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are you intentionally oblivious?i told you i couldnt sleep
and when i finally did i had nightmares
it felt as if i was clawing my way out of a well
and i told you through typos that i was scared
phasing in and out of sleep paralysis
eyelids like lead, drowning in a sense of being deep underwater
I told you I was terrified of falling asleep again, of the vivid, awful dreams
and your response was
"yeah, im tired too."
RepetitionI'm going to write about Leo again, but this time, I'm going to be truthful about it.
It happens often that I wish he'd never found me, or I him.
That we had remained strangers,
going about our lives,
Ignorant to what we were missing (good and bad).
Though physical space and mental walls separate us, I still cannot find love elsewhere
You've taken my heart and now it beats in your hands
and though I attract others with unexplained magnetism,
I am not considering them the same way
and I never will.
You make things harder, you dogged and figurative lion
you, who loses English in intensity
you, who loses time to whiskey,
you, who loses music to guitars
who writes in secret, and can't sleep at night
who hates the cold but can't stand heat either,
and leaves into the dark to fall further
into depressive abuse of your own mind.
You are not perfect and neither am I. I still wonder if you even know how to hold conversation,
or if everything is one sided and two dimensional to you.
Talk to me,
To all of you.I wish I could stop stating that I don't know what to say, but I’ve found it is the best way to start something new. Yes I continue to write the same words in different phrases, different statements, yet still just as meaningful. I have found that others look for the connections, the burning trees and drums, the references to oceans and the way I fabricate fire each time (its always changing). They search for the contradictions, find each way I illustrate inversions and start words with the same letters. Its just what happens, and thats really all I can say about it.
I’ve had many tell me that artistry is a reflection of the mind- and I can say this is true.
To you, who say otherwise, you know, its only out of fear of judgement.
I am not afraid to say that this is me, that these words, disturbing, vexing, and altogether strange (yet relatable), are my reflections. Reflections on mentality, reflections on emotions and opinions and what may seem like just-more-melodram
You cant buy my mentality.You know, for what its worth, I have to say this,
that, after everything ive been through
after the exhaustion, that tired feeling that
only few of us share
theres still enough to keep me going.
I may need the rest, and I may endure the
restlessness, but there is no difference between
life getting easier, or continuing to be difficult.
like everyone else and
I write, like many do (yet they refuse to admit)
and I paint, I burn pages with charcoal
I stain paper with ink in the form of
landscapes or trees.
and I strategize the next word to illustrate
no matter which pen I use.
Nights of drug-addicts, keeping me up
dont slow this,
they make me grateful
for what could have been (to other friends)
and I relish the fact that it was me
and not you. not her. not my sister, however metaphorical that may be
and I say
Dear lonely, violent escapist
thank you- thank you for thinking you could take me
so I may warn all the others
who might have been within your grasp.
snowfall beaconsThere isn't much for me to write about lately.
I could contemplate the cold, the mountains and snow
or I could lament the distance between us,
create a metaphorical connection between you and
the way I see my breath
every time I speak
Every time I breathe.
I could draw pictures in the frost
on car windows, begging to be washed,
wander down the main street with smoke in my hand,
again exhaling visibility. Is it you in the air I see?
You're simply farther down the monochrome asphalt,
always a sorrowful step ahead of me.
You know I could sleep at night,
and avoid the insomnia,
but we both know the impossibility behind the sun
how it blinds us in its haze and reflections
and the dark is always easier to deal with.
We are night-born creatures, you and I
We find our lifetimes in the silence of snowfall,
slave to the backdrop of three-hours-past-midnight
and the lack of noise you only find
in small towns like this one.
Still, in the soundlessness and absent light
we'll continue to find one an
Ive found a place to wait
The sun rises every morning I am here,
Over mountains and into the valley
gradually, beams through trees and buildings.
I have blues in my ears and cold hands again,
Though my coffee keeps them warm,
(one at a time)
and the flag decides if I can see,
unblinded by the light
shining over the ridge.
Some nights I'm here for hours,
through since midnight
wreathed in smoke, alone
I disregard my inability to breathe.
Oh, purple shadows and
train steam, rumbling, rambling black engines
golden cars rolling past
tell me this wooden bench will lure you forth
back to me,
what ever I may be waiting for.
I have cotton in my journal,
and a cigarette receipt
and I am sure there is a metaphor behind it
for the waterfalls and fire.
But it does not matter,
I've found a place to wait
And I've got something to wait for.
The train leaves in two hours,
Be there. (I will)
Of that, at least, I can be sure.
breathe deeper the mountain air
I find temptation everywhere
An invitation to stray
To give in
To absent desires and emotions.
I wish it was different,
That I could see you
Without falling, or flying
Through every wave of denial,
I wish you would come find me
Console my longing heart.
I feel you near and it's driving me
To the edge of Insanity.
