Journals42
Newest
I'm back
1 min read
Hi dear ones. I love you all. I am back. And I hope you are all well and happy. 
<3
<3
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Holy Moley!
1 min read
So I come back to deviantart after a really bad case of bronchitis, and find the nicest surprise ever! Another DD? Thank you guys so much for the messages, all the love and awesomeness! Special thanks to hopeburnsblue and inknalcohol for the feature, I can't believe it still! Thank you so much deviantart! I'm going to go and try answer all those lovely comments now, but watch this space for another set of beautiful works by the talented writers of DA. I love going through the lit section of this website, there are just so many good writers! 
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Features 2.0
8 min read
Its been a long time since I've been on dA. I've been ill, busy, then ill again, then short on cash, and finally ill once more, just in time summer. Thankfully I finally have a month off. Its time to take a nice deep breath, and enjoy the sunshine, do some writing...and enjoy these beautiful works down below.
Thank you guys for being so wonderful.
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Thank you guys for being so wonderful.
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
descending
down
your throat
to weigh down
lashes
into leaden eyes--
i am the
moon: lover
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
twinkling dance--
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of their
secrets.
you're alright.
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
rues)
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
pearl,
looking dead--
and dead altogether,
i still die.
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
even with
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
and
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
olivearmies march in time,
shouting and stamping
into Vietnam swamps
with booming voices
and dirty boots.
a soldier can't keep up,
falls to the side in tall jungle grass
and vomits out his homesickness
into the damp shrubs.
grenades crescendo
while the American girl
giggles and taps her nails
on the grimy paint of the bar,
chewing the toothpick
of her martini.
outside, leaves curl into mulch,
and summer shrivels
like a rotting pea pod.
Tutelary's Untangled QuiltTutelary's Untangled Quilt<da:thumb id="471095099"/>
Pull God's filament
till stripped phantoms ascend in
unveiled firmament.
Of Chocolate Frogs and Pepper ImpsAges ago, life
was breathed into stone; he seeks
the timeless reward.
In darkened halls an
evil lurks; sweet child, dare not
look it in the eye.
And even on the
brightest eves take heed, beware
the night’s palest face.
In the wake of death
there is rebirth, though hardly
in equal measure.
The future foretold
is valuable but must be
bought through sacrifice.
We know there is strength
in numbers, the enemy
is informed as well.
Peace has high costs, paid
gladly for the greater good;
friendship conquers all.
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jackal grinMy orange peel
lips split: the beams
are sun-steeped
chrysanthemum,
a deck of cards
sprawled across
nana’s worn porch,
and fingers weaving
through grass blades
when the light is
soft and warm.
(have you f
a
l
l
e
n
yet)
I misspelled our love, and that's where we went...I always thought I was a sparrow, nesting in tomorrows like the moon would drop from her orbit and gift me firmer ribs. I thought men and love would fall from dimples and roses, but I found out they drop much like you: unceremoniously and jumbled. They break wings… and god, the sound… but I guess they sing as they work, and that’s got to be well-meant.<da:thumb id="459143695"/>
So I fondled November like it fondled me, caught it early in the middle of snow angels and hayrides so it could feel the unexpected earthquake of ‘molested’. The world strung me from those letters, giving the past not only a face, but a name, as it bent gravity over horizons ‘til I could only see his toes. I puked a watercolor of someone else’s impact, and maybe that’s the worst: not knowing if I’m the one moving, or if you’re still writhing inside me like worms and April rain.
Paper TownsI found you in innocent parks
next to a rotting corpse.
We passed each other in hallways
mirrors directing our course.
I pulled you out on a night of adventure
I vanished out of sight.
I loved you forever and always
I just wanted to watch the lights.
You searched my trail of fragmented clues
and saw the hearts of your friends.
You stayed in empty buildings just like I did
but I laid in towns that paper penned.
The hunt warped the world in glass,
gave you eyes to see truth
My strings broke,
you felt the grass,
and we saw each other in cracked submarines.
