dark and it's dusty
quite damp, and encrusted
with scars and a venom that's destined to break it
and fuelled with a stream of casual acquaintances
mind that knows need but not how to relate
and i'm broken
I must hope
for a reason
a sign that it's right
lest we fall with the seasons,
and falling is reason enough.
pleased to meet you
shes a dancer
give a chance of
she'll destroy you
she'll destory you
catch an eye and
trace a line and
catch it wandering on
out and to the side
i don't know you
hasn't told you
she's a weapon
she's a snake and
she's a soldier
she'll unfold you and
she'll be cold and
feign a smoothness
all a tactical maneuver
hasn't told you all the moves and
old directory of truths and
turns it back and it's on you
it's paranoia paranoia
at a glance inside of who
not the one you thought you knew
maybe it was never you
things were different you'd lose
find a catalogue of proof
or a dialogue of use
the admission of
LanguishSick of my sickness with the language barrier
find a new character and my thoughts might carry her
stuck on the crest of my friccative wave
I need a new brain hole, and a new wave to save me/
sick of my sickness and I can't get rid
burn a hole in my head when I'm flicking eyelids
clicking my fingers and I'm blaming the timezones
ticking the clock off ignore the power that the hands hold/
sick of my apathy and of being on a downturn
pissing them off with the message that my frown earns
forgetting that faces have a language of their own
well versed and rehearsed there, I'm holding on, though/
Sick of my sickness with the braindead bitch
with the realisation I'm the one true hitch
remembering now that it's all down to tone
get the fuck off the keys and back into the zone.
It's sad but it's true that that's what I do.
You'd think that it's useful, clairvoyance
a truthful reminder of all that's to come,
I'll write in my diary so I can remind me of everything that could be done.
But therein's the problem you see:
the future, quite naturally,
is a definite thing, a condition of truth
and the only thing I've got is absolute proof
that the things that'll pass are just destined to happen,
to build and to ruin,
to break and to rescue,
so all I can do is to politely ask you to please, if you please-
should I take you to task- let me lead with a question and hear what i ask
that you might answer in full understanding of what we all know, and here all I'm demanding
is truth to placate me so I can let go
of a foreshadowing that'd passed long ago.
popsicleSummer forever frozen
An orange popsicle
Sold from an icebox
dry and vaporous
atop a tricycle
Four tingling bells
rung by the little man pedaling at the back
announcing the coming
Framed in trees
always green in the light of the sun
Lancelot Price 2014 August 26
No crappy songs on a loudspeaker loop
just the sweet sweet cold refreshment
I will always live there.
Diminuendo“Why did you quit band?” My friends would ask. Some were betrayed by my decision, some saddened.
Every time, I would change it: the director was disagreeable, I wanted to do other things, it took up too much time, etc.
Every time, I would think of the moments, the emotions I thought I could handle.
But they became too heavy, too much, too painful.
i. Air conditioned rooms were a luxury after hours under the summer sun, even if the room was just a small practice room. We had new music to learn after all.
I was excited, why wouldn’t I? New music were like new books, new adventures.
Then the sheet was plopped onto the stand in front of me.
It made no sense whatsoever.
“Let’s play it together!” The bubbly teacher would say, her tone more appropriate for kindergartners.
I looked around the room, wondering why I was the only one who couldn’t get past one measure.
“Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought..”
Child, ChildOnce there was a little girl. She was small, with long brown hair and deep-set brown eyes and always smiled at everything. Her mother was an average sized woman with long brown hair and not-so-deep brown eyes, whose entire world was her daughter. Her father was an average sized man with short brown hair, and wild, wide gray eyes.
The little girl’s father had some problems he couldn’t handle, however, and the mother took her daughter away, to live on their own in a small apartment. They didn’t have very many things, because they were rather poor, and the little girls mother worked very hard to make sure her daughter had enough to eat and a few toys to play with. But even though there was no television or expensive toys, the girl was happy to live there with her mother. She knew that since her mother loved her more than anything, it would be okay. They had a routine: every morning the little girl would eat breakfast, go to preschool or grandma’s house, and her mot
confessions full of jack 20I do not go to the hair dressers that often and I get my nails done only once in a while. Don't get me wrong; I do comb my hair every day, and care about being presentable. I do cut and file my nails regularly and put on nail polish if I feel like it. I just do not go to a place of business to get these things done to me. People think it is because I think badly of women who visit those places often. More than a few people have commented "Yes, you are not vain," to me after I told them I do not have such an habit; thinking they are actually paying me a compliment. I do not connect all hairdresser visits with being vain. Maybe I might connect it with conformity; conforming to the society's standards of how a woman should look like. But I am aware how hard it is to ignore those standards while trying to survive in this system. Women are expected to look nice. Well, no, not just expected; it is demanded of us. And it takes time to look nice. It takes even longer if you try to do it all on
Sara's Stories: Nanook On The RoofSara's Stories | Episode 8: Nanook On The Roof
It's been a good while since I've posted a memoir story, and I thought of a good one.
