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Literature
the rose pile.
The rose pile,
a butchered St. Valentine’s Massacre--
I wonder where the color went.
If I die,
will I only see black and white?
No matter,
dirtied air stings my eyes
and considerations dissipate.
There are certain nights
I can only think in terms of
predator and prey,
but whatever my echoes,
time tuts and turns he back on me.
The newspaper hush
kept my devastation quieted.
Somehow it always comes back to
faces in the crowds,
roots gasping up from the dirt,
a body count in the bustling streets.
Sometimes my eye hooks itself to a certain face
and drives truth through its temple
like a rusting stake.
I never touched a skeletal basement
nor brushed my fingers to its razored walls,
but the screams reverberate just the same
until all suffering becomes white noise--
fruit blossoms from these wounds,
these peaches shedding blood or dripping juices.
I think about
the wood splinter in the grayscale mechanism,
how fascist teeth gnaw the boulevards.
I see a sister,
Tight-finger-clutching ski
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Literature
to wake the dead.
would it be terribly insensitive
for me to say “good morning”
in a cemetery?
the sun lifts up slowly,
and the dead sleep in late,
as usual.
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Literature
another story on the bathroom stall.
I want you to undress me. Really undress me, like you’re digging through my clothes in hopes of finding my soul and becoming surprised when you find an endless expanse of skin instead. You expose me and somehow it’s new, like I’m a thief caught with jewels in both pockets. Your hands are new animals set loose on the foreign terrain of my body, and I close my eyes and forget about being sixteen and losing my virginity in the backseat of a car. I forget about how our laughter punctured the night beneath the street lamp and the way the windshield fogged white; I forget about him whispering love and softness and song lyrics with warm breath into the trembling flesh of my collarbone.
You drape me in honeysuckle. The scent is overpowering. Our faces are reflections in a night pond, rippling and passing and never lingering for too long. My first love fades to a shrinking memory, pale and dying for lack of tending. A million sensory pinpricks across my brain, all the tidy fre
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Literature
on forcing passion.
imagine trees of tangerines,
heavy sagging suns on all the branches.
rip one down, introduce it to
vivisection
(though dead or alive, it
never cries out),
and
squeeze
until pulp like entrails
forces itself between your dripping fingers.
stare blankly at the mess
and attempt to clean it,
succeed only in
staining your clothes golden.
work the designs against your skin
until the mistakes become tattoos
and the rinds before you look
less like refuse and more like
fresh-hatched eggshells.
as the morning scent stings your senses,
reach up.
don't look,
just touch, and
rip down another.
and another.
and another.
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Literature
family portrait.
Your family tree simply grew this way.
Your mother’s tongue cut throats as well as stone walls, but it never reached your skin. You considered this a blessing, failing to account for the million praises you never heard. Since the moment you were born, she struggled to separate your face from her morning coffee. She lived in a slow blur and you were an alert inconvenience. Nearly every morning she faded through the kitchen and living room, reciting old sorrows to herself while you wondered what you had done to confuse her.
Sometimes she remembered to kiss you goodnight. Other times she pretended you didn’t exist when you cried for her. Soon enough you realized that it was better to stay quiet because then it hurt less when she didn’t speak.
You were too young to understand, crouched on the sofa with an innocent moon of a face. How could you have known?
One day when you had been left alone in the house, as you often were, you amused yourself by digging through your fami
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Literature
old love.
there was a time when
the slightest hint of our fingers brushing
would set my soul to tremors,
and I would want to blend our minds and bodies
together like two warming stones
approaching magma.
you would ask me to kiss you
and I wouldn't answer,
just enfold your collar to my handprint
and drag you lip-first 
to leave trails of honey in my mouth
and sweet stains of kind bruises
in a heart march down my neck.
we were story book boy-meets-girl
hand-holding novices
just learning how to steam up a window
and figuring out what it meant
to put someone else before yourself,
and it lasted long cherry-coated months
until that night you saw me cry.
I poured pain against your shoulder
and you held me until I could breathe again.
you became so tired that
you put your head across my lap
and let me stare into your eyes,
and maybe it was the hour's late echo
but in that moment I knew every reason
why I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.
suddenly we weren't
cherub paintings on some
vale
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Literature
things I never told you.
some poems feel like water.
this one is more like sand,
and I'm suffocating in the maw
of a desert that was better left
rusting its clairvoyance.
it started one night when I remembered
that I've kept everything you've ever given me:
roses, faces, promises.
I never really understood
how to let things go,
and when the thought of 
turning the things you'd touched
away from my doorstep
choked the poetry from my throat,
I realized why.
I keep reminding myself that
I should probably be nicer to you,
but I think you already know 
that I'm only capable of being nice
when I'm cornered and out of ideas.
and despite what you claim,
you've never been like me.
you have a magic with the world
that I could never hope to understand, and
I think someday you'll charm the devil
into sending you back to the skies.
besides, when it came to you,
I was never an exception.
I named myself a blade of grass
and bit my tongue,
but like they say,
sometimes trouble can find you
when you least expect it.
I
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Literature
A Robot Love Poem
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Literature
salt pillars.
He's smoking again.
I am forced to remind myself that I shouldn't give a damn. I resolutely pretend I don't notice, even as his cigarette expels long silvery-grey strands into the frigid January air. 
He hasn't seen me yet. The distance between us yawns forward, a wordless expanse. It could be a heartbeat away or an entire ocean, but it is neither, just a slushy street corner in a quiet town. It's the place I grew up, a little community where the only thing to do is drugs and nobody has ambition beyond tonight's rest. 
I used to think it was beautiful. The gratified park benches told me stories; the Sharpie on the bridges let me know of every "Someone + Someone Forever". The cliff, however, was the best of all: that was the place I'd found magic for the first time. That was the place I truly met him, the place I'd kissed him once like a secret and kept him as my own from then on.
We walked these sidewalks through long slants of summer sunsets, and we walked them through ice a
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Literature
tease.
your body is candlelight
and I 
keep brushing my fingers 
to the flame, daring it to bite back.
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Literature
bitter.
somewhere between his 
gasping green eyes
there is the lip print
of a woman he doesn't remember.
she doesn't exist to him anymore,
but to me she is a
bloodstain that won't wash clean,
the black X's slashed into my calendar.
so when he comes home,

