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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
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
SafeI clasped my hand tight shut around my mothers.
I was a possessive oyster wrapped around pearly fingers
bitten white by the freshly whisked air.
We braced ourselves against the frozen metal frames
that, although unmovable by infantile hands,
were not a substantial enough barrier against a tempest.
The sea lashed out its limbs in a fury
and the sky’s face paled grey with worry
at what that grasping anger might achieve.
It rose to greet us, stood on mighty churning haunches
and collapsed heavily around our shoulders
with the dramatic violence of a dancer
crashing down upon a splintered Tibia.
It drenched us, filling mouths and ears with water.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine, comforting,
and as the sea drew back again,
preparing to strike out at us over and over
until its very exhaustion point – and over once more –
As it readied itself to slash our raincoats,
with the force of an evening spiralling into true darkness,
over and over –
for a moment the smell o
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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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More