Because for all your hopes and wishes
only the finding found me.
weighted down1. I am sixteen, suddenly.<da:thumb id="468892202"/>
I have grown up without anyone
telling me. My car keys rest heavily in
my palm. Each new college I hear about
rests heavily on my shoulders. I am
not sure how much longer I can take this,
all this extra weight of responsibilities, of choices,
of the future I’m not sure I want to have.
My skin feels stretched across my body
in places that don’t really make sense.
I still feel too big in every bad way—I’m
afraid I always will.
2. My first boyfriend tells me he
thinks I must have bits of the
universe inside of me. I try not
to get offended: I know he means to say
that kissing me is like kissing stars,
and that I hold the secrets of creation
inside my soul, but all I can think about
is how huge the universe is.
3. He breaks up with me at night.
For hours, I lean against my truck in
the driveway and look at the sky.
Stars are cold and distant,
I realize. The universe is big
and lonely.
4. Someone in my philosophy class tries to tell me
that
Lost and FoundHe has prayed as much
as he said "I love you"
in both cases
they were inaudible
Occasionally you can hear him
when he traces the outline of you
similar to the way
a stroke induced December
remembers to speak spring
like he's seen you before in his dreams
You can hear him
when his eyes linger at your smile
as if he could find faith
from your light
trapped, imbedded in insecurity
his way is a broken record even the deaf could listen to
He will not say I love you
not because he doesn't
but because you can not hear a man
you have yet to meet
but when you do, oh god, you will be brutally aware
Because with love like his
you could drown twice
and not want to come up for air
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Features
9 min read
I just wanted to take some time to share some lovely works I have read on here. It was a rainy day today, and I had a cup of hot cocoa, this was the loveliest way to spend the afternoon. Thank you, all you lovely poets!
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not sure the scars make the pain go awayhe's not sure
what's real anymore --
flashes of light
dance behind eyelids that are
rubbed raw from sleepless
nights without waking
from bitter
dreams;
his bones creak
like the floorboards beneath
feet that won't
walk anymore; he's
too tired to
remember that the days
don't make the
clock turn, but
the ticking makes
his hair stand on end
anyway.
the voices in his head
beat along to the drumming
of his heart
against his ribs, broken
when he wasn't looking
because
that's just how the
world works,
these days;
the only time the flashbacks
don't dig too deep
into his rotting cerebrum
is when his
veins are pulsing
to the sound of car traffic
and breaking glass; he
never knew the
world was colored in
so many
ways that relate
to just one;
otherwise the words
cause the world to tilt and spin --
he can't tell
up from down anymore
but it doesn't matter
anyway since
his blood's been
drowning him for months now.
the light never
bothered him the way
the silence
did, but
the shadows hiding between
his
CurrentsCurrents
Some men yearn to clasp
The edges of stars by their fingertips
To at least hold onto the debris,
That creates golden iotas
In midnight oceans;
And whispers of olden tales,
Singing of a microscopic sphere,
That twinkles within the vastness of emptiness.
But I yearn to hold wind in a jar,
Capture the oxygen
And never let go of its essence.
Carry it with me.
Take it to a place only she and I know of,
And cradle the edge of her hand,
Into the wrinkles and crevices
Of my solemn grip.
I’m not big, nor very strong,
And I don’t have the power
That could protect you,
From all of the injustices
That could befall you—
But what I do have,
Are my hands to hold yours,
To feel the warmth of my palm,
Meld into your grasp.
A body to shield you from the
Debris of falling dust,
Cascading words,
And descending storm.
And words,
That can cushion gusts,
And quell hurr
Dancing Among The StarsHe seemed to move in waves, swaying to the beat of his heart, dancing with the moon just to appease her. A people pleaser, he never once said no, not even to me. And I never once thanked him because he knew my admiration for him stretched far beyond the many miles that separated us.
So much we exposed about each other, left one another vulnerable and naked by the end of our conversations about God, astrology, and the silver cross he bore on his chest.