grab him by the tie
and
slam him to the wall
and
kiss him
hard
until the press of my lips
defiles the grave of 
a girl who once
thought he was beautiful.
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Literature
ceiling song.
there aren't words for eves so blue,
the proper spine's late midnight arc.
each moment lures the insects through
to shadowed pinholes in the dark.
with a lock of moonlit eyes,
they spin their lilacs, quell their lies--
yet in the pits where beauty lies,
a soul calls out its lonesome blues.
no ear could hear, no brain could eye
this broken comet's downward arc
from space and stars and lights and darks,
from hope and hearts and while worlds through.
they spit the magic, the dance is through
and words all breed their classic lies
that strangle innocence and paint her dark,
beyond the views of reds or blues,
beyond lips and tongues and reaching arcs
the Fates cry wolf past city eyes.
and distant from the scope of eyes
the call of hands is grasping through 
and piercing purest silent arcs
and digging hollow graves to lie
the lonely, beaten, black and blue,
the ones who promise to the dark.
his voice is heaven in the dark,
art that pulls the twist of eyes
past the room and depths so blu
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:iconlittleblueraccoon:littleblueraccoon 34 11
Literature
six thoughts about last night.
i.
deep blue violets
curl their tongues 
through phone lines.
electric currents are no
decoy for a lover,
but they press themselves
dry onto their paper
and rinse their eyes bloodshot
on the scrape of a night glow.
ii.
their fat hearts 
drip the hours,
candle wax.
tiny flames light
like city lamps spanning
so far into the distance
that they blur
into the morning's tailspin.
when I exhale the flame's
dire ghost,
my eyelids departing their hills
awaken suns opposite the earth.
iii.
lipstick on text
is only color engulfing
speech.
it's a magic show
and we all go home 
disillusioned.
iv.
I wonder
if he'll become
swallowed by white noise
while I sleep.
my greatest fear is
the unopened letter,
the funeral beneath the sea
with the coffin covered in signatures
whose handwriting I can't decipher.
v.
sometimes every mile
kisses me goodnight
as if my bed is an altar
at which they lay their blessings.
sometimes it feels real
enough that I thank god
before I fall asleep.
vi.
even sun
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Literature
after the party.
He's drunk in the backseat. 
"Anna. Anna. Anna," he moans, as if my name is a broken record his throat can't stop scratching; his voice is nettles and thorns, every natural prick and annoyance. My knuckles go white on the wheel.
Ryan's riding shotgun and he won't look at me. "If you need me to drive him home, I can do it," he offers sheepishly. I don't answer, just press my foot to the gas and let the engine's rusty roar engulf John's voice.
I peek in the rearview mirror. John's laying across the seat like a dead trout, and I can tell Ryan hasn't even bothered to buckle his seat belt. There's a photo album in John's arms that he clings to with all ten fingers, as if it's a bible and he's lying on his deathbed. 
I flick my gaze to the old country road ahead, a blurry blue smear of early morning. 
"Anna. Anna, I wanna keep her pictures." There's a glint of something in my peripherals, and then a pop, a cool hiss.
"Put the booze down. I don't need you throwing up in my godd
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Literature
conch shell baby.
"just remember how this feels,"
I whispered to the evening's belt.
it hummed in reply,
a mother hushing her child's cries
with century music.
it could have been crafted
by the fingers of glass orchestras.
I let them strum until
the vibrations send earthquakes
rattling buildings like 
aristocrat jewels.
this, I knew,
was silence deciding to scream,
a storm finally hawk-winging
its thunder to the world.
I, an unperforated 
sheet of old tastes,
I, an empty letter
taped beneath the mattress...
I lifted my life to my earlobe
and waited for the sound.
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Literature
stardust in the sheets.
tonight I'm gonna
pull down the sky,
throw it into my bed,
and strip it naked.
but I'll make it slow
and quiet.
I'll add just enough
warm touch
to make it seem sincere,
breathe in just enough life
to make it feel secure.
I'll whisper that I love it
and hold it tight, tight, tight
before I turn away from it,
let it memorize my back
as I fall into 
dreamless sleep.
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littleblueraccoon
Kat
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Kat.
Eighteen years old.
Kinda awkward.
Literal flower child.
An ever-changing work in progress.

