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FatherI don't understand why he takes care of me
I am a burden and a mess
that goes from place to place
hurting and dumping her baggage on everything around her
I have disappointed him in so many ways
forgive me, daddy.
What ifWhat if I can't do this?
What if I can't grow?
because I'm so afraid
that I can't function
without someone to take care of.
I don't know how to want to better myself
it's a shaking that comes upon me
earth-breaking and lonely
breath comes hard
and softly goes my heart
because I'm tired
and I'm not even sure I know how to try
inspiringhe is inspiring
never have I heard of anyone
who snatches the air from my lungs as he does
who thrills me with the vivacity
like he can
as I heard each breath, shaking with the intensity
of his words
rolling in his mouth as rocks do
tumbling into my ears
with all the grace and noise and energy of puppies
I am swept away
I take joy in them, these messy words
cut and sown together
like Joseph's coat of many colors
there's beauty in it
i am one of you
I can hear his conviction
rattling like a cough in his chest
he sounds feverish
and his fervor is a strength
tongue lapping up the attention of his listeners
slamming doorsEvery time I hear them argue,
a chill (just a shiver) runs down my spine.
And every time I see anger
in their eyes,
I am a child again
I prepare myself - just a little -
for their voices, raw and strained, barraging my eardrums
for the thud of objects thrown
(although, sometimes they're only punches)
cocooned in blankets, locked in my room
I remember my father's impassive face,
the rage in my mother's words
the realization that my sister and I
will grow up to become them
Every time I hear them argue
I am afraid.
VaninYou speak a language
that I don't
it is heavy and thick
resounding from your chest
words forming in your throat
it has no rules,
but easily understood by those born
as you were
You speak a language that is harsh on the ears
and soft on the lips,
the syllables rough and
'round your tongue
you speak of ugliness and of suffering
in a clipped and angry tone
it's still so beautiful
when you speak
I feel that I knew you
before I knew you.
You were in my words and my thoughts.
You were hard to understand, at first,
but I grasped at you.
I began to know you
as no other has known you before.
and, even though knowing you
has changed all that i had known before
I don't regret you.
She wears a red hat.She wears a red hat, a small cap, the only piece of color in her grey world. A breeze snapped at her face, her bangs stirring. She kept her slightly curling black hair braided, over her shoulder where so that it couldn't trouble her. She sighed as her boots kicked and splashed in the puddle.
The park was where the girl in the red hat always went when she felt that she was unable to cope; sometimes it was hard to live with her mother. The woman had grown steadily more resentful of the man who had left her - resentful of his new wife, his new child, his new happiness.... But the girl paid this no mind. She knew the man loved her still, in his own way, but could not bear to stay any longer. She had long since accepted this fact - understood it.
Sometimes she would meet the man in this park without her mother's knowing. The two of them would sit together on a park bench in silence, enjoying the day and a hot hoagie for lunch - or take walks down the well-trod path. He never had been one fo
Tell youI'm afraid to tell you
because I love you so much
I don't want you to be disgusted
it wasn't my fault that it happened
so long ago
I don't want to have to tell you
to turn off your sense of humor,
to spare my feelings-
to tip-toe around the tender spots in my heart.
I just wanted to be okay
and I told you that I was
so that we could get on with our lives
and forget the past...
but you never forget
so, how could I tell you
that I'm still hurting?
CoolMind held in a paralysis
so I sit, while snow settles around me
And the plinking-plucking of the shamisen resounds
In my ears
The cleanest sound I've ever heard
A voice trembles
Carrying the music through waves of blue and grey
While twilight leans in, listening
To the crooning
Of his voice
When Stars CollapseThis is how you bespeckled my bones
with bewilderment: you kissed hushed heart
whispers and slumbering secrets
into my fingertips. You infused awe
into my joints, causing me
to ask how snowflakes got their
shape and how long would it take
to get from the Sun to Capella.
You taught me that energy is neither
created or destroyed; stars do not die.
Eyes washed with emerald sorrows you
told me that they evolve, they change
into something entirely different,
or not so different.
I now know we are made of the same
particles as someone or something else.
We began someplace together.
We're made of so much more than "star-stuff",
we are made of each other.
In a world with no mercy
Day after day
Until the end
The day I die
And then maybe
I'll find some peace
The Breaths Between Usi'm minutes away
from the collision site
the breaths between us
and the lost time
clock guts, sprung
our hallway uncoils
his walnut lean
i'm seconds away
from the before
of our near-miss
the beads of air
and the imperfections of
in a rumored heart
a stuttering mass
this broken belled
has lost hold
of the lives we live
its skullsong rings
the same vibration
I am me. Who are you?I am fragments
of every person
I've met; every
memory made; every
bond formed and tie broken.
I am an orchestra
of people's opinions;
each snide comment
each casual remark
each passing compliment
I am a library
of forgotten lies
and fake smiles
and empty promises.
I am a sky of hope;
filled with stars
which carry the wishes
of the people I have encountered
I am never alone
for their influence will forever
taint my soul and
remind me of their hopes,
dreams and pain.
This is who I am.
Who are you?
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
on remembering to breathe:i.
you can't hold it in for forever.
your lungs weren't
made to bear the weight
of this world, they weren't made
to left unexpanded
and unexplained -
it is not phenomenon that wakes you
when paralysis hits in the
night, it is physiology telling you that
not everything happens on automatic, okay?
(at least not for always)
you're born like a time bomb, with
only so many beats of
your heart in place to tick away day by day -
your words, they're the same.
there's a time limit
on your tongue, so say something that
means something - use words
that dig in and rip out hearts, use words that
curl around your fingers and worm their
way into your soul.
use words to make something
beautiful. something remembered.
never leave three things
left unsaid because they can be three
words that mean everything -
i'm not telling you to save your breath.
i'm begging you not to waste it.
sing. sing enough to take your breath
away because even though
it leaves you gasping, it fills up that
That rebuilding trust is difficult
Would be an understatement of the highest order.
It's a lot like relearning how to walk.
With each small step,
I keep thinking I'll fall--
And I may--
But I haven't yet.
My heart and left leg
Throb in protest,
But there's a certain joy in progress
That keeps me moving forward.
IncensedI don't know how not to be angry.
it's the safest thing to be
when you don't know
and when you feel a friend leaves you, deceives you
and everyone tells you this is so
I don't know
so I get angry
For a few moments, I do want to die
because I've not felt this way in such a long time
never the rage
never the hatred
I always feel that I must go on the offensive
that words and silence aren't enough
I want to squeeze that white white neck
or break those wiry arms...
But I am taught to be civilized now.
To be patient and wait
while my family
and my heart screams for blood
so I can't talk.
I can't even be around- I make mistakes
and stumble over myself.
I can't be eloquent
in this situation.
I don't know how to not be angry.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More