Back in 1997 and 1998, I had to stay at a daycare while my parents were at work, and I would often bring a favorite toy of mine to play with and help me feel less lonesome. One day, I decided to take my plush Nanook the Husky (an original Ty Beanie Baby) with me to the daycare. All was going quite well for me and Nanook... until I went outside after lunch.
There was a boy in my class who wanted to borrow Nanook so he could play with him for a few minutes. ...I was actually rather reluctant to do so from the start, but to be fair to him, I said yes, as long as he would properly return Nanook to me when he was done.
Soon after I lent Nanook to that boy, he began tossing Nanook in the air and then catching him as he came back down. But unfortunately, he began walking close to the side of t
On Gender Dysphoria“Why do you always dress like a boy?”
Confused, I looked up from where I was pulling my shoes on. “I’m sorry?” I asked, frowning at my mum where she was washing dishes at the sink.
“You,” she said, turning to me and leaning back against the bench. “Why do you always insist on dressing like a boy?”
“I… don’t,” I replied hesitantly, still confused.
“Yes, you do. You’re always dressing like a boy, or wanting to. Why?”
Thinking for a moment, I remember Shaylah’s sixteenth birthday party, 60’s themed, which I’d wanted to attend as a classic gangster. Then, I remembered last weekend, when I’d gone to the Sugar City Comicon, dressed as Femlock, then looked down at myself now, wearing a black dress shirt and slacks for Film Friday of the school’s Spirit Week, probably the best, most entertaining week of the year. “Not really.”
“But you do! Why c
I Never Even Got to Say Goodbye (Marcello)Once upon a time, in Kindergarten, I had a friend. His name was Marcello. We were the best friends, as we would always play together, talk to each other, and, of course, get in trouble together. Then, one day, Marcello announced that he was moving. I saw him gather his stuff and walk out the door. It hit me hard. I felt as if I'd never see him again.
Fortunately, I got his new address.
One day (I was in first grader at the time), I went to his new house. It felt really good seeing him again. We played Sonic and did a bunch of other random crap. I believe on that visit Marcello got scolded by his mom for complaining about something. I felt bad seeing him sad. Eventually, the bittersweet visit ended as I had to go home.
A little while later, something terrible happened.
My mother had heard from Marcello's mother that he and his father were in a car crash and had to go to the hospital. I was shocked. He could've been dead or something, for all I know.
It turned out that nothing serious ha
Birthdays of past and presentHe sat in the dining room, alone for the minute. He hadn't been as happy for his birthday for many a year. Just days before he had done everything he could to weasel himself out of the lunch that was offered to him, to celebrate a day that had only brought sadness as long as he could remember. He couldn't help reminisce and glance through the window of his past that he had boxed up so as never to relive those days. He hadn't told her why he originally said no, passing it off as his own insecurity in turning 30 and the stigma that so often comes with it. He consoled himself in the fact that even though it was the least of the reasons, it was as promised, the truth.
After making sure they had enough alcohol, the boys stood on the mountain in a semi circle to toast the fact that it was but 5 minutes until he was allowed to drink. The air smelled like spring veld grass and marijuana, still cold with the last remnants of winter that only showed themselves in the wee hours of the morning. He
The Toilet Incident: A True StoryThe Toilet Incident
The day had not been particularly full or productive. I had risen early, or earlier than I would have liked, and I set about making breakfast. Coffee, bacon, eggs. I sat about waiting for the birthday festivities, periodically examining Facebook and my email, before cooking dinner for my good friend. There had been presents and cake, but all of us felt rather underwhelmed. There were no movies or party games, no friends gathered about the house for fun events. It was actually quite dull.
The highlight of my day had been the conversation on Facebook with my good friend on the opposite side of the country, but I felt nature interrupt me. A certain uncomfortable rumble made its presence known in my gut, and I decided prompt and decisive action was needed. I headed in to the bathroom, and raised the toilet lid.
The porcelain throne gazed at me, and next to it the cat’s litterbox. The prospect of a long duration next to that smell was not an enviable one, but I was
BooksBooks were never the far corners of the garden for me. They didn't provide the warm hum of somewhere nobody could reach me. The words didn't trickle behind my ears or reveal perfectly uniformed beads in spiralled paragraphs like only the spiders could. I didn't read because, unlik most children, I wasn't transported by the words to a faraway land in the way that 'only books can'.
Now it's different. I'm not flung headfirst into a mist of punctuation, no. Now I use the words to fill my ears like cotton wool. The world I'm in consists of four glass walls that muffle the sounds of the world, but ultimately, books can't shelter me from the rain.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More