Nice to meet ya :heart:

Icon by witchpaws
Interests
emsoileau got me again, and seeing as I couldn't manage to do it the first time, here's my thirteen facts, question-answering thingamaboo.

Thirteen Facts:

1.) I LOVE reading about unsolved crimes, unexplained disappearances, mysteries, and ghosts. I'm always intrigued by a good mystery and these are my favorites which sometimes makes me think I'm a little twisted. It's not that I like the fact that people went missing, I'm just curious about how it happened and why, especially when there are cases with inexplicable details that nobody can understand. And then after I read all of these scary/disturbing stories, I get too scared to sleep. c:

2.) My favorite candies are ones that combine chocolate and crunchy things. Chocolate covered pretzels, KitKats, Crunch, Twix, and the like. Can't beat that flavor & texture combo :heart:

3.) I am extremely sentimental. I mean this in the I-have-a-shoebox-under-the-bed-full-of-old-notes-and-birthday-candles-and-wedding-invitations-and-bottle-caps-and-movie-stubs-and-presents-from-friends-and-notes-my-mom-left-in-my-lunchbox-when-I-was-in-kindergarten kind of way.

4.) Kind of along with that last point, I am very connected to music and I can trace almost every song/artist I know to a particular time, place, moment, or person. My brother is Elton John, my dad is U2, my best friend is My Chemical Romance, and my ex is Queen. 

(and trust me, this quality of myself makes it hard as fuck to get over him because every song is tied to a memory and I have a million with him)

but actually in every other case this is something I really love about myself and I love how different songs bring up different good memories.