So little was said about the way he walked, how his eyes became glassy when he mentioned his estranged sister, and how my heart beat with his in synchronization despite the murmurs I underwent in his presence.
And in all that commotion, I never once asked for a dance. Not because I couldn't, but because I knew I'd trample on his twinkle toes and cause his sky to come crashing down.
don't look back - oh.before the<da:thumb id="450452049"/>
before, face it,
there were faces indelible,
the viscosity of
tar in his voice...
tar on his coarse fingers;
like everywhere
in everything
there was the sacred drunkard illuminating
a way...
when i hid by the bucket and
nettle brushed my shoulder, the poison
was slow;
(in reality, he
ran his cows over with a tractor and there
the sacredness should have ended;
didn't;
before the before there was gnarled bark
off unidentified trees
whispering by the river,
rough to the touch
i would spread out my fingers
fascinated by the splinters
now it is morning and i realize
i have never really seen an ocean
the canyons were nonexistent,
the bazaars
barely there impressionistic
space; flawed geometry
there is nothing to leave behind,
DisenchantedDuped the victim, she
allows him to lead. Her life
scattered like ashes.
i will be with you when you lose your breathhow different would things have been if i would've taken your hand beneath the floodlight? if maybe i would've held it a bit longer instead of pushing you away along with the notion that you loved me?
i changed my mind too late. fourteen days and twenty-three hours too late. yeah, i do, i think about it a little more than i should.
i find myself still waking up, wishing id let you buy me a water ice, or breathing in what little of your face i can remember from then. i swear i still feel your skin, cold but still radiating the love that now doesn't exist.
i guess i should speak up more but all ive done is lock myself farther away, trap my voice in a tomb of collapsing lungs and crumbling ribs. i don't even feel like singing anymore, unless im crooning to my empty bedroom or sobbing to the shower head when nobody else is home. they all say i sound so sad. i say, if i don't get it out now i never ever will.
WarWhat the hell is this?
Darkness everywhere.
All I hear is cackles.
Malicious chanting
The rising of the undead.
What the hell is all this?
Where did the sunlight go?
The Care Bears and sprinkles,
Warmth that went deep to the soul,
Excitement-created tears
And a bright burning pride.
What the hell is all this?
The sunlight barricaded by dark-thirsty headaches
The warmth blasted out by venomous A/C
The excited squeals morphed into droning.
I'm stepping back,
And finding my own song to dance to, damnit.
*Lost in Love*Complicated love
Maze of emotional turmoil
Romantically lost.
2014 Delice1941
27th April2014
<da:thumb id="448138545"/>
a poem on the inner workings of my chaotic mindit isn't like i'm
lazy or anything it's just that
the thought of getting lost
in a crowd of ten or more people
makes me want to puke.
this is not just some
stupid little hang-up that you can
joke about when i'm
digging my fingernails into my palm so
hard that blood is drawn as we walk through
school hallways so packed that it feels
like we're suffocating from too much
oxygen but i just grit my teeth and
laugh "yeah, i know, i just don't like
being around people sometimes."
but you know,
there's just something about the way
my mother says "go out and have a life
and stop looking like the world
betrays you every day"
that makes my stomach drop
or when my dad looks at me and just
sighs, like they've finally realized
i was never good enough to be
their daughter.
and to everyone who believes that
i just need to relax,
to just calm down and think:
fuck you. fuck you for trying to pretend
like you know how it feels when my
bones grind together like broken
gears as i walk by people who may
or
sheepskinYour love smells like snow
in the deep of August, sucking
me like mosquitoes and you.
damn, you always had a talented
tongue, knowing just what to say
to roll me between your teeth and
keep me there; and I was hoping—
no, trusting— I’d not be crushed.
I should have known when
you raised your bones against me,
when you clattered your molars
together but never bothered hiding
the truth below your belt.
And a part of me says
I was in love with you.
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More Premiums, and a Massive Thank You!
12 min read
So I have given my final two premium memberships and they are to the lovely, kind Carson (confidenceAlive) and amazing Gabriela (weirdandproudofit)!
