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My Woodcutter and IThe other night, my younger sister, my mom, and I somehow got on the topic of princes. They decided I need a prince to come sweep me off my feet. I have since decided I do not need nor do I want a prince. A prince would be too formal, too flashy, too ornate, and too busy; not nearly as comfortable as I would like to be. I want a woodcutter (Do not say lumberjack because a lumberjack and a woodcutter are two completely different things in my head. My fella doesn’t wear plaid and overalls, thanks very much.) I want someone quiet-like but goofy, slightly awkward like me, someone I can snuggle with and not have to worry about looking good enough or having others watch us. I want someone simple. Not simpleminded, but simple. I want a little wood house deep in the forest where me and my woodcutter can live. He can chop wood during the day and I’ll keep a garden and clean the house, go draw water from the creek that will naturally be by our house (because wells just haven’t
The Pen CapThere is a pen cap stuck in one of the holes in a pew on the fourth aisle up in our Chapel at Church. We put it there. Or at least one of us did. I don’t know how or when it got there, but ever since it got stuck there, it has marked my family’s pew at Church. We have sat in that same row every Sunday for at least 10 years, except those days in which we are too late to get our usual seat or are on vacation. However, a little while back, maybe two weeks, maybe two months, who knows, we found the pen cap missing. We were immediately disappointed, as it seemed to match our family: loyal, faithful, but slightly askew, quirky, idiosyncratic, you know, just kind of…weird. Fun. A little bit irreverent but still respectful. The fact that that little signature of ours was suddenly gone distressed me for more reasons then one: It marked change. It meant moving on, and growing up. I am 21 and therefore, I am almost finished with my Bachelor’s Degree. My two older siblings
Pretend it's MorningThis morning I had to wake up at 5:45 in the morning to get ready for work. All types of feelings were aroused in me by this: anger, irritation, exhaustion, hatred for my boss, etc. Until I realized something: It was quiet. In a house with 7 people, there are rare moments when all of us are home but the house is quiet. I reveled in the silence. The house was so peaceful there, with the moon peeking in through the window, as if to check in on me before leaving for its hiding place behind the sun. The stairs creaked unnaturally loud, groaning in exhaustion, as I crept up and down while getting ready. I love those edges of the day, right before its deathly night, when everyone is just entering Dreamland and those precious moments before the sun awakens, when Dreamland is starting to drift away, and it creeps out of your head leading you to consciousness. I loved creeping around the house at that hour, quietly making my breakfast and saying hello to the sunrise while everyone else was just
There is a houseThere is a house, where stairs creak, and windows squeak. The house lies forgotten, dust embedded in every corner, age written upon every stair railing and piece of rotting wood. There is a house that lies in a place beyond sight. The only way there is through those that know the house already, and those people never speak of it. Only in hushed, reverent tones, in the silence of the night can the house be spoken of. The house is a memory, which cannot be reminisced without the bitterest and sweetest sorrow. There is a house that no one speaks of, for fear of the house disappearing from memory forever. The house is a dream, an elusive picture that fades as one tries to catch it. People may stop and rest, but they may never stay. There is a house, a house that bring peace, rest, and joy. There is a house that is so familiar people ache with the memory of it, for the house is home. And home is within the heart. There is a house that is a heart, a heart of a person that has forgotten, who
There is a meadowThere is a meadow, where the wind dances through the trees, and the sound of leaves rustling echoes back through the wind. The leaves chase the wind, exulting in the wind’s excitement. There is a meadow, where the sun shines and stretches itself as far as it can reach. The sun relaxes, enjoying its safe haven and sharing its glory with all that it touches. Warmth emanates from the sun’s rays, brightening the meadow. There is a meadow that has a river. The river has rocks, colorful rocks, plain rocks, rocks that have seen dinosaurs, have been stepped on by every kind of animal, have been tossed by playful children, and have used as stepping stones. The water rushes over the rocks, cleansing them in its hurry to get somewhere only the water knows. There is a meadow where flowers grow and birds sing. Dandelions flutter in the breeze, and birds soar through the sky, plucking at bushes and singing of the joys of the peace of the meadow. There is a meadow where the gate is a brea
In case I ever forgetIn case I ever forget myself:
In case I ever forget myself, and lose who I am in the chaos around me; in case one day I wake up and forget that I was once alive; in case one day I drown from the noise in my head; in case one day someone tells me who I should be and I believe them; In case one day I think I'm not good enough and start to believe it:
I like rain walks. I like to feel the water on my skin and the smell in the air and the raindrops clouding up my eyes. I like that I feel alive and close to the earth as I hear the skies rumble and the nonsensical rhythm as the rain falls, not caring where or how it lands.
I love the beach. I love that I never feel too big for the ocean, and that I always feel slightly threatened yet safe standing in the tide. I like the feeling that this world is bigger than we could ever understand.
I love music that makes me cry. That pulls at my heartstrings and refuses to let go because it's what I feel inside. I like when I don't understand how I feel
I am twilightI am the sunrise and the sunset.
