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Hope you like this :iconvonderwall:, cause it's for you.
Happy Birthday to you!! :tighthug: :iconballoonsplz:

Hope you have a great time. :iconhappybirthdaycakeplz:

Blackmore's Night - Faerie Queen

Over on the hill
There grows a flower
Growing quicker still
More perfect by the hour
Deep within that flower
Is a tiny chair
All a-fringed with gold
The fairy queen sits there

It is in her breath
That the wind does blow
It is in her heart
As pure as winter snow
It is in her tears
Crystal raindrops fall
And within her years
That she is in us all

*Oh dark eyes
Help me see
Just one look
She is gone
Look on me
We are one
Fading with the setting sun

As the willow bows
To her majesty
All the forest flowers
Love her mystery
Who would not admire
Who could not adore
Who does not desire
Who wishes to see more?

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[ Full View is usually best, especially to read. :) ]

To see other Visual Poetry and Writing
by me, Tea of Tea Photography, feel free to check out this Sub-Gallery:



Just something very simple.

I've not make any kind of visual poetry piece in a long time.

For us all:

This is for anyone who needs hope. Well, I think perhaps we all do need hope, or could use some sort of amount of it, to get by in life, as a matter of a type fuel.

But, in particular this is for anyone who has been seriously IN NEED of hope. :aww:

I know, I made this specifically for the therapeutic value I hoped to start off the year with for my own self.

I have had so much trouble during this past year, and there is very few people, and I also do mean here on dA, who know just how bad the year has been and to what extents, and it's just as well...

... and it's been exceptionally difficult right up to the very end, too. So I know that things aren't going to suddenly improve just because the date has! :lol:

However, in the past, I've had a lot of difficulty with the concept of "Hope" :nod: and I realize that this can be natural when a person goes through a lot of various "stuff" over and over... It's just true,
and yet, I've pulled myself up by my bootstraps over and over,
and another thing that seems to be true, is that, "Hope" is all there is. :nod:

When there seems to be nothing left, there IS hope, and if we can't find it, we've got to CREATE IT! :w00t:

I made this a "WE" thing, because, I also know I'm not alone.
Even if the struggles are not quite the same, I know there are so many others who have had a very very tough year, :hmm:
and maybe they are wishing for changes this coming year, or wishing to be able to make those changes. :aww:
Maybe also, there is a couple of risks some of us are wanting to take in the coming year, that will really help things progress into a positive direction. :aww:
Any or all of these things are propelled by hope, first and foremost.
We have to first be able to believe that hope can still exist, and sometimes this is still the hardest thing for for some of us.
I've felt this way, before.

But, I am moving forward in 2011. I have to, in order to have ANY hope for improvement upon the year before!
And I also wish for improvements for my friends and anyone who are also in need of hope and better things for the coming year!! :w00t:
:rose: :heart:


[NOTE: I just wanted to say, in advance, how especially grateful for anyone's :+fav: I may receive for this image. :thanks::aww::rose: I am honoured that you would enjoy or think well enough of my work here, to :+fav: it. :nod: So I thank you :thanks: profusely, and from the bottom of my heart :heart: . And because I do realize time constraints all too well, I understand, if you are unable to also leave a comment. :aww: However, whichever you may do, [or even both! :omg: ] I genuinely appreciate it beyond measure. I need you to know this now, in case I'm not capable of doing individual thank-you's for :+fav:'s, which I've not been capable, or in case I cannot respond to each comment, either. Thanks for understanding. :thanks:
:love: And even if you just came to view! :eyes: I am also very HAPPY :D for this! :w00t: ]

Respect Tea Photography.
ALL work produced by Tea of Tea Photography is protected, and shall NOT be reproduced, altered, or used in ANY kind of way.
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     She sits on her pink bed staring at the dinner plate she has put on the floor next to the puke-green garbage can.  Dinner tonight is a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, a typical college student meal, but she stares at it like it is the most appetizing thing she has ever seen.  Her eyes shine with longing, and a small string of saliva starts to slide down the corner of her mouth.  Snapping out of her daze, she wipes her mouth and stares down at the glossy red film on her hand.  She averts her gaze to the pack of Djarum cloves sitting on her dresser on the opposite side of the room from her garbage can.  Cigarettes.  Food.  Cigarettes.  Food.  Cigarettes.  Food.  Her head, as well as her mind, turn back and forth like she is watching a little green ball at a tennis match.  Just a bite.  One bite won't hurt.  She looms over the sandwich, her blue eyes flickering with desire.  Carefully, she rips off a piece of tender crust that has just a dot of peanut butter, and places it in her mouth. It tastes so good.  Too good.  Before she knows it, she is staring down at an empty plate, not a crumb left.  