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The person who has enabled me to be able to give these gifts is the wonderful IntraSect who made a very generous contribution of 3500 points to me which took me completely by surprise as I had not expected it at all. So this gift is therefore from both of us and I thank him for his extremely kind and generous gift. Now, as he gave me this gift, I think it is only fair that I give premiums to a few more people than I originally intended, and I have chosen some who are simply amazing and brilliant writers. So thank you Nullibicity and A-Lovely-Anxiety for being so incredible with your craft. If you haven't read their work, please go and have a read. Here are a couple of pieces from their galleries:
slowly, and then all at onceand for once, he slips on his wedding ring, to cure the monotony. it slides over his knuckle, a perfect fit, and in the morning release of sunlight the silver gleams at him. it glares, calling him a liar: she is not a whorehouse and you are too broke to own her, you harlot, you. he buttons up, tucks in his shirt tail, and buckles his belt. the clinking of metal parts is the only sound in the room besides the dusting of her breathing beside him. and when he's gone, the only thing he leaves behind are the bruises on her collarbone.
-
you find him because you're lonely, (well, it's actually the opposite.) he finds you because his wardrobe is black and his shoes are scuffed and he asks you where your castle is. you're the only princess he sees 'round here. the rain soaks into his shirt and he curses it, grinning. and damn girl, you follow him, because you think you see some kinda warmth in his ice blue eyes.
-
it takes you days t
4 things about a boy who called himself man1.<da:thumb id="388838908"/>
he would reply,
"well, you asked for a man, didn't you?"
and i would have to press my
whole-lotta-honey colored lips together
and whisper,
"and i got one, didn't i?"
his words were always cold when he was with me.
2.
the thing i loved most
about him was the fact that he wanted
to teach me.
about the things he loved,
about music, about appreciation,
and i think at some point he wanted to teach me
love.
(he just didn't go about it
the right way, i don't think.)
"i want you to have these experiences,
even if we don't
end up together."
and i guess that should've been
my warning sign.
y'know:
that we weren't going to end up together.
3.
it's not easy to remember the little
stuff about me.
it's not easy to remember
all my little dates and the fact that
i'm sick or need medicine.
(and i guess
that since he was the first one to do it,
it just attracted me more,
and i suffered for hoping that he loved me,
too.)
it's not easy to remember me.
but i don't think he'll forget me.
4.
sometimes, wh
Gardening for dummiesHer head is a flowery poem,
filled with pots and weeds
and mother earth
dug deep in roots and taciturn.
Now no one will come near,
but she has thorns
and worm-filled words,
and a spade for planting
the lesser verse…
but the loneliness
she buries
beneath roots and words
and stanza stems
until it digs ant tunnels
to resurface
again.
A Poet's RomanceShe was the quiet sort,
tsunamis tucked
within her eyes,
anxieties pinned
to pottery skin;
she would mold herself
into moonlight butterflies
and glist'ning calla lilies,
pure and white and
beautiful.
and when night cast
itself upon her in
heated, hard'ning flames,
she’d smash herself
upon the rocks
and in morning start
again.
InfiniteWe’d make a beautiful constellation,
You and I –
shivering galaxies that may implode
but who keep expanding,
still hiding in gravitational lenses
of sheer splendor -
a thousand and one stars;
we could wish for personals
or company
or maskless parades
without crippling facades-
not nameless but known.
You and I,
we could be brighter
than the sun.
I want to thank you guys again for supporting me. I would love to do more give aways like this because I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate all of your comments, faves and love.
FEATURES
Amazing stuff I have found recently:
To be a writerYou taste like decaying leaves
and October's bad habits-
when it’s halfway through February
that still haunts these bones.
I have allowed you to
claw your love
into my arms
and chant into my
uninterested ears
for much too long.
I wish I was one of those girls
who could say wild flowers
grow up through my nooks
and my crannies just to tear
through my skin, screaming.
I’m just that dead eyed deer
on the side of the road dreaming
of shoving a pen down my throat
and writing these verses inside out.
