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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.
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
death of a sweet sixteeni found my house on
the market the
other day -
- it was 2011 again,
but the sun had set
on my nights of terror
nose to the barstool and
two black eyes, a dish
towel caught in my throat.
i keep trying to find
pieces of myself that
no longer exist - a dead dog,
baby blue walls, whispered
it sold for six figures,
and i can only wish
that i could sell my pain
for that much, but no
one would be willing to buy
it, as i am it's sole host,
the only one who
one of these days i will
drive by that sad eyed
grey house before we are
gone for good, and i will set
up with my camera, snapping
photos of my whitewashed hurt.
and if i linger too long,
so be it, as i've spent so
many nights ruined,
scraped away like the stars
once stuck on my
the bank may own my house,
but it will never own my heart.
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
ConfrontationI shed a tear
The damage will be severe
Run away in fear?
I'll fight until the coast is clear!
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
How To Not Break Your HeartHow to
not break your heart
Make sure to quickly
let go of hands
that refuse to hold you
and pretend it was
just a simple accident
(And, oh god, please,
please don't open
Admit that things
can't be perfect
when you can't convince
yourself to believe
that it was worth
the days you stayed
up until 5 AM
play your cards right and
don't love anything with a pulse-
They'll make you crumble
like a house of cards
Fall for the ones who fell
like shooting stars and
left imprints in the concrete
when their times were up
Fall for the ones you
can never touch whether
they are black-and-white,
colored, or just in another
Sculpt them to suit your needs
Fall for figments of your imagination, too
because they'll move their pieces
according to you and only you
and always you
always make sure to
love things that aren't alive
They'll never betray you
On learning lessonsWhen learning lessons,
One should listen
When practising lessons learnt,
One should capture the essence of what went before
for fear of thoughts dripping away.
When utilising the practise we drum
into into into our hands,
One should steady oneself-
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More