5.) My wisdom teeth are coming in and ow why

6.) I doodle uncontrollably. none of my school papers are ever clean. my pre-calc teacher last year had us hand in our notebooks when the year was up and I had to flip through my entire book scribbling out elaborate calligraphy spelling out "I Hate This Class" along with detailed drawings of topless mermaids and shit C:

7.) I also love drawing on people. I draw mock tattoos. I actually drew a pretty great on my friend Ryan of a cat with two daggers along side it that said "EDGY" on a banner underneath. Wish I had a picture before he washed it off lol.

8.) I love spearmint gum. Or really any mint that's gonna freshen up my life. Fruity gum can go fuck itself imo

9.) I'm a night person. I like how quiet it gets when it's late and it's just peaceful to me, a good time to write and relax.

10.) When I was younger I used to read ALL THE TIME. Now I barely do it and it makes me sad, I wish I was as obsessed with books as I used to be. I don't think my love for literature has gone away, just changed, and I've gotten so busy and my head gets so noisy that reading just doesn't work.

11.) I've had a lot of pets over my childhood, though most have now gone to the cute pearly gates in tiny heaven. :( These pets include a dog named Montana, two birds named Joanie and Chachi, three hamsters named Rocko, Shelly, and Yoda, a guinea pig named Ozzy, a ferret named Honey, a fish named Robert, a rabbit named Elvis, and finally, my current pet, a dog named Maverick.

If you couldn't tell, I REALLY LOVE ANIMALS :heart::dummy:

12.) I want a cat. A BIG FLUFFY ORANGE CAT to cuddle and love.

13.) I'm the mom friend. Got bandaids and snacks in my purse, always available with hugs and advice, and threaten to beat up any boys who make my gals cry.


EMS's questions

1) how do you feel about divorce?

:(

Sad it has to happen, but it's better to separate than to live a life where one or both parties could be happier elsewhere. personally if I'm ever getting married (and I want to get married because I'm romantic as fuck), I'm making sure 100% that it's the person I'm going to love and be with forever. That's my goal, that marriage can actually be fun and not a chore and that two people can actually live together and happily be soulmates and best friends for all their lives.

2) go look up the blues traveler song hook if you've never heard it and tell me your opinion of it (hint: i fucking love that song beyond all goddamned reason but i'm curious what you think)

I knew this song already and I AINT TELLIN YOU NO LIEEEE

3) is there anyone you truly trust? i mean really, really trust?

My family, I know they'll always be honest and that they have my best interests at heart.

4) do you feel like the whole trigger word/safe space culture has taken things too far or do you think they're not taking it far enough?

Oh no, this would take an entire essay to explain and people are going to get offended but actually yeah kinda I think it's gone too far. If someone's actually been through trauma and wants something graphically violent to have a trigger warning, yeah okay I understand cases like that. But lately it seems like anything is a trigger (because there's a certain breed of tumblr teen who just thinks everything in his/her life is an issue) and I don't think it's logical or possible to warn for them all. It shouldn't be the world's responsibility to censor itself for certain people...especially when people claim that they're triggered by something like a spoon. People like that I feel are just trolling, which sucks because it makes it even harder for people who truly are triggered by certain things to be protected.

And the whole safe space thing kind of pisses me off. Because...and keep in mind, this is the delicate flower speaking...the world and society shouldn't have to bend over backward because some people are too sensitive. I have anxiety issues. I have hidden in public bathrooms to collect myself during work, I have locked myself into closets at parties because I became too overwhelmed. And eventually I realized that at some point, you need to be able to figure out how to function through the anxiety and live your goddamn life. Because you can't rely on your father to make all your phone calls your entire adult life just because the thought scares you. You can't expect your friends to order food for you at a restaurant forever. And that's what I've had to learn to do. 

I think the "safe space" idea is blaming the world because an individual is too "sensitive" to handle it, when in reality, if you find these things tough, you need to figure out how to survive in the real world, whether that means seeing a therapist, getting medication, or pushing through what's holding you back.

Hopefully that made sense and didn't offend anyone, keep in mind that's just my opinion on the matter.

