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Similar Deviations
madeline wants to paint a picture on a canvas.
she wants to build a tree house and wants her netball team to win the final.
meet someone new every day. she wants to realise pink's an ugly colour and throw out all of her clothes.
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she wants to make her first phone call to a boy and hold his hand and go to his house. she wants to get butterflies and wants to share a hot chocolate with him. she wants to have her first kiss.
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she wants to listen to music until its all she can hear. she wants to fail tests and say fuck studying, she wants to get a detention and wants to tell her parents that she handed in the excursion money, but keep it for herself.
-
madeline wants to get high and get a piercing and tell everyone she's fighting the power. she wants to try being vegetarian for a week. she wants to skip school and go to parties. she wants to stumble home in the early morning.
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she wants to detox and spend all sunday sleeping. she wants to apologise to her parents and try so very hard to explain. she wants to have sex in the backyard and in the shower and at the beach and tell a boy she loves him and mean it
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she wants to buy a white dress and say 'i do'. she wants to spend forever choosing a boy's name and a gir'sl name. she wants to get an ultrasound and she  wants be be able to tell her children about her childhood.

-

the doctor gave her two weeks to live.
if i could, i would give her more.
i've been listening to so much jack johnson lately.
i love it.

i just needed to write
:heart:

updated 12/11 11.27 pm
changggggged some stuff.
and added another paragraph.
andd realised i kinda sorta like this.
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it's the day of our anniversary and

i'm reading old love letters and i suddenly miss the sweet scent of daisy perfume curling under my nostrils. i suddenly began waking up every summer morning because you always left for work and you wouldn't ever leave without kissing me goodbye. i'm reading every sentence over and over again while wondering why God sent the only person i loved towards a different direction.
i'll love you until the sun stops shining.
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he has a harlequinade smile and sometimes we fuck under the stars. in the backyard; a mess of drunken, tired limbs shaking in the breeze and shaking under one another, we disregard everything we care about for as long as we want and everything is perfect as long as we keep it that way.

we collapse into each other; our heartbeats slowing and our breaths becoming deeper as we lay next to each other and watch what we can see of the stars from our suburban backyard. he tells me they're beautiful, and all i can remember is the real stars; the real night sky without the purple haze of pollution clouding the sky. i want to show him the real night sky one day.

he tells me he wishes moments like these could last forever, as we lie side by side watching as the purple-black sky fades into blue and the stars cease to exist for another day. his dark, tired eyes stare through me and i haven't slept but it doesn't matter, because his smile is warm and his hands gentle, resting in the curve of my back.

he has a harlequinade smile and sunset eyes and a story written in the palms of his hands and holds me even in his sleep and i think i love him.
maybe.
just a little.
this is more than obviously for james.
because i love him more than anything else in the world.
maybe.
just a little.


yeah im sorry. i can't write lately.
dunno.
also, DEVIN HARLIQUINADE!
:heart:
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Dear Kira,
            I feel it's necessary to say 'dear [insert name]' at the beginning of every letter, because that's how we were taught to write letters, but some people just say the person's name without 'dear' and it makes them sound upset. I personally would like to say 'oh sweet' or 'oh so lovely' in place of 'dear' sometimes.

Oh sweet Kira,
                   Sometimes I imagine being a famous actor, author, or musician's son. How cool would that be? But the more I think about it, the more I realize it probably wouldn't be as exhilarating as it seems if I actually were. Their kids probably don't see them as superstars. And that thought reminds me that the family I have are superstars, even if it's only in my galaxy.

Oh so lovely Kira,
                        I want to live my life like a really good book that's so sweet, it's sad. I know someone else who seems the same way, but she's much more true to herself, and much more ambitious, and much more beautiful. And she doesn't give me as much attention as I'd like her to, though I think I understand why, but still, I have to make up reasons to not tell her everything and to not believe I'm in love with her and to not call her up one day screaming at her. I barely know her, but that's a good start, isn't it?

Dear Kira,
            I like music by Justice, but I hate the crowd they attract. Same goes for author Neil Gaiman's more adult books. And Great Escape. And malls. And Las Vegas. And yo-yo's.

Dear Kira,
            I believe you can't love someone unless they leave a little room for you to hate them when you want to. So when a guest comes over, and some people who usually don't act sweet act sweet, I don't take it to heart, because it assures me that they love me.

My beloved Kira,
                       Have you ever looked at an old photograph of yourself that had strangers in the background and wondered what they were doing today? Or wondered what they look like now, or if they're making something of their lives, or if they're even still breathing?
                       I hope they're doing okay.