Your withdrawal from myself is
Pulling the tension farther
Pulling the tension harder
Making this harder to
-Through rivers of salt, and oceans of mud,
vinegar wine poured in frost glasses
from mountain winds and shale and frozen breath
for fire and burning lavendar, and heated clay
passing levels for each step, higher, frigid altitude
beating drums in your direction,
beating lungs in your reflection.
[you make it harder to breathe]
there is a godI look at this blank page and see the infinite possibilities.
I am underwater.
Drowning in white,
fingers wrapped around the pen,
knowing its the only object that can lift me out.
the only source of lungs,
writing with whatever is left
from my faltering mind.
I wait for my deity,
golden eyes behind dark windows
and heels clicking on pavement,
smoke prevelant. fire in his hands.
cigarettes on the cold ground,
cherry still glowing, alone.
I can tell you he does exist as
another god in a lawless reality.
He is in the somber countenance
of every sinner,
in the shuffled walk of veterans
limping, broken, and alive,
a change behind their eyes.
There was a chain around my neck,
symbolic of his presence- gone,
where his own marks used to be.
It left scars. Like him.
Marking my belief, that soon
He will come back to me.
He is near.
I struggle with the feeling,
of tension spread between us
years waiting, longing
amplified, with every hour passing
and every mile descending
i promise i wont forget, the chain around my neckTell me how you wish to be forgiven
spill your lamentations to the floor
grovel at the feet of every sin youve ever spoken
and drill what prayers are left upon the door.
I know you feel so helpless,
kneeling for the smoke, for the burning trees
hanging another masochistic bullet
for the blood on your black sleeves,
in silver chains around your neck.
You carry a cross, I know
chrome, heavy, leaving bruises and
scars with every step, and every second
crucified to your chest in the irony
of your godless world
held only as a memory
for the irony of your godless years,
your endless years.
oh, my love, your endless fears.
I know you feel so helpless,
how you wish to be forgiven,
I know you carry your chains to feel bound
back to the earth, and to me,
I know your fears, and your lamentations
for I have heard them whispered in your sleep.
You walk through flames and come out unscathed,
dont think I have forgotten
what you come from,
in what fires of hell you were so mercilessly bathed.
Dear deviantART: Free The Author
In a world as colorful, diverse, unique and beautiful as it is today, I’ve learned through my 10 months on this website that many people enjoy expressing themselves in many different ways when it comes to art.
Whether it be through romance, nature, darkness, light or everything else there is to express with, it becomes even more interesting when I see the people express themselves with so many different mediums.
Myself? I enjoy expressing my artistic abilities through many mediums: Digital art, poetry, but most avidly, the xReader fandoms. Avengers, Sherlock, Free!, Shingeki no Kyojin and many, many others.
99% of my stories are romantic. I love to write romance, though I usually don’t take it much further than a little something like a sweet little kiss, the beginning of a new relationship, a baby being born, or occasionally, the odd sexual innuendo. Once, I tried writing a lemon. However it didn’t work out very well, and I decided to remove it for personal reasons.
My ConfessionI never really thought about my lack of sexual interest before society confronted me with it.
It took me quite a while to notice guys as anything more than "other people", and when I did, it was more a group pressure thing than real interest.
I even had a boyfriend then, but not because I particularly liked the guy. Having a boyfriend in your teens is a status symbol. Have one, you're cool, have none, you're not.
Of course, back then things weren't that clear to me. I went with the flow.
For a very long time, I wondered what is wrong with me that I don't enjoy sex, that It makes me feel awkward and that I have no desire to go out and date. Society made me believe it is wrong to be like that. I was ashamed of myself, of my flaws and my obvious failure of being a full-fledged human being.
You define yourself through others. You try to figure out who you are, and you look at others for guidance, for something you can identify with. But you only limit yourself with that, and not finding si
Never Become Like MeWHAT INSPIRED ME TO CREATE THIS PIECE!
"Creating things is an amazing thing. it’s amazing to see what other people are doing, to see the inner workings of someone else’s brain, but in their own style. and if you want to do it, you just go for it. you try. you have to try. ” ~PJ Liguori (KickThePJ) (I'm not scared video)
I am only a young girl, destined to work until my body begins to fade from the earth.
I am only a fragment of the country that floats on the body of water that blankets the world.
I am a person with feelings towards many things. Some things I love so much that I would protect them, even if protecting them cost my own tiny life. Some things I despise so much that I would toss them into the flames that younger children admire so much that they utter words in a melodic fashion around it... And I would watch it burn...
Most days I wake up, I put on my clothes and I venture towards a place which I am forced to endure for six painful hours. I sit on one of t
Snuff Out My Little FlameIn the truest sense, I am much like a flame in so many different ways.
Can I count them, the reasons, off on my hands? Yes, perhaps on one, but it's still more than just comparing myself and leaving you, the unfortunate reader cursed with this unfortunate piece, hanging, no?
Burning bright with the potential of whatever it desires, providing hope for those around it; lighting the paths of worse-off, guiding them through their dark-riddled misery. Unwavering in the presence of the comforting and warm light, unwavering in the presence of the cruel and cold darkness-- something to admire for a beauty simply indescribable if one were to ask.
