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Reclaimed independenceAround this time last year I was writing from my apartment. Well, if you can't already guess, I'm not there anymore. My ex-roommate (formerly best friend) had turned out to be a complete nightmare to live with. She had nothing but criticism for EVERYTHING I said, did, or felt. She kept me isolated from my friends, my family, pretty much tried in vain to break me down and make me dependent on her for counsel, companionship, like to where my life didn't exist away from her. She knew from the first day we were in that apartment that I was trying to scrape together the $150 needed to make a pet deposit to bring my cat Lucy in, but she turned around and moved in her large-breed dog! EVERYTHING in that apartment was hers! The apartment was practically spotless 98% of the time because I was the one cleaning it, while her bedroom was in utter and complete SQWALOR!
There was this one occasion in July, when she r
NothingI'm neither happy
no trace of emotion
that I once had
you stare at me
I avoid your eyes
I scratch my thumb
as I hear your sighs
the excuses I give
why I seem cold
you believe not a word
that you're told
I won't give the reason
you might as well quit
I simply feel nothing
that's pretty much it
The ThespianSweeping across the stage
in my character
as if they were
from the heart
into true emotion
crashing my lips
of my fellow actor
but keep in mind
It's not me
It's my character
when I'm on that stage
I don't exist
It Gets BetterIn my 19 (almost 20) years of life, It is apparent that as a young woman in america, I'm a lot of things.
for starters, I'm a twilighter. I'm also a Gleek, a bookworm, and a 2nd generation Trekkie. I am also Bisexual and middle/high school was pure hell! in 7th grade, I was being called a dyke when I wasn't even out to myself yet! And the torture continued through my freshman year of high school, and that year I tried to take my own life (still have a scar). The failed attempt helped wake me up that I was letting the pain and alienation control my life and that I was taking for granted the love and support from my family and what few friends I had. speaking of family, I remember back when I was about 15 and I came out to my mom, I was SO scared and nervous, when I told her I started crying! She laughed and gave me a hug, telling me not to cry and that it was nothing be ashamed of, and that both the male and female body is beautiful. Now that I've shared what I dealt with, I want you to
Feet in CementI've been staring at this mirror for about ten minutes now, trying to figure my life out. Sort out where I've been, where I am, where I'm going. I stare at my appearance, wondering how many people who've seen my family and guessed I was adopted. Hardly anyone has gotten close enough to notice that mom and I have the same eyes, assuming the red, curly hair was coincidence. The numbers on that scale go up and down like bipolar mood swings, but I fail to see any difference in the spare tire around my waist that's been there since I was 13. Standing there, full-chested but not enough ass to center gravity. I've never in my life felt pretty, but people around insist on it. It's not like I think they're full of shit or pulling my leg or anything like that, it's just when I hear them saying it, it feels meaningless. I dropped out of school for almost two years ago now, and there are SO many processes I need to take, but I have NO idea where to start. So many things in the air, all out of reac
The Devil on Your Shoulder
Wrapped like a gift in sheets, playing the role
of cold turkey while sweat shakes down the flesh.
Frozen in time, forced to see life flash before
the gaping eyes as though a Pale Horse had
come alone in jest and spite.
The rapid blinks that pan the camera angles for
unsettling cinematography make for a trip to an
avant-garde Hades for the audience of one.
Those damned subliminal messages hidden
in merciless metaphors.
Demons behind the curtains, sending in paper
airplanes with scribbled teasing and temptation,
awaiting their gift to open itself and become
a savory meal that would only blend with
the memories of what once was.
A husk once called man will sit, quivering alone
in the room of his own induced Hell, while those
demons cackle and drool from every angle as the
hallucinatory short films escalate into
the award-winning nightmares.
They call for him to come out and play,
with voices like friends and tones like killers.
Strength wraps the blanket tighter, absorbing
the sweat of th
Into the DarkFalling, flying, drifting
Into the dark we go
Following you though you're broken
Into the dark we go
Just One More Time
Those chains, how their cheers can resonate
in wake and dream alike. My shoulders are
strained in time without a proper word.
How bound I am from the starting line of my
own naivety to my lack of bliss in
the lack of ignorance?
I am no longer blind, but climbing my
Jacob's ladder upwards from shame
where chains pull me back
In that foolish past, I was never aware
of these bloody chains that before me countless
others have worn in varied forms and guidance.
Stable ground that welcomes my feet is
above my head, just out of reach as the
seconds take my few grains of sand.
Those chains labor me, like massive serpents
of unholy iron that constrict with
all my struggling.
Take my heart and hands, for alone
I will only fall with the inevitable
results of time and temptation.
the shame sweeper december, windshield salted with ashes &
you half-asleep in the holiday daze
in the backseat;
(idiot child equals)wolf cub, dangerously off-key
but in the moment, so serene;
imprinted memory -
perhaps that's why you clung
to festive wrappings
and paced back and forth in january when
you could've picked a date, gone out
& taken off your clothes and had a good night's
and in the attic window
there was a sack flopping on the wind
like some kidnapped chimney sweeper,
all wrapped up in New Year's lights,
a la carte [we are]
the abnormalities of this world
variegated and willing
to leave with only our grudges in tact
when cold tentacles of truth have rendered
unleavened post hoc into zinc-
and we have discovered
the subterfuge to be a more heuristic option
- more accommodating, and much more ...
( made fresh to order )
blister packwe have many phobias
innumerable irrational fears
afraid of strangers
afraid of darkness
of being forgotten
so manslaughter kingdom come
we'll turn our wheels in un-
admonishing the glowing
lonely ghosts on their soft sober roads
well into senescense
an ode to our unpretty corpseswhen things can't coexist
sometimes the world just qualifies them on its own
with enough pure madness to drown
out the deafening silence
it is the most tenable ones left distilled
flensed and laid ritual
at the feet of Saint Cecelia
for sainted vultures to circle
and pass over in turn
Quand les violons jouent l'essentiel.Quand les violons jouent l’essentiel.
Les violons de lumière en prisme et ambre
Jouent de leurs ombres bleus la neige blanche.
À la fenêtre de l’hiver
Que la nuit touche de son givre,
Le jour de ses heures s’allongent
En turgescence d’une angoisse.
Une trace de sang dérègle
Le temps que la neige ensemence
De tous nos rêves funambules
Sur le fil chancelant du moi.
Un millier de flocons tombant,
Nous éparpillant étrangers
En la singulière mémoire.
Alice à l’étroit du miroir
Et Émilie désorientée,
Le poème est à ciel ouvert,
Frontière pointillant l’émoi.
Le cœur bat de l’inattendu
De cette perception qui crie
Notre peine à n’être que ça :
Qu’un portrait tracé au mystère
Où la rue n’est qu’un pas de plus.
Le temps déroule son allure
Dead Man's SwitchIn control, then not -
Sudden loss of grip.
Headlong to where?
Details lost, smudged, streaked.
Careening; no system of
No dead man's switch,
On a fast track -
With or without a god?
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