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In ThreesI was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.

I was armed with shards of strength,

Rebirth"You won't tell us then? What it's like?"

"..."

"Is it because you have something to hide?"

"..."

"Or is it because it never actually happened?"

"It happened."

"Then tell us. Tell us what is it like."

"I was always the girl whose family asks 'What is wrong with you.' instead of 'What is wrong with you?'"

"And this has nothing to do with my ques-"

"If they had all just asked...I would tell them. I would tell them that my heart was torn into hundreds and thousands. And my lungs were still crushed from footholds. And my brain still sees two little girls laughing and playing. And my legs hurt from dragging myself from basement

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More from *UntamedUnwanted

Just HandsSometimes when I write, I pause to study my hands. It isn't the long pianist's fingers I see first. It's not the man cut, chewed up nails. Or the fact that the middle finger on my right hand sometimes gets a ghosting pain that I have never understood.

(Arthritis plagues my family. I'd rather not understand the pain. Cowardice is a bitter pill to swallow.)

It's the stains of ink that I notice. Black, running into bruised bluish purple on the intersections. Those are the older marks. The newer ones are black that looks un natural wherever it lands. It makes me think of the eighteenth century, of Austen when she wrote. Or maybe, of darker time

About my Little ToeI almost broke my toe yesterday morning.

It's so terribly silly and I really don't want to take too much of your time. I do hope I'm not being a bother. I only want to talk to someone right now.

It's just that…I was running for my shoes. I was late for school, and I'm never late. Really, ask anyone…I have a perfect record for any sophomore at my school. But whilst I was running, I didn't notice the chair my mother had placed outside my bedroom door. She needs it, you see, she likes to sit there and work on her laptop. It was my fault entirely. I should be more careful. Anyway, it was only my little toe, not some major artery. And

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Details

Submitted: May 4, 2011
Image Size: 2.8 MB
Resolution: 2592×3888

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Camera Data

Make:Canon
Model:Canon EOS DIGITAL REBEL XS
Shutter Speed:1/166 second
Aperture:F/5.6
Focal Length:25 mm
ISO Speed:400
Date Taken:Jan 1, 2000, 12:00:03 AM
Software:Adobe Photoshop CS3 Windows
Sensor Size:14mm

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Believeby *UntamedUnwanted

Traditional Art / Typography / Calligraphy

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~runicbg Mar 18, 2013 Professional Interface Designer

very beautiful

~LightOverpowers58 Jul 14, 2012 Student Writer

Once again, your lack of drawings on dArt comes up again......Calligraphy is a tried and true art, the fact that you came up with your own typeset says a lot and for now that is all I will say on the matter..... Although I do love this art, its gorgeous and breathtaking once you read the message. (You constantly make me crave hot tea, especially with all of your talk about cinnamon)