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Friends?My heart races when I'm with you.
But I don't know, do you love me too?
You're charming and funny,
Sweeter than honey.
The most beautiful eyes in the whole damn world.
Could you ever fall for such a stupid girl?
We talk, and laugh, but nothing more.
I wonder, what are we waiting for?
I look into the mirror and see
That I am not who I want to be.
How could you fall for a girl so gross?
We'll never be together—
Hell, just friends at most.
I'm so confused, and yet I feel
I would run a thousand miles
If I knew when I was done,
That I could see your smile.
Hear your laughter, and your voice too,
Saying to me softly, "I love you."
Tidbits of Writing"Jeanette"
When Jeanette had left the room, I heard a giggle from the other side of the wardrobe. As I peeked, I saw a small, round face smiling back at me, that of a girl perhaps nine, ten years of age. This, I told myself, must be Lillian. God, how she looked like her mother. Not in a sexual way, of course; rather, she seemed to be the essence of all things pure and angelic about Jeanette. At least, until you looked into her eyes. There, in the aquamarine depths, she held a gleam of mischief that, if nothing else, told you whose daughter she truly was.
Tidbits of Writing"Jeanette"
Ah, Jeanette. Just seeing the way her chestnut curls cascaded down her back was enough to let a man die happily. Then you saw her angelic face; the soft upturn of her nose, her aquamarine eyes, her soft baby cheeks down to her wide smile, a smile so bright and contagious one felt as if nothing could ever go wrong were he to see it. Her face, however, was the only angelic thing about her. The sinful curve of her backside, the wicked v-shape of her bosom she revealed when bent over, the lusciously long legs and creamy skin tone—a dangerous package designed to bring men to their knees, while at the same time thanking the heavens for such a beautiful creature. Ah, Jeanette. Would I never tire of seeing her? Was I truly to bask in her beauty, day after day, yet receive nothing for my patience? I had yet to learn the answer to my questions, but I was determined to answer them—and soon.
Tidbits of Writing"Where am I?" I yelled, echoes bouncing from wall to slimy wall. I called again, "Where am I? Hello?" Knowing full well no one would answer, I curled my knees up to my chin and sat. It was dim in the cave, though not completely dark, as though light were coming from somewhere. Where it came from, however, I couldn't decide. It seemed as though the walls themselves were emitting a sickly, mucus shade of green luminescence. Suddenly, my ears perked. I heard something, faint, besides the drip of the wall. I heard it once more, my ears not possibly working correctly. Could it be? I heard it again, louder this time, and there was no mistaking it—someone, or something, was giggling. It sounded as though it were a young schoolgirl, though I quickly dismissed that idea. If it truly were a young girl, wouldn't she call for help, or have heard my pleas? For a time, it was silent, which made me jump all the more when I heard it again, closer this time. The laughing had taken a wicked edge, and se
Tidbits of WritingShe didn't know it was possible to hate someone so completely, so fully, so irrevocably...but he proved it true that very night.
It wasn't even something he'd done directly-though that may have been part of the problem.
She wasn't sure if what she felt was loathing, pure and unadulterated in its intensity-or if all the books she'd read were right...and she really was just jealous.
She thought the former a much more probable scenario.
Catalina...Just Names For Now.Hola! Me llamo Cat. Mi nombre realmente es Catalina Antionette Rosa Juarez. Yo vivo en Florida, y yo hablo ingles, pero soy de Mexico. Yo tengo catorce anos, y mi cumpleanos es el diecinueve de mayo. Tengo siete hermanos, tres chicos y cuatro chicas. Mis hermanas mayores tienen diecisiete, dieciseis, y quince anos. Mi otra hermana tiene catorce anos tambien. Mis hermanos mayores tienen dieciseis y quince anos. Mi hermano menor tiene diez anos.
Ahora, mas sobre me. Mis amigos dicen que soy lista, bonita, traviesa, extrovertida, y comica. Mis padres dicen que soy talentosa, creativa, y inteligente. Tengo pelo oscuro y casi rizado, y soy baja. Me gusta mucho cantar, bailar, dibujar, escribir, pasar un rato con mis amigos buenos, y escuchar musica. Mi hermano menor dice que yo siempre paso mi rato maquillarse. Es verdad? Claro que si! Soy una chica, y deseo ser bella todos los dias! Yo tengo un novio; su nombre es Mateo. Es muy guapo, inteligente, listo, comico, y simpatico. Cuando el no p
The Fa--"Alice!" she pleaded after me. I grinned and looked down at Krissy.
"I'll be FINE," I said. I turned back around and grabbed the next branch. Step by step, I zipped up the old tree, leaving my baby sister--the unarguably sensible one--at the bottom, keeping watch for our caretaker, Muriel.
"Alice Marie Koldam! Get back down here right NOW!" Krissy screeched in her high-pitched, nine year old voice. I ignored her. I was almost to the top anyway, what could go wro--
I misstepped. My head, hit a branch, my legs twisted, I grabbed for tree but there was nothing keeping me up. I could feel a warm, sticky wetness on my shoulder and my ankle. Whirling colors, blinding pain, the snapping sound of bones or branches, I couldn't be sure anymore. I could faintly hear Krissy's bloodcurdling scream as I finally hit the ground, landing on my side.
Amnesia"Hello," said a voice. Jamie wheeled around and stared at who--or perhaps what--had spoken. A young girl, no older than eight or nine, stood barefoot in a white cotton dress, her brillian sapphire eyes seeming to pop out of the pale canvas that was her face.
"Hello," she said again. The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement as Jamie blinked perplexedly. The girl's jet black hair was short and tied in a loose bun, with most of it swirling around and framing her small face.
Jamie noticed this, fingered her long ponytail, and asked, "Who...are you?" The girl, to Jamie's growing fear, smiled wickedly at this, and shook her head.
"Trust me, my dear. You need not know."
Her voice was lower than expected and Jamie shuddered, stepping back a foot or two. The girl laughed suddenly and turned, her hair whipping out of its confines like a tornado, and she disappeared from the empty Autumn forest in a gust of wind. Confused and frightened, Jamie continued to stare at the spot, horrified.
Roselyn OlympusI'd never have believed that it happened if it hadn't happened to me.
I breathed heavily, then fast, faster and faster until I could almost surely feel my brain beginning to swell. My heart pounded erratically, and I felt sick with the aching pain in my abdomen. I ran all the harder as I heard a guttural, spitting, shrieking noise behind me. I didn't know if I could outrun the beastthat was all I could call him, for I had no inkling of what he was, only that he was malebut running, just moving away from him, seemed instinctual, as though it was all I could do, which was most likely true. I wound through the trees, the dull colors whirling past, blending together, as I set my eyes on the miniscule light ahead, a safe haven in a forest of darkness. Branches scraped and cut my arms and face, weeds sinisterly attempted to wrap around my ankles, snapping as I pulled harder forward. Running, breathing, pain, aching pain. It was all I could do to push on, as my sides split, and my
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?
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
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
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
jackal grinMy orange peel
lips split: the beams
a deck of cards
nana’s worn porch,
and fingers weaving
through grass blades
when the light is
soft and warm.
(have you f
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
MusicTo live, to learn, to fly
To love to dream to die
To give it all up for the one you love
To give all glory to God above
To know who I am
To not be afraid
To know where to go
When I need an escape
To understand you're here for me
To look in the mirror and love what I see
To play to laugh to dance and sing
Music taught me everything.
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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