I don't shine like the sun or radiate like the moon.
I just hang in the heavy air of twilight.
Beautiful ThingsThe end is coming and we both know it.
The exuberance we show is nothing but a mask. A facade to hide the truth we both know: This was never meant to last. It is foolishness to pretend otherwise but the sunset is to beautiful to give up, so we cling to its rays with a desperation that makes the angels cry. This is the most beautiful thing we've known, and beautiful things never seem to stay.
Little Darlin'Little darlin' with the precious heart,
rest here a little while longer with me
let me run my fingers in your long hair
I'm so glad that together we are free
you gave me a connection to share.
I had once thought you would leave
forever gone and I would be unforgiven
you said that I simply didn't believe
but you had never stopped being driven.
Feeling your skin now as it is bare
I can see the scars I have left on you
yet they're worn with pride and without scare
you loved me more than I ever knew.
Lay here with me, let me soak you in
into your warm, sweet scent I burrow
run your fingertips along my chin
wipe away my brow's furrow.
Yes, just as you've always done for me
through agonizing heartbreak and pain
even after you left me at that tree
after that, we both stood in sorrow rain.
I had been so foolish, so selfish before
I feared you would never take me again
but I ran hopeful and scared to your door
and it was a lack of love you couldn't feign.
A smile and kiss bound us together
ParadiseHis heart matched the beat of a magic song,
his chest was my pillow, and nothing was wrong.
The dark green of his eyes hypnotized me,
I felt it all the way to my soul, finally free.
His skin was smooth, my fingertips felt at home,
stroking his cheek, his arm, letting my hands roam.
Paradise isn't a dream, or a place faraway,
it's being wrapped in his arms, knowing I'm okay.
I am Who I Am and by Me Only MeI am Who I am
A poem by AFlyingPassion
I’m a… freak
a person who has no life,
a person who steal someone’s watchers,
a piece of trash,
a discerning person,
a c*nt, a
a mental person.
A disgusting person
A person who needs to get a life
A person who can’t drive
A person who has problems
Some people wish that I would die,
end up being FOREVER alone.
No matter what people end up calling me hoping to put me down, this is me and ME only.
Have a creative mind
A giggly person
A one of a kind
A lover of animals and family
Genuinely loved by different people
FadeToo ashamed to keep you alive
But too attached to let you die
You want to humiliate me? Fine,
I banish you to nothing at all
But I’ll remake you, change my mind
Again, you’ll be a part of my life
I’ll try to make it all alright
I’ll stay this way, sit and stall
But I’ll know you shouldn’t stay
Can’t fix the broken heart I made
In the end I’ll let you fade
I’ll be too tired to carry on
Rich KidsRich kids like to drive in fancy cars.
They like to roll down their windows
And let that pure AC fill the streets
Of what they consider “scum”.
They play their music loud,
So you can see and hear them.
With an arm hanging, they
Show off that fake smile.
“Sucks to be you.” They
Pool parties every night.
Yeah, they have it,
But we do we have?
You’re mad aren’t you,
When you see them show off?
They “cruise” down the street,
They might even come down your block.
You want to hurt them,
Tell them to leave,
And you’re envious that their lives,
Are so fucking easy.
But hey, what do you have,
That they really don’t?
You know what life really is,
That’s not a damn joke.
A rich kid doesn’t know,
How it feels to miss dinner,
And before you know it,
You’ve lost weight and you’re thinner.
A rich kid doesn’t know,
How to crawl to the top,
How to face fucking hardships,
Bits of String and TwineI hold my heart together with
Some bits of string and twine
I've gathered from the littered scraps
My life has left behind.
But twine it cannot hope to hold
This fractured heart of mine
And fill the hollow hole that you
Have cruelly left behind.
GarbageUnknown way ahead
Full of mist
It’s almost midnight
The sun sleeps
Waiting for me
She loses dreams.
I leave her alone.
I won her love
That burned down
In an empty room.
FrioEn un rincón oscuro de la habitación,
aquel frente al frío algo más resguardado,
se encoge como una sombra, agazapado,
el triste dueño de un quebrado corazón.
No fueron esta vez los fuegos de los amores
los que a esta alma la tristeza llevaron.
No fueron esta vez sentimientos desertores
los que tras marchar al alma el dolor dejaron.
No, fueron los fríos constantes los que la quebraron.
Se abre en el muro de tosca mampostería
que al débil alma aislaba y protegía
una grieta echa por los sucesivos hielos
que resquebrajaron la piedra, y día a día,
se filtran por ella las penas y desconsuelos.
Esta triste alma se encuentra aislada
a la deriva en un mar de oscuridad
y de forma lenta y constante es torturada
por la fría carga de una gran soledad.
Remembering YouI remember your smile when you looked my way.
It gave me confidence every day.
I remember your laugh when it was free from care.
It rang out full and filled the air.
I remember your hands as they stroked my hair,
As you chased away my every fear.
I remember your face when I sleep at night,
And I ponder how to make your burdens light.
I remember your love wherever I go,
And I hope you know I love you so.
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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