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StarsYou were the stars to my night,
the light stretched across a sky
I couldn't reach,
but held me under,
trapped in such a state I never knew even existed.
You didn't breathe subtly but with the force of a typhoon,
your echo still ringing in my ears,
two months after you shifted,
the stars imploding,
luster leaving empty pale light across a midnight air.
And I don't have the same heart I used to,
given to you those long three years ago.
I wonder sometimes if you'll ever shine
If not for me, who.
But someone new.
Staying:PassageI pressed my knees to the floor
and prayed to God you heard me scream.
I said good-bye to no one in particular the next day.
There is a silence so intoxicating in leaving. It's a hit or miss, every time.
People either miss you, pretend to miss you, or forget your existence.
And I've come to find the sooner they forget, the easier it gets to remember you're the only one watching your back, and holding your hand.
I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be remembered. The whole reason I came back to Winchester was so I could be held, loved and dreamt of. Not even five days after I made it to the "sacred land" I found myself face first, asphyxiated and blinded underneath a starless sky, silently screaming.
I never told anyone this.
My anxiety gradually grew worse no matter how low the population density was and I forgot what it was like to have sex for love and not just sex to fuck. And then I decided that to live a decent life I'd have to forget everything, even the rapist who held
StarvedThere was a soft un-tucked tethering in her brain,
a wallowing that gave sound to the bitter symphony silencing her elusive twitches, which no one seemed to notice. She breathed in stale air, and tasted remorse. Not for anyone she knew, but herself.
And the thing was, she didn't know herself anymore.
It was just past 10:00, too early to sleep and too late to grumble down the streets, her bag tossed over her shoulder, still shaking without her fix. The nearest gas station was closed and it was over an hour walk to the closest open one. Cigarettes were the closest thing to speed, and she wasn't close enough to get that deal anyway. All the pill-dealers knocked out on their recent swing of high-indulged habits. This wasn't enough.
Luckily, for her, there was a brand new cartridge in her purse.
A set of steel, sharp shattered razor blades.
Close enough to a speed induced high as she could get,
and far more dangerous.
She took a round about, spun on her heel, and let the light from the post
Boyfriends who were never thereMy worst fear was saying I love you,
knowing that someone has the power to take those words and twist them into something sinister and bold.
And when I crossed over that bridge, I feared for you leaving.
It is 3 months after I stopped being afraid,
and the worst thing has become of us.
You don't care if I leave or if I stay.
So we sit on opposite sides of the town,
with everything to say but no words being exchanged,
and I worry for the love you once said you had,
and the promises you gave me.
I've done everything you asked me to.
But you still don't love me.
Spontaneous MeThere is this thing in the center of my spine, sucking secretly, the life from me.
It harbors, hollowing the bone, and while I dream at night,
I dream of that winter gray water tower, on Senseny Rd.
You gave me my power, pushing it up and out, my stomach and my throat. I gagged on a prison before you opened its cells.
I didn't know what this was. A rebound, relapse. Something to relax.
I was 300 miles away,
in the dark,
in the rain.
He drove up, parked the Cherokee, and yelled me by name.
I shivered off my outer layer,
the part you gave me,
and asked when he reached for my shoulder,
why he was touching me.
He pursed, growled, and bit.
And you were no where to be found.
Four days later,
I got a stronger taste,
ice cold in April,
and you didn't warm
I pushed out the power, grounded myself on you.
You who taught me to be patient,
quiet, and loving.
The exact opposite of everything
I am a birdi've been chasing stars for four years counting,
the harbor pulling me in before i even knew what the ocean looked like.
now that i'm here, all i want is to chase the Appalachian mountains,
climb the mighty trees.
they say God lives in the woods, and his song is heard through the wind.
so i write my prayers at night, singing back, play it for me, please.
i am a pigeon,
i am a goose,
my chin held up high, my neck baring blows.
i am a raven,
breathing heavily at night, words leak down the pages.
i stretch my wings, form a shape of a triangle
where secrets etch the surface,
midnight sea claiming lives too bold.
i am a seagull, screaming with the howling wind; hear my call.
i fight in flight,
with the stars in the sky, blown up against the night air, brushed up gracefully in dark contrast, silver against black, the frosty clouds provide the obvious.
i am a bird, singing for the morning,
breathing for the night.
Kid with a sob storyyou were sixteen and you used to call me kid, like i was the one who needed to grow up, not you.
well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and i guarantee that i'm way ahead of you on every aspect.
so when you got engaged to the same girl i was so jealous of the first time, and i realized you were an actual human being with actual feelings, i didn't get angry, i got numb with content.
you were sixteen when you took the best year of my life,
lonely girl at fourteen, heartbroken for a year, and ready to give up everything important to someone who certainly didn't deserve it.
i look back, read the words i screamed at night and realize,
shit could have been so much worse.
and i realize, you were sixteen, barely past being a kid, yourself.
well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and you're probably playing tricks for steady living, and i'm busting my ass seven days a week,
clean, honest, minimum wage, two jobs, at eighteen.
call me a kid.
Visibleit is sad to say
in the least that it is 2:00
in the morning and
i still don't know your
name, but the color of your
eyes and the deep soul
drives me up the wall at night
and i have nightmares.
PassageI don't know if I am weak for forcing myself to forget, and say good-bye, or if I am strong enough for staying alive.
There is a silent rule in my family that when bad things occur, we just don't talk about it. If you can give me a reason other than the emotional capacity of my family is at level 0, I'll consider it. Other than that though, we stay silent. I think this is the reason I became a vulture for trauma.
