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revelations in the mudi only want to fall in love
if someone is there
to fall with me.
i want to jump from high places
and pretend i'm flying,
i'm a bird, i'm light enough at-fucking-last
for the air to catch me,
and the harsh grounds beneath me?
can't touch this.
but i'm earthbound
and parachutes will not work
if you do not open them,
and i am just so sick
of feeling like maybe,
becoming an abstract painting
on the rocks below, would be enough...
but there is something beating in my chest.
i'm very afraid of what it is.
and i don't know a lot,
like the size of the universe.
or why you sought solace in the south.
or how i came to be in this crater that swallowed me whole;
but i do know the second you told me
you felt the same for me like i did for you,
something in my universe shifted.
part of my soul went to georgia...
and i began to climb.
the purpose of life is to knock you on your ass
so you have to do something with it to get back up.
i don't know about you,
but i'm pretty fuckin' tired of feelin
first weekend and realisationsyou begin to talk
because talking means that
someone else can't
&you start to realise
(as most girls do)
that you have a boyfriend
he's not just a boyfriend;
he's your boyfriend
&he's not just better than
anyone else in the world
he's better than
anything else in the world
&you would trade years off your life
to spend a little longer with him
or to see him smile when he's sad
or to feel his face in your hair
the way he does when he hugs you
&you can't feel it
because right now he's too far away
but distance is only the space between
point a and point b
between you&between me
&if you give it just a little more time
you'll realise nothing has changed
and the disjointed rhythms
your heart beats out like a drum
sticks like a song in your head
the moment you watch recognition
hit his eyes
when you walk in.
write what hurtsi'm here to tell you
about fire and living
& how both burn even if you ignore them
it's not about what feels good
it's about what doesn't
cornering what hurts
and exposing it
really displaying it
pedestal on high
for what it is
and not what it pretends to be
you are not living
until you hurt
you can't be alive
if all you know is comfort
comfort is only a sign
that you are doing what you know
it is admittance of limitation
because you are human
and only know so much
and it's agonising to think
that you can be comfortable with that
and not want to reach out
and touch every thing you find
and read every book you see
and hear every sound you can
because enough is never enough
is never enough is always
how not pretending anymore is a blessingi won't pretend to anyone that i'm not scared. here i am, standing before god-knows-how-many-people, telling them things i don't have the heart to even tell my mother. especially things i don't have the heart to tell my mother.
i could never tell her how many times i've looked at the stars and used them to hold onto my wishes on paper strings, make them hold onto my wishes and me, mostly me, like a marionette
until the sky faded from black to blue, just like the bruises i put on my skin. sometimes a girl doesn't know how to cope, and that's why those paper strings, those thin, angry lines hanging from the heavens,
found their ways to my arms and bled me happy.
i could never tell my mother how i've dreamt of flying and dying and how i can't tell the difference anymore, just the way i can't look in the mirror without crying, just the way i can't look in the mirror and tell if i am human or monster.
it's impossible to tell the woman who put you into this world through hours of pain, becau
bipolar IIa week is spent
in throes of excitability,
irritation, unstoppable words,
and ideas with wings of their own-
they soar in their preternatural flight
without a second's notice
and meander along separate currents.
sleep is an elusive,
fought for so ruthlessly,
only to have it slip away,
mere hours later.
i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and flying til my fingers can
brush the sun.
i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and watching my feathers drop
until my body
is subject once more
to the relentless rules of gravity.
hitting the dirt
hurts more every time-
physics has no mercy for bruised bones.
refusal to meet my mother's gaze,
to speak when spoken to,
and to move from the cave of my bedroom
i know how the sun feels
when it sinks below the earth,
and the struggle of the moon
as it thrashes to rise.
the endless circle
from night and day
grows so tiresome that sometime,
it will just
why jk rowling embodies depression as dementorsi wanted to talk to you about happiness
but i don't think anyone in this room is qualified to talk about something
they probably don't know much about, and
how it spends most of its time
seeping out of your skin in whatever ways it can
because maybe your body is too toxic for it.
that's when you start having your moment.
the moment when you're not sure
how to be alive,
when strings become nooses
in the stars of your eyes,
thin objects mock your bones
and the instruments of your heart
act like knives thirsting for blood.