Ah, but with such qualities-- such a surface-- requires other, far more disgusting ones, right?
This light that burns so brightly, this flame that you think is there to protect and guide, why, I am not there for that at all-- I just happen to be in the right place at the right time. Problems of my own plague me so, and, upon my hours of need, t
seems like a bluri wish that people were more transparent.
we're all skin and bones and most of the things that keep us awake and that break our bones is so internalized
and completely invisible. cause most of the time living kind of feels like i've spent countless hours spinning around in circles, and now i'm just trying to keep my stomach from rising, or my eyes from leaking every last liquid i have inside me while the world rushes so inconceivably fast.
i know that i can heal.
skin grows over deep wounds, and even the whitest mountainous scar tissue fades. but i dont know if the external matches the inside. the cuts have healed and the bruises are starting to disappear, but i dont know how your head is feeling. you might not have the black and blue lining your skin anymore, but your insides might still be threatening to drown you, or make you wish you could just stop existing for a little while. you dont know whats happening underneath blemish free skin.
people aren't clocks.
you cant se
A little message of hopeIf you feel like dying
Please don't believe what they say,
You have a right to live,
You have a right to stay.
I don't care what you believe in,
I don't care where you're from,
Just as long as you know what feelings are,
As long as you're beautiful,
Beautiful meaning that you can love.
All that matters is that you're human,
All that matters is that you have a heart.
Your life is not worth it only if you are a bad person,
But you're not a bad person,
There will always be people who will hate you
For whatever reason,
Whether it be reasonable or not,
But no matter what they say,
There are people out there who love you for you.
Out there there are millions willing to show you
Just how much they care,
Even though they might not have met you.
You don't have to have perfect teeth,
You don't need this hour-glass shape that society wants you to have,
You don't need to be a specific gender,
And hey, it's okay if you pull at your hair,
We all want to do that in some points of life
Dealing with Awkward Questions
Awkward Questions and How I Answer or Avoid Them
What is bigender?
Bigender, bi-gender or bi+gender describes a tendency to move between feminine and masculine gender-typed behavior depending on context. Some bi-gendered individuals express a distinctly "female" persona and a distinctly "male" persona, feminine and masculine respectively; others have shades of grey between the two. It is recognized by the American Psychological Association (APA) as a subset of the transgender group.
Are you a persona?
I am Melian!
Are you an OC?
I am Melian. I am very original and I do have a lot of character, thank you!
How old are you?
None of your beeswax bucko. Sheesh.
Are you a man or a woman (boy or a girl)?
No what I mean is, what gender/sex were you born as?
OH look a butterfly! Hey, what's your favorite color? Mine is purple. I like Skittles, do you like Sk
BlinkBlink and suddenly you're 5 years old and you're running and jumping and exploring and you've skinned your knees and crying to mommy to kiss it and make it better because mommy's kisses make everything better
Blink and suddenly and suddenly you're 13 and gangly and awkward. You have breasts and all this extra weight that you don't know what to do with. They tell you you're a woman now but you don't feel any different
Blink and suddenly you're 17 and angry and rebellious and you cant understand why the world doesn't just understand you. You're screaming at mommy because she wont let you see the boy that she knows is going to break your heart. When he finally does, mommy tries to kiss it and make it better, but she cant heal you when you no longer believe you're worthy of love
Blink and suddenly you're 25 and you're stuck in a dead end job in a dead end town. You have a degree but you don't know what to do with it. You have a life or do you? Everyone keeps pushing you to look for Mr. Rig
You have no idea
What I'm keeping to myself
I don't like you
Leave me alone
You would not
Last a day
In my mind
In my corruption
Your ignorance blinds you
Your venom destroys you
From the inside out
I don't want it
I don't need it
I have my own
And that's enough
Go to hell
I'll be waiting for you
You don't know
I do neither
Leave me alone
Or I'll make you regret
Anything you've done
In your blinding
You will REGRET
You will be GONE
I will DESTROY you
I will CORRUPT you
I will END YOU
IF YOU DO NOT GET
OUT OF MY WAY.
There is so much cynicism in regret
And so much sadness in azure clouds
and plum washed horizons.
Sweeping skies and
cherried burns beyond the atmosphere leave me blinded
I spiral every time I remember the sun,
branded in the walls lining my eyes.
[More charcoal on the fire-
run faster, my iron horse.]
I don't wait for trains-
screaming through timid valleys and fearlessly over centuried bridges.
Cast the mountains in their slurry,
(They live forever too)
so do you.
I keep your hurricanes hidden and
covet them until I can hold no more
And I too will scream over cast-iron bridges,
seeking sunlight over the next ridge
seeking solace over the next bridge
dropping ash and polluting trees with more...
and salt water.
With every stone I have ever skipped
I have hoped for a new outcome,
a longer trail of success,
carving valleys there too, in waterlogged earthquakes
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More