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Random from Writing that Moves Me

The words and works of some really inspiring writers.


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! :)

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.
I've forgotten
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and she,
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
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
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
the voices in his head
beat along to the drumming
of his heart
against his ribs, broken
when he wasn't looking
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
the atlantic ocean is big enough to hide secretsin that twilight period of summer turning to fall-
in that bend in the road from september to october-
i couldn't explain it but i so desperately wanted to send a piece of myself to you
by mail
so you would have something to look forward to
from someone,
with love.
i said, if there's a force to change the tides and turn the earth
and people think it's the most essential force in this world,
then i know they've never met you.
'who me? little old me?'
yes you, little old you,
you have enough resonance in the beats of your heart
to make armies march,
you have enough light in your smile
to make a blind man see,
you have enough magnitude in everything you do
to cause earthquakes to destroy the world,
or maybe just me:
i would die in your hands if you would only let me.
the beginning of october is stunning when the colours
are like fire engines and fireflies and fireworks.
bright flashes of everything that is beautiful and nothing that is hurt.
but after an immense burst of light;
after the
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
      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;
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,
he'll win, somedayit seems like everything he loves
has sharp edges
everything he treasures
is broken glass
and he either is the glue,
or he glues it back together
and none of it seems to last
Summer Hazewe met and fell
into a summer haze
with hearts racing
and fingertips
held secrets
only touch
could untangle,
were spend
with only words
across curves
and skin,
the august
and burned
of forever
upon our
eager souls.

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

how to grieve for people you do not knownobody warned me that i would be
party to a grief at fourteen years old, but
it happened all the same.
your tongue stammered over
the words like a needle
skipping on vinyl: dead, stairwell,
hands, suicide, tied. my own 
tongue was tied, and what could
you expect, really? i'd only
had to grieve once before this, in
the quiet way that young
children grieve -- this was something
else entirely, something that
didn't quite connect the wires within
me. so i did all i could do, in
the uneasy fits and starts that come
with unexpected news. nothing
came easy, and my hands
shook so hard that i spilled coffee (my first
taste) all over my front. i was lying,
in front of a dead man and the son who
had no idea how to begin to grieve.
(years later, i realized
i had lied in front of god too, but it didn't
seem to matter quite as much)
a week later, i attended the
funeral in a quiet blaze of black. the
service was beautiful until a
year went by and i attended another,
one where i co
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
Part of being Human:The way
they're all
talking and mumbling
half-truths and
dreams and
even though
they're all so flawed
and it's all so
beautiful you almost
can't quite
believe it.
She doesn't believe
in love
-he's living some
beautiful lie and
how she always
says thank you
(over and over)
like a broken record.
and-we're all so
human and
sometimes reaching out
(you can almost
touch them by
the fingertips.)
sometimes (when)
it's just
a little too
of yourself to
give away,
because to trust
and when you love
it means they can
alway take it all
away and
(you'll be shattered)
all alone
and you're afraid
you'll be like that
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.



Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
I am a twenty five year old tree who likes to dream about Van Gogh's canvases in real life. I love whole milk, and never get into bed without bed socks. My favourite place is the space under my desk that serves as a fully functional panic room from time to time.

Favourite writer: Oscar Wilde, Neil Gaiman, Germaine Greer.
Favourite poet: Sylvia Plath, William Wordsworth
Society6 Page:


Daily Deviations

Nothing Lives Foreveri.
When you were a child, we would sit on the porch to talk about your day. And sometimes, we would find a dead bird, or a frog on there. And you would ask me about death and why it happens, looking at the poor creature in my hands, its life cut short and touch it tenderly. I would always say the same thing.
Nothing is meant to live forever, my dear.
The school called me in on your twelfth birthday and asked if I had known how clever you were, that your test scores were the best in the state. They asked me if I knew I had a genius child on my hands who grew bored easily in class and tended to distract others in his classroom, sometimes causing arguments, fistfights and could manipulate his classmates into doing anything.
We don't think this is the school for him. He needs to be challenged appropriately.
You fell in love at seventeen and she was lovely. Kind, caring and beautiful, I couldn't ask for a better girl for you. She was our neighbour
ObsessionIt takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day.  Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.
You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.
Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the doctors told us you had an illness. I sat there with your parents, listening to a man who said words like 'terminal' and 'leukemia', and counted the number of times he said 'patient' as if it were your name (Seventeen).
The blood bank says one unit is four hundred and fifty milliliters and I watch as they put the needle into my ar


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katlynrule Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2014  New member Student General Artist
hi. viewing your gallery is just. ugh i don't know. wow. just wow. the disney series,  it brings back so many memories i didn't know i have. really. it's amazing. i enjoyed it so much. thanks a bunch! :)
EH-Fredwell Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2014  Student Digital Artist
OMG ... I just see your art and ... WOUAWWWW ! It is so amazing, so beautiful ! How something like that can exist !? I am in love ... Really, it is wonderfull ! Your Disney series ... I want to put them all in my favourite ! Thank you to share your amazing work and well done ! 
chelleface90 Featured By Owner Jun 26, 2014  Student Traditional Artist
Welcome to After-Ever-After!! :hug:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday, darling girl. :heart:
signalspells Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Student Writer
Happy birthday!
zumiezdragon13 Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy bday^^
SoundSaviour Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday! birthday cake 
Sparia Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Student General Artist
Happy birthday!!:clap:
DeviantArtist14 Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Midnitez-REMIX Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Happy birthday! :party:
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