I've heard there are ways the brain automatically deals with trauma. And usually, people who experience trauma in their lives, the ones who deal with it unsuccessfully, end up with some other mental illness.
Somehow I ended up with an on again off again suicidal, angry depression harboring in my rib-cage.
Regardless, the first stage of trauma I ever went through was when I was barely two years old. My mom's boyfriend, Robert, an abusive fucker, beat the hell out of her constantly. I don't know what demons he possessed, but they were strong enough to persuade him that hitting h
You're worth so much moreShe was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
because looking at what
was even harder
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
p i l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
I Tear My Skin AwayI Tear My Skin Away
I tear this skin from my body,
Even if the world screams,
That I am only an illusion.
I tear the bones from my legs,
Through pain, I will grow,
Through suffering, I will become.
I rip the muscles from my arms,
These teeth from my jaws...
And with nothing upon me,
I carry on...
Like a broken puppet, still shivering,
Still forcing its way through the darkness;
I tremble for I am nothing...
And yet, I am moving. My voice still screams...
I draw breath into these tired lungs,
As I rip the flesh away...
And I shatter these mirrors before me,
With a voice that will not break:
Because the world cannot label me as nothing,
And I will live for my own sake!
"So tell me, is that all the pain you've got for me?"
A note for people who need a kind wordJust a note,
For anyone who has felt,
Like they have been broken.
Just like an old toy.
Thrown and tossed around like a rag doll.
To anyone who feels,
They re tearing at their seams.
And they re losing all control.
A note to the little girl,
And waited for her mother.
Or her father.
To come back home,
To keep her safe,
While she cried.
Or to at least of said goodbye.
And wishes they d come back and tell her,
A note to the lonely boy.
So quiet and reserved.
Who sits and takes their cruel words.
Thinking it s what he deserved.
To be thrown into lockers,
And thinking he can find something better,
With the company of a razor,
Rather than a human.
Because humans have caused him more hurt,
Than the blades that pierce his skin.
A note to the beautiful girls.
Who walk for miles,
Until they have blisters on their feet.
Because they will not accept the defeat,
Of having to see numbers,
That tell them they are not worthy.
They are not pretty.
And they should not be living.
If they c
You're beautifulPlease eat.
Are you listening to me?
If you are,
I want to tell you.
You re beautiful.
It doesn't matter what you weigh,
you shouldn't feel guilty about what you ate.
It doesn't matter,
I promise you things will get better.
Listen to my words,
Hold my hand.
Don't worry about the rest of the world,
It's okay if they don't understand,
How it feels like,
To feel fat,
To feel ugly,
To feel worthless.
You are none of those things.
It s okay to be chubby,
It s okay to be skinny.
Because you have a big heart.
And your smile,
Is like a priceless work of art.
And I don't want to see you destroy,
Because you're more than just a broken toy.
And to everyone else,
So for once let yourself be,
Accept your reflection.
Because you are the definition of perfection.
So don't worry,
Don't be sorry,
To be who you are.
Because you re,
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
What is Hope?Hope is something we have as children,
It helps us thrive and try our hardest.
Hope is what we express in the worst of times
When all hope seems lost.
Hope is what people possess in life
To work toward our dreams.
Hope is a lie
That's not worth our time.
AnxietyAnxiety tapping on my door,
"Can I come inside your head?"
I shiver, not ready for its visit.
It charges in, smelling of worry.
Spends a morning, afternoon and night,
playing with my emotions.
A marionette dancing its old tune on rough strings.
Leaves me winded and praying to beat it the next time.
I Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger TogetherI Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger Together
if i’m being completely honest,
i can’t say i know what you’re goin’ through.
and if i’m being frank,
i’m sort of afraid to write this
because i’ve always been unsure
if i love too much but it’s my nature
and i’d rather lose by trying too hard
than to do so without doing enough.
i hope you’re asleep now
and i hope you don’t read this
till the morning and i hope by then
things will be a little lighter
but i’m hoping against hope
because if you don’t know,
i feel when things are off.
call it intuition, call it a feelin’,
say i just know it.
my friend, my door is always open
even when you’re feeling closed
off to the world and right there,
i can understand that feeling well,
because i still feel we relate to one another
better than most brothers understand their sisters.
know i look at you as a sibling
and i believe we know when the other
I miss youYou are a ghost in my head
Living, yet you haunt my thoughts today
To speak your name
Would be to desecrate this space
Where you are, I should not care to know
But you are a never-healing wound
An unfulfilled promise
A chance to do no wrong
My memories burn with your taste, your touch, your smell
Who have I become?
Too long have the years been to me
To find myself wishing for the crossroads
For the chance to say no, one more time.
She never made it homeThere's something very fascinating about the change of wind. It doesn't brush up against her cheeks in an attempt to knock her to the cold cracked pavement, it's instead lingering around her frame and giving her a reason to push forward. All she wants is to be alone.
The lights stack up, repeatedly blinding her from the two feet that cross paths, make a path for her. The funny thing, for a situation like this where running for such a long time kills her, she feels like it's almost worth bursting her lungs. It's almost worth it if it means never looking back and never giving in.
The streetlights are lining up and lighting the way for her but all they really do is cause shadows and she's more afraid of admitting that she's frightened than she is frightened at all. Up, ahead she sees the flashing of the police come to drag her where nightmares never end and sleep is always impossible. She can't go back, she just
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
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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