Dear Kira,
            I want my headstone to say, “You're next.”
            That was meant to be funny, but I'd actually like my headstone to say, “I really lived life. Now it's your turn.” I just hope the italicized letters don't cost too much extra.

Dear Kira,
            I don't think God is a He, because what would God need with a penis and two testicles? Also, I don't think God's name is God, nor does God have one. I don't think God is a person, or a thing, or a conscious being, or anything else in words or even in our comprehension. But I believe in God.
            And if God really is a He, and angels and heaven are real, and Jesus is really waiting there, I'm sure they'll understand.

Dear Kira,
            I get this feeling every so often when I think everything and everyone is so very beautiful, and every photo I see of a new stranger, I think, “I love them.”
            Also, I've looked at myself so much in the mirror that I've convinced myself I look like Adam. I don't think I'm special. It's just that I've begun to look so plain.

Dear Kira,
            Old people make me sad. Especially the ones who still haven't learned that happiness isn't something you look for and find, but rather, it's a state of mind easily achieved.

My Darling Kira,
                       I cry easily, and I hate it.
                       Also, every time I'm really angry and my brother sees me, he'll laugh, and no matter how mad I am, I have to laugh too. And I hate it because I can't bear the instant change of emotion.

Oh wonderful Kira,
                          If I could, I'd spend a life listening to everybody's problems and showing each of them the love and attention they deserve, though...I really can't.
                          But I'll start with you.

Dear Kira,
            “Wait, wait, don't forget me! I'm just as important as they are, you see!”
            That was the only line I had to say in a kindergarten play, and it feels like my life has been based around it ever since.

Dear Kira,
            I think everything is connected, because sometimes, scenery that I've never seen flashes into my mind for only a second before it hides away and I forget it. I truly believe these places exist though and wish to see them firsthand. I'd also like to live many different lifestyles and not stick to the same routine for too long. I even want to meet many different people, and learn many different things(not just strange/fun facts), and pursue a few different talents. I want to feel many different feelings, and think many different thoughts.
             But I only want to do it all with one person.

Dear Kira,
             When I'm writing, it feels like time stops.
             When I'm writing for you, time doesn't even exist.

Dear Kira,
            I'd like to get rich some day(but not to the point where it's filthy), with a big house, a boat, a fancy apartment, some weird expensive car, a motorcycle(I'll never learn to ride it), a piece of land, maybe even an island, with a whole lot of cash left over, just to one day(and not when I start to get old) give it all away. And I'd be happier knowing I had it and let it go than if I held it tight forever.

Dear Kira,
            Sometimes I feel like going up to a parent and asking them, 'Why did you do it?'
            Why do we want children if life is so confusing and harmful to us? Is it to have something to live for? A reason to feel like our existence isn't all in vain? To love as hard as our hearts will let us and know that when it's our time to go, someone will cry for us?
            If I don't figure it out, I hope when I'm an old man, my kids can tell me.

Dear Kira,
            I want to learn an instrument because I love music.
            I want to play an instrument to get women.

Dear Kira,
             I love growing up, because if I didn't, being young wouldn't be as exciting. Though, I don't think I'll grow up a whole lot in the mind anyway. I imagine having conversations with my kid(s) when they're a few months young. And still playing hide and seek with them when they're fourteen. And singing and dancing in the living room or the front lawn, solo or with my wife or kid(s). And trying to teach my kid(s) something other than 'dada' as their first word. And acting out planned, embarrassing scenes with my wife when they bring their boy/girlfriend over. And getting a band to play 'Do you know the muffin man?' at my wedding, or perhaps never having an official one. And singing 'I will always love you' at the top of my lungs in a field of grass, or the middle of a lake. And teaching my kid(s) when someone says 'thank you' to say 'no, thank yooou!'. And me still cracking stupid jokes when I'm on my deathbed.

My beautiful Kira,
                         I don't think we can change the world. We can't move mountains, or rivers, or glaciers, or islands. Sure, we can cut through them or make new ones, but we cannot pick them up and place them somewhere else. Therefore, we cannot change the world. But we can- I say we can -change the people in it.



                                                                        Love To And 'Til Death,
                                                                                           Vincenzo~
fuck ~PostSecrets ! ...coming straight out with this, haha.
this was a little project between :iconspongexd: and I to kickstart '09 and make it interesting.
it's all true.

here is hers: [link]

~~~~~
=Inked-Page may post this
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i am eaten by the sun
holes worn in my clothes
from the radiation,
burning a hole
in my stomach
as harsