I get so mad. . . .I get so mad. . . .10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I get mad
when I write my name,
and I know how it should look,
but it looks wrong.
My father says writing isn't easy.
I just get mad.
The Future of DeviantART?The Future of DeviantART?10 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Over the course of the last 23 months as a deviant, I've seen some things that most others never get the chance to, and I've seen the highs and lows of the community. I've seen the transfer from version to version with the each new August; I've seen what it's like to be a deviant; I've seen what it's like to wear the staff hat as well; I've even seen being banned. But, I ask you this: Why am I still here? What makes me keep coming back here, and supporting this place so strongly? What it is I'm yet to find properly and define, but I know for sure, it's slowly dwindling away, fading into the distant memories of better times when deviantART was simply the best website around without the slightest shadow of a doubt. No'urdays, community seems to be taking a backseat to the corporate ventures the site seems to be undertaking at an exponentially quick rate. With every passing day, a new move towards turning dA into exactly what it is not: a corporation.
When it was founded in 2000, t
The Lyrebird and Writing DeskThe Lyrebird and Writing DeskThe Lyrebird and Writing Desk10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is a frightening lung,
a not-quite-natural red swell beneath feathers,
that grates like a shaken sack of nails.
This bird is a chameleon
of voices, modulating its shriek
to whatever frequent note might rise
through the trees. Today
its cry has become the gargle
of splinters and split wood:
the chainsaw's growling melody.
In my own climate, adapting
to the shift of pages and their stains,
my voice strains; I almost crow.
Ghostly ChildGhostly Child3 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
It couldn’t have been a more beautiful night to walk among the stars.
Vivi and Lewis were out on one of their nightly strolls, the air beneath their feet just another walking surface to them, as the world below them continued to move on without them. Lewis had taken one of Vivi’s arms into his, his back straight as his built chest was puffed out like a proud ghost should be.
Vivi walked next to him, dressed in a dark-blue trench coat and silky gloves for the somewhat chilly night, her hair pulled back into a small ponytail, as silver skulls dangled from her earlobes. Her eyes were closed in thought at the moment, a warm, comforting smile holding her lips together to create a tranquil face for the lovely lady of the mansion.
It had been 3 years since the two were officially wed, as official as it could get for a ghost and a human, and since then the two had lovingly lived in Lewis’ mansion. Arthur, who was welcomed with open arms to join them, had held off from staying
Dear TeddyTeddy, I've been bad againDear Teddy6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My mommy told me so
I'm not quite sure what I did wrong
But I thought that you might know
When I woke up this morning
I knew that she was mad
Cause she was crying awful hard
And yelling at my dad
I tried my best to be real good
and do just what she said
I cleaned my room all by myself
I even made my bed
But I spilled milk on my good shirt
When she yelled at me to hurry
And I guess she didn't hear me
When I told her I was sorry
Because she hit me awful hard, you see
and called me funny names
and told me I was really bad
and I should be ashamed
When I said, I love you Mommy
I guess she didn't understand
Cause she yelled at me to shut my mouth
or I'd get smacked again
So I came here to talk to you
Please tell me what to do
"Cause I really love my mommy
and I know she loves me too
And I don't think my mommy means
To hit me so hard
I guess somtimes, grown ups forget
How really big they are
So Teddy, I wish you were real
and you weren't just a bear
Then you could h
The Official Ode to the ForumsThe Official Ode to the Forums10 years ago in Ballad More Like This
I can't stand to see another thread,
beating a horse that's already dead.
Do you like "s3ks" and what does art mean?
A poorhorse cult for illiterate teens.
The forum descriptions must be Greek,
or maybe the newbies only read 1337.
The Welcome Center to get a tour.
Thumbshare Forum for commentwhores.
'Deviator' no longer exists
(The Forum's still there 'cause jark insists)
Don't post there- it's useless you know
Read the thread that tells you so.
Elite ForumWhores: they're better than you.
Accept it now you know it's true;
If you see a lot of the Blank Stare guy
stupidity is the reason why.
For those with a brain that can't be found
watch out for curran if he's around.
With legendary wit and sarcastic replies
he cleans up the forums (or at least he tries).
We interupt this poem to distinguish
that "kewl" and "k@wa1i!!1!1" are not English.
If those are in your vocabulary
please buy yourself a dictionary.
Do you think you are a squirrel
instead of a normal boy or girl?
life isn't fairlife isn't fair11 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Sometimes I feel
As though I'm dead
I can't do anything
I've reached an end
People hate me
No matter what I do
I don't want to live
My life is crud
Try being me
See how long you last
Think it's easy?
Kiss my ass
Course it's not
Don't be dumb
My life is sad
Never any fun
So leave me here
To rot and die
Happiness is hard to find
It can't be bought
Let me die in peace
No one to care
I don't want to live
Life isn't fair.
Attention SeekingBollocks to the lot of you! This is my new hat!Attention Seeking8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But it looks exactly like your old hat, Charles.
It's my new hat! It's a new fucking hat!!!
There's no need to use so many exclamation marks, Charles.
!!!!!!!!! !!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!
Now you're just being silly.
Ever Beating Chapter 23Chapter 23Ever Beating Chapter 233 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
Slowly but surely, Lewis felt himself starting to come to in the midst of his coffin. He opened his eyes, staring at the black lid of his light-devoid sleeping quarters. Man, what a dream. He’d have to tell Amethyst about it and-
Memories soon flooded into his skull, remembering the fight Vivi and him had, almost killing Arthur, leaving for the caves, destroying Jett, the fight… He frowned in his mind, feeling very sorrowful at the moment for Amethyst. What did she mean by her words? Was she really…? Lewis shook his skull, having to sort that out later.
Right now he had to get some answers. Namely, how long he had been out. With that in mind Lewis put his hands on his coffin lid, pushing it open as light streaked in.
He hesitated for a second before sliding the lid back, floating a few steps out and into a new room. It looked like a cheap motel room, with luggage, clothing and tools strewn aside everywhere. A closed window was next to his propped up
Grain of SandGrain of Sand10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't cry
My tears are dry
Grains of sand
In an ancient ocean
The scent of despair
Clings to my hair
My skin, my hands
I touch but feel empty.
The ground shakes beneath my feet
Along with my deafening heartbeat
A tattoo of a thousand wardrums
Pounding in my head.
Can I trust you when
I'm on the ground again
The heat coming from the mud
Blazing in my skin
I can't let you win...
- In My Eyes -- In My Eyes -10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I tried to listen
To the things you said
But I couldn't stop the voices
Inside my head
I thought it would end
If I could forget
I tried to pretend
And that I regret
Because it's eating me alive
It never ever goes away
It's strangling me inside
And suffocates me more each day
It's driving me insane
I can't take this anymore
I hate myself, I'm a useless bitch,
A filthy fucking whore
I can't see anything but red
I hate this place inside my head
I'm fucking crazy just like they said
I'd kill myself, but I'm already dead
'Cause I ignored it for too long
And I believed in my own lies
Now it's too late, my soul is gone
You can see it in my eyes
Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.Perspectives of a Hallucino...7 years ago in Open More Like This
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.
Nobody Liked The MothNobody Liked The Moth9 years ago in Humor More Like This
Nobody Liked the Moth
For Siān, for Art and for Acquired Tastes.
I love you all.
Staggering through his studio like a penguin avoiding the cracks Arvo Tikk announced his return by belching loudly and falling on a little toy telephone with wheels, rather than the sofa he'd intended to land on.
"Fuck!" he bellowed. "Fuckin' fuckin' fuck arse bollocks!"
Upstairs, Meredith groaned and stuffed a pillow over his head. Arvo had obviously been drinking again.
"S'no good! I'm gonna hafta kill myself!" Arvo slurred, levering himself up and depositing his bulk on the arm of the sofa, then toppling over onto the cushions. Meredith ignored him. "You'll have to as well, obviously! No use just me goin'. That'd be pointless."
"I got a gun! We'll do it properly this time. It's got bullets and a trigger and all that malarky. Bang, bang, thud, thud, end of matter!"
Meredith took the pillow off his head with a grunt and donned his dressing gown. "Arvo, we
Mr Rutabaga's Clockwork MinceOh what a thing you are! I am one too. So, incidentally, is Mr Rutabaga, the third thing we've come across in as many sentences. Mr Rutabaga lives in Cardiff and grows things in buckets, for he cannot afford pots.Mr Rutabaga's Clockwork Mince8 years ago in Humor More Like This
He has recently planted some Nazis, but the results have so far been futile beyond belief. He is a young woman, plastic cups taped to her arms (for feathers are hard to come by), leaping and flapping and flapping and leaping. She will touch the clouds only in her dreams, and even then with gloves on.
After one such afternoon spent leaping off makeshift ramps and toying with the notion of using polystyrene cups instead of the conventional plastic ones, the young woman comes home to an uninviting meal of toast and mandarins, cold from the tin. She scrapes the toast off her plate into her cat's water bowl and climbs into her hammock for another desperate dream.
Thirty days of futile watering later, Mr Rutabaga has still to see even the peak of a cap sprout from any of
AwakeningAwakening10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Morning reaches out to you
- you look shocked, confused.
Stretch your concrete arms
a block further.
Bow steel legs over the muddy river.
Your mouth fills with traffic.
- break lights are lipstick.
Your yawn is a train horn.
Now morning has made up the ground
you rise, begrudging.