pavement shatters underfoot.
the cracks become teeth,
sharp and unfriendly as you pass;
they're grey, great sheaves of skin.
the world is alive, but unfriendly and cold.
so we sink back into what we're used to.
the way settling into sadness
is like settling into bed after a long day.
so they put you on everything they can find.
prozac, where you stayed miserable.
abilify, where you stayed miserable.
seroquel, where you stopped eating
when being treated for having stoppe
breathing takes a second too longi'm just going to write this all out because if i stop to so much as breathe or count the seconds in my head until i feel like maybe you're a little closer to me then i might just fall apart. i don't have much control over my punctuation or spelling or grammar but i also don't have much control over myself and especially not over you and me together, and it's terrifying but it's all i want.
i want to be able to see you and i want to press myself against you as tightly as i can because there have been way too many miles between us for way too long and all i want is you and when i stand up i want you to still be against me and when i lie down i want you still to surround me and when i walk over to the door to leave because maybe you made me sad or maybe it's just time to go i want to walk out to my doorstep and have you still be encircling me like i am the destination on your map that you've been looking for for so long.
i don't want to be the sore spot between your elbow and forearm fro
virgin culturethere's a little more to love than lust
and a little more to a person than a label.
you can try to sum me up in five words or less and you'll find those words,
but you won't be able to reduce me to them.
you can't turn me into something that can be thrust,
down the grapevine
when there's something more to me than the colour of my eyes or the size of my chest.
and that's something we could all do with remembering.
but this is the culture we were born into.
where the length of your hair is more important than the sincerity of your words,
and nothing matters as much as the kardashians' latest scandal or talking some hot chick into bed.
i'm nineteen. i understand. but i'm frequently finding myself writhing in my own reassurance that i exist.
my name is melissa, i am a liberal, college-going female who doesn't remember what her own house looks like but remembers her childhood telephone number
and i'm not sure if that's ok. is it normal, am i the only one in this goddamn world wh
on being a woman'what's a pretty lady
like you doin' smokin' cigarettes?'
'if i fucked you
for every time i've
you wouldn't think i was such
a lady anymore,
and what's a clever fella like you
doing minding my business for me,
i am not a lady-
i do not curve my appetites,
i do not curve through the waist and hips,
i please for my own pleasure,
i soak in my own sweat,
i fuck for my own glory.
tiddly tum, hidden harems and come,
i am the singular player in my play,
i am the prologue, intermission, and final act
every love i have known has been fueled by
my own fury, every discovery dug up by my own
destiny, every body of water i touched, i touched
with my own skin, i am not domestic, i am imported-
virgin beer on saintly lips, i am not comely nor
forthcoming, i offer my bed to no soldier, i take
what i can and give what i can, i do not plea or
placate or play the victim with my eyelashes-
my father says one day, i will be a lady and
take my rightful place to the left and behind
maybe you never belonged to meI can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet – nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
Bones"There are good days and there are bad days," you would say to me as you would try and explain away why the whiskey bottle was empty again this morning, why you smelled like her and why you thought it was best to let me know what you had done. At least that way, you were absolved of the gift of lying; the one your bones were too light to lift and just couldn't take, by bestowing me with betrayal.
My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and try and gain the strength she had in her bones from her words. I always fail.
They told me I had a disease within my bones. It started from the bottom of my knee and was moving upwards. Because that is what bones did. They broke from the inside out. "There will be good days and bad days," they warned me. I knew at that very point that it was going
I miss you.
I miss you because its raining; because the leaves are falling and you aren't here; because my pillow is wet in the morning and I don't know why; because my own mind is smoking me out, burning the house down around me, and i can't get out; because the water turns into steam the moment i step in the shower; because i failed my english class for using too many semicolons; because i am forced to live in the haze now that it's not blown away; because your light is never on in the morning; because i can't see the moon at night anymore; because i can't talk anymore.
I miss you.
I hate you.
I hate you because you left; because you're not here; because i have no reason why the haze remains, or why my pillow is wet, or why the house is burning; because my head is a traitor and makes my heart consume itself from the inside; because you're not like me; because you're making your own decisions; because you can't talk anymore either; because i am sitting here missing you.
if you're an ocean, then i'm drowning.You are a calculated mistake
something that I've known is wrong from the very start. And I wake up next to you every morning lately, praying that your split lips don't sink me even though I know it's too late.