     She's lost control again.  Shit.  She fights back tears.  Don't cry you stupid bitch.  Stupid fat bitch.  All her muscles tense as she feels a wave of anger rush over her.  BAM.  She punches herself in the thigh with all her strength and then slams her knee into the wall, leaving a mediocre dent in the white drywall.  Tears roll down her cheeks, but she's not crying, oh no, fat bitches don't deserve to cry.  Grabbing her side, she is convinced she can feel the sandwich already digesting and forming fat on her hip.  She violently crawls towards her bathroom and hovers over the toilet.  Got to get this shit out.  Got to get it out before it poisons me with more pounds.  She sticks her finger down her throat and presses down hard.  Nothing.  She pushes her limb further in, until the top of her wrist touches her upper lip.  Nothing.  Fuck.  She begins to panic, moving her fingers circularly deep in her throat, trying to get her body to react.  She coughs uncontrollably, but no food comes up.  No half digested sandwiches, just blood.  And not just blood, small chunks of flesh, presumably pieces of her esophagus, come up as well.  She looks down at her stained hand in curiosity and smirks.  How lovely.  Getting dizzy, she places her forehead against the cool, smooth marble tub and wonders if the sandwich she ate is hidden somewhere in that mess of red.  Even if it's not, she decides she feels better.  Standing up, she instinctively pulls a razor blade from beside the sink, pulls down her pink pajama pants, and deeply carves a third small line, no bigger than half an inch, on her hip.  That's the third time in two weeks you've eaten, you fat fuck.  You're not sick until you look sick.
Eating disordered girl having some serious issues.

Don't know where this came from.
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edit Mar 11th: whoa... I never expected such positive response to this. I've never thought very highly of my poetry, and this is the first I've written for nearly two years. I'm glad there are people who like it :aww:

memories-stock :[link]
Falln-Brushes: [link] [link]
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As I look at her, with her beautiful honey hair
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low ‘lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.
This poem was one of the things I tried to write for *Writers-Workshop's Another Perspective workshop. But than I realized it's not fitting the concept that much.

This poem was written from a perspective of a refrigerator, the most ordinary kitchen appliance. Sometimes when you fall in love, looking at a beautiful person which got hurt too much in life, you miss those things about yourself which makes you just as bruised. I tried to capture a certain situation, a certain personality, and although in the end it's just a refrigerator - who said they don't have feelings too?
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I paid for you in silver dollars,
rabbit bones, and snail shells.
Beneath the flannel crush,
a twining of lash fingers,
I weight you with catamount claws,
I bury you in firewarmed stone
You are mine,
and I eat you with moth mouth
and spin you to silk.

When the winter stripped aspen bark
and the elk starved til their hooves
were too light to keep them tethered-
I carved the shape of a palm beneath the doorwood
and you tied three husk dolls to the tallest sapling.

We were a bowl, carved hollow and narrow
as pine needles and pressed against coals
and dog fur, leaning like lightning away
from blistered earth, taut with freeze,
away from wood, shrunk and sap-sticky-
dove tails untied and ribboned and bare.

Your spine is a naked rope and I climb you
to clouds rippled like sea-sand, my eyes
are bottle glass green.
I seize waves and swallow them to smoke.

You pad my throat with ash and
settle my bones with sandstone
and sink me to mud, coffined in ice.
You sell my teeth for cornmeal and
picked-pig hocks for stew.
You feast, undo your ribs
and let light hibernate.

I bring you a sky strained through cloth,
and set the stars on your eyelids.
I whistle the embers to scorch your feet
so that you will rest.
I watch through the cracks in the roof
and slip tickberries between your lips.
I wrap your heels in honey so you are bound
to earth, and never lift your eyes.
this means I love you.
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     the foreman
     says this is
  my last cigarette
  today     tomorrow
he chokes on a cigar
  today     tomorrow
  my last cigarette
     says this is
     the foreman

have it all,


all we want is everything.
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but this isn't just distance
as in space, not just distance as in
whispers of,

"i can't believe how far you
are from me, i miss you" -

this isn't just distance
in the way
that roads seem to spill over
hilltops for years,

stretching like skin across knuckles
but never ending,


this is the kind of distance
that isn't seen but instead felt,

that isn't marked by miles
or gas money and can't be pinned in two
spots on a map with red thumbtacks:

this is not hearing from you
for days

and knowing you haven't noticed.

this is wanting to have you
beside me

and knowing you're just fine


this is the kind of distance
that knows broken bridges, that hurts


because it feels
like it can't be mended, and because


feel distant
act distanced

   from me.
a different kind of long-distance

i am not looking for critiques on this. thank you

everything in my gallery is me, bailey elizabeth. do not use anything without my written permission.

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Background photo: enough [link] by :iconthe35mmstudio: Lovely photo isn't it?

Please view in fullview size!

I realize the flow of this isn't all that great but feel free to critique!

All I wanted was time to talk things out.
So much on my mind - racing thoughts and obsessive urges.
Distorted thoughts laced with suicidal ideations.
Cut to bleed to break the skin.
I just needed someone to listen so I could talk things out and
get a hold upon myself. Writing things down
only allowed me to stand my ground.
I dug my grave and eventually I found myself
standing within too late to explain.
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Can't help it, Being paranoid seems logical :|
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