5) to you, what makes a truly good leader of a country?

Someone who isn't Bush

6) going along with #5, if you're from the US, who would you personally elect as president if the choice were yours and yours alone? why? it doesn't matter if the person is famous or anything just someone you personally feel embodies what a good leader needs to be.

One of my best friends should be president. He's intelligent, driven, and looks quite handsome in a suit. (Love you G.) But for real, I could see him becoming president someday, he's really mature and does fantastically with anything he puts his mind to.

7) do you believe you can love a person's work (music, paintings, whatever they do) without liking, loving or even agreeing with the person themselves? (i'm thinking in particular of one of my favorite musicians right now)

Definitely. To give an example, the singer from Front Porch Step was (I think) faced with charges for sending nudes to an underage girl, which is disgusting and like dude what the fuck. But I really did enjoy a lot of the band's music. Kind of leaves a bad taste in my mouth now, but I think it's true that you can like the music and hate the person for what they did.

8) let's say you're travelling to a specific country for the express purpose of eating a particular dish made there. which country are you going to and what dish is it?

Hmmm. I wanna go to Germany. Get me some goddamn schnitzel and strudel right now

9.) when it comes to making true, close friends:
a) what is one major, absolute, non-negotiable trait or belief, etc. they must have? 
b) what is one major, absolute, non-negotiable dealbreaker? (basically the opposite of A)

a.) Sense of humor. If you're serious all the time, there's no chance we're ever going to get along. All I do is joke around and if you're never laughing I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that you're boring and also that you probably hate me so
b.) I can't really get along with people who are overly righteous. And I'm a pretty good kid (no drugs no alcohol no parties do my homework eat my veggies) but if I hear any preaching from someone about my lifestyle or if I get the feeling I'm being shamed/judged by someone who thinks themselves morally higher, I'm over it. No thank you :b

10.)  have you ever wished that you were of a different ethnicity?

Not really

11) cello or piano? and yes you have to pick one.

Piano! I'm actually learning right now C:

12) i know this is a hot-button type question but what is your stance on abortion? if you'd prefer not to answer i guess just tell me what you like best at your favorite restaurant?

...

I like chicken alfredo at a local Italian place. :)

13) could you make the decision to push the red button?

You mean like to launch a nuke? Lol wayyyy too much pressure I wouldn't handle that very well at all I don't think

my questions

1.) If you were a type of food, what type would you be, and why?

2.) What's your favorite movie and why? Give a lil description in case someone's not familiar, but no spoilers! ;)

3.) What's your favorite song lyric, and what song/artist is it from?

4.) What country are you from? What do you think your country is best at compared to other countries, or what do you like best about it?

5.) What's your favorite holiday, and why?

6.) What does love mean to you? How does it feel, what does it make you think about?

7.) Do you believe in aliens and/or ghosts?

8.) What artistic medium do you feel you work best with? Which medium do you think you need to practice more with?

9.) Who was your first crush, and what are they like now?

10.) Do you have any quirky/funny personal beliefs of interest to your watchers?

11.) What era of music do you think is the best (and I won't judge you if you don't say 60's even though that's my favorite)?

12.) Can you do that thing where you twist your tongue into that clover shape (probably google it if you don't know what I mean)?

13.) Do you believe in magic...in a young girl's heart?

tags:

GuinevereToGwen
ArtsyRosey
BleedingProphecies
counting-vertebrae

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:iconmaximumray:
MAXIMUMRAY Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012
Thanks for the fav! <3
And welcome/ welcome back to DA? XD
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Shootingstar37654 Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the favorite, and welcome to DA! Here, have a fluffy llama!
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lunalove2 Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you for the :+fav:^^
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jesaia Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Professional Traditional Artist
thanks for the :+fave: :)
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SadisticYellowBird Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave! Very unexpected, I wrote that so long ago. But appreciated very much, nevertheless! Welcome to dA, by the way. :)
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lemon2go Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
thanks for the fave and weeeelcome to dA (;
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mkmkmkzzzz Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the fav! ^.^
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