I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster.
I know it.
My skin knows it.
My pen knows it too.
Years and years
from now
my mind will dwell
on the way your fingers
chain linked between my ribs
and shook my
vulnerable inside,
violently.
But,
to be a writer
is to be a masochist,
and I refuse to get off
on the pain anymore.
Curing Depression in Seven Easy Steps1. apologize profusely to
the ones you were honest with,
the ones who believe in you,
the ones who never cared,
the boy who thought you were
worth it, the girl who stayed up
all night to hear you breakdown,
the doctors, the nurses, the stars,
your scars, your little brother
who told you he hoped your sad
would go away, yourself
2. fall in love with someone
who doesn’t understand you.
write poems about his eyes being
a lighthouse, and his hands
being sirens. tell him he is
your happiness, he makes you
better. tell him his scars are
beautiful, he is so breathtakingly
beautiful that it’s reasonable
you should cry; love him
infinitely, love him like they say
you need to love yourself
3. eat away emotions
you didn’t realize you had. eat
when you’re sad, eat when
you’re bored, eat when he forgets
to call. eat when you think
you’re the only person alive
in a dead universe, eat when
you don’t remember when you
were last happy; pretend
the emptiness is
First friend, first loveI’ve been sitting alone for so long
That I’ve forgotten the meaning of "friend"
But just when I started to think I don’t belong
You became a person that I could befriend
But as time passed along, you seemed like more to me
My heart would grow warm, every time we’d speak
But I just don’t know if we could ever be
But I’ll take the first step, to start something unique
Night haikuThe moon comforts a wave
Before its impending death
Upon the shore
things stay the sameStripped tinsel
crushed beneath;
warm lights and
the red-gold glow of
reflections
Crepe and cellophane
drowning in
half-empty wine glasses--
tape hung over
under trash and
the re-gifted morning
afters
Tree-lights and ribbon-frays
tracing paper and
curled to
remember resolutions
crawling beneath
the bows
of years to come
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TyndallToday I tried to write a poem about the depth of your eyes<da:thumb id="401109198"/>
But I've run out of ways to describe their particular hue
Because the sky, more often than clear blue,
Is a storm of grey, starkest white, or the deepest black.
Oceans I always found cold, uninviting, with untrustworthy silence,
Offering no more than the suffocating abyss,
I could liken them to rain but I feel I'd be cheating you
As they're so much greater than a drizzle of weather
I think maybe this language can’t encapsulate the Other
Eyes are really much deeper than oceans or skies.
mechanicI want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes;
This dripping heart of mine can only feel,
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth,
so I only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that I care all too much.
In order to fix you up again,
I would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but I just haven’t figured out how.
(I won't need you)The last time I saw you, frost
was lingering on the windowsill, penetrating
through a layer of glass and
attaching itself to the
walls of my bedroom.
I’ve packed and unpacked my
bags, told myself I would
find you;
told myself that I would let
you go.
I haven’t forgotten the way your
eyes looked on the day
we said our
goodbye’s.
Or the way that your lip curled
up into a forced smile
as tears pooled in the corners
of your eyes.
One day, I will finally pack my bags
and forget how sad we were
when you boarded that
plane and never called again.
One day, I won’t need to remember
what color your eyes were just
to make myself happy.
One day, I won’t need
you.
owlsof the mist whispers and
soggy willow branches
above the werewolves and
jasmine flower blossoms-
niched to brown liquid
flowing in veins and
the half-smile of the moon;
dragonfly eyed and hickory
wings sailing the milky
way until the sun crack
lulls reality into
day
AsphodelA beckoning:
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
envelope-stiff.
things stay the sameStripped tinsel
crushed beneath;
warm lights and
the red-gold glow of
reflections
Crepe and cellophane
drowning in
half-empty wine glasses--
tape hung over
under trash and
the re-gifted morning
afters
Tree-lights and ribbon-frays
tracing paper and
curled to
remember resolutions
crawling beneath
the bows
of years to come
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