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Day 244She has her wings now, frail like a butterflies.
But, she wears them proudly, as she shines
in this glittered spectrum of her new self.
She's almost near her inner perfection.
Becoming the one thing she has always dreamed of.
Taking more interest in her self,
she realizes that she can finally fly.
She sees that she isn't a stupid winged creature.
She is an intelligent and beautiful butterfly.
And now that she knowsknowsknows,
she's ready to take flight.
Day 243It feels so nostalgic to be holding papers written
in my fourth grade hand and looking through photos
at a girl who never really stood a chance at love.
I was innocent; with awards and straight A's and the ability
to turn a phrase and keep too many journals.
I wrote poems and drew on the sides of my notebooks.
And there were stories about wishes for cherry rain
and taking my mother out to dinner.
I had loved my mother.
And happiness didn't lay in my heart for myself, but for everyone else.
With the only hate on a misconstrued view of my dear father.
And during those days, I kept notes that belonged to others
and little messages were scribbled onto the corners of my papers.
"Julian's head is so big" or odd mumblings that
won't ever make sense to me now.
And as I look back at these phases of my life,
I begin to wonder and almost miss this stranger that was me before.
Day 242I'm tripping over myself aimlessly
and trying to find some stability.
I'm losing control of my thoughts and footing
as each step is a step
towards another mistake.
The world is sloping downwards
and this hill is becoming dangerously steep.
I can feel myself tumbling along,
waiting for the world to just disappear beneath me.
My emotions are at an angle,
too sharp and too odd for my own good.
I'm suffering from the projections of my mood;
I'm dropping in degrees with each foot.
And as I walk, there's no direction,
no destination to steer me to better places.
And I know I'm going to lose
myself to these drastic life changes.
Day 241I want to tear a hole into my chest;
where my heart beats
and myself drowns within a mess.
I'm dying on the inside
and I want everyone to see.
My fingers poking out of my lungs,
my hands aching to be reached.
I'm calling out for help,
scribbling words into my skin.
Cut, carve and curl my edges,
until every space and every crevice and every crack
is filled with pointless ramblings.
I'm so broken.
And a monster eats away at my thoughts.
Chewing down my common sense,
until I slowly wither and rot.
I'm an almost complete nothing,
trying to hold on, but feeling myself slip.
If only my dreams weren't of kissing within fires
and drowning within oceans
and the moon crushing my very being,
perhaps I would be able to pull myself back up again.
Day 240I'm an achy-breaky- mess again.
Coloring outside the lines in blue hues.
I'm scribbling myself in tired circles,
digging the crayon into my paper skin.
A well marked misshapen reminder
that my life is just a shape.
One that doesn't ever end
and continues to meet up at the corners.
And when I'm crumpled around the edges,
torn and broken and crinkled in the mind,
my thoughts and feelings get tossed about aimlessly,
thrown out with the rest of life.
Because I'm simply blown over,
dragged under and forgotten.
I'm just this little Miss Piece of Waste
that's put out in the trash when no longer wanted.
Day 239There's a fear for every fellow;
my heart is bound to feeling scared for others.
While he drowns within a pool of sharks,
I'm trying to save another from a bottomless pit.
So dark and alarming,
all I can do is panic.
I reach out before she falls
and watch while he tries to fit in.
I'm trying to save everyone,
but inside my head I know it's too much.
My memories scratched down the walls of my conscience,
and I'm trying to ignore the marks.
But, my heart tends to fail me
and I can't stand my own wits.
I'm trying and trying and trying
to fight my fears for them,
even though I surely won't win.
And as my temple crumbles
and my walls come crashing down.
I will surely drown within my fears again
because since the beginning,
that is where my heart has been bound.
Day 238Let me take your words
and tie them with pretty little bows.
for your papers and feelings.
I don't care for their meanings.
I just want to dress them up and pretend I can stand them.
And you ask me why I'm dancing so slow,
twirling a knife and carving into my soul.
I'm taking you out.
I'm removing you from my chest.
I don't want you to be a part of my past.
And you watch me curl and fall to the floor,
a throwing of foul words and feelings vomitted.
You make me sick.
And I'm so tired of all of this.
I just want to take your hits and be done with it.
Day 237Go ahead and just let go. I'm
Over trying to hold
On to you and your hand. I
Don't want to be your friend.
Boy, let's stop playing pretend. It's not like
You really believed we were friends to begin with. And
Eventually you were willing to say goodbye someday.
Day 236You have me chasing you through my dreams
trying to hold onto something that just has no hope.
We are racing down dark hallways with too many doors.
I don't know which one to open.
I'm afraid of the memories each one holds.
And you can't quite grasp why I grow tired
of trying to get you to understand.
My words aren't enough.
And the distance to you changes everything we had.
I wish you could see that this friendship is a pile of dust.
A mess of my fallen words that slipped off my tongue.
I want to cut, cut, cut them into my skin.
Try to comprehend them.
Memorize and understand.
Because I can't quite figure out where things got out of hand.
And you can only whisper me your sorrys,
trying to give me something to hold onto.
But, I'm done, done, done.
I'm no longer wanting to be your friend,
when you clearly have proven to me that from the beginning,
I really wasn't one.
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?
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
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
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
SightStars in the night sky
I see beyond that and through
Greatness into darkness, I can fly
Here above the earth I can see the truth
There is an angel that will love me until I die
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
Day 116You try to fool me with all your lies,
covering up a face so strange.
But, I know what you're like on the inside,
and I find the monster beautiful anyways.
You say your bad luck walking my way,
and I just dismiss it all with a kiss.
I don't care for such superstititions,
I just live for what is and this.
You try to convince me that you're not worth it,
and you throw words that are never too nice.
But, I keep holding on like crazy,
because I can relate to living a difficult life.
You say you don't understand my actions,
and you pry me with questions and obscene words.
I just tell you it's very simple darling,
that I am the only one who can see your worth.
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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