You're already taking me under, because, baby
you're heavy like hurricane. Like a thousand drops of rain pounding down on my shoulder blades. You're seeping into my skin and into my bloodstream. It's only a matter of time until you spread to my heart.
It's too late. I'm already drowning in you.
It's too late, but god, I cannot love you.
You're like the last boy I kissed
which means I should already be working on forgetting the exact way your fingertips press into my hipbones or how my name sounds curled up in your mouth and the way you like to speak it so careful like a secret like if you said it too loud, I could get away from you. Like you want to keep me. But mostly I should forget you.
And sometimes, I try, but right now, I'm calculating the
StandardsAccording to the world I'm not a girl. I don't fit the tendencies a girl should have. I've never heard of this rule book before, but I suppose a lot of people have. I mean, there must be certain standards a girl should have that I am expected to live up to.
According to the world girls my age should wear their hair long, girls should gossip, girls should be neat and like shopping and giggling. Girls should talk about boys all the time, and what they did on the weekend. Looking pretty should always be a girls main concern, never mind things like sports or running around, that's what boys do.
According to the world girls my age shouldn't be angry, girls shouldn't swear or curse or, god-forbid get dirty. Girls should never be aggressive towards others, they can never be rowdy or reckless or untidy.
I am a girl but I am like a boy. According to the world that is not right, their stereotypes make me an outcast.
Maybe, just ma
Dream Boy.I love you because
my heart would tell you everything my lips never could,
since my lips were too afraid of being broken
and being too caught up in your smile.
My heart would always be my worst enemy.
I love you because
you always called me baby
and held me close whenever I felt broken,
because you always sang me a broken song
that filled new air in my lungs.
I love you because
you're the only one that can take my numb heart
and turn it into something beautiful,
because we all know just how beautiful you are.
joy is just noise"how are you?"
great. fine. fantastic. peachy. waitwaitwait. i'm not great. or fine or any of that. i'm hurting and i'm scared and no one dares to read past my whimsical smile. i don't blame you though. i sometimes convince myself with the cacophony of my own joy.
"today i'm beautiful. what else could i be?" my smile flirted with disaster while my eyes twinkled with clandestine grief.
yet deep down i just want you to call me a liar.
let the sky be lost.you and i,
we're not cut-outs from a story-book.
not misshaped and deformed pieces
of a broken star, unable to burst into
you're just the truth.
'i'm not telling you i love you
if i don't mean it. i hate when people
do that. they don't know what it
'so you won't say it?'
'no, i won't. not yet. not until i do.'
'that's good,' i smile a bit.
'no, you don't get it.'
'i don't think i do.'
'telling someone you love them when you
don't is like going to a tea party dressed
up in a ball gown: overdoing it. and nobody
cares. only the person in the gown cares.
all it does is make things seem pathetic
even before it starts. stupid fags who do
that have no idea what love is'
something like a pause ensued.
'oh,' i half-murmur, wanting to keep repeating
that one irrelevant sound.
'but one day, i will. with all my heart.'
it's like i'm terrified of your words, maybe.
the truth can hurt sometimes. but it's all
for the best.
'thanks for t
an open letter to a rekindled relationshipwe have travelled thousands of miles;
we have felt spite and fear for diminished feelings;
we have played this game for far too long.
last night we missed hearing others' poetry
to make our own.
i was not afraid of skin,
and you were not afraid to feel.
we were born with instinct for a reason:
realising what you want is half the battle.
my other half is hesitation-
my other half is you.
i still swell with emotions my therapist
can't help me label
when i remember how you said
you weren't over me.
and how we joined again,
with an interim year,
and a new understanding of emotion
adding to and balancing the physical.
last night i put my skin in your hands;
i gave it with trust.
i left my nerves in my clothes and i shed them,
on the floor,
and spent time with initiation and impulse.
the bruises on my throat a result of passions,
i smile as i shield them from familial eyes.
the weight of a year has opened my bones
and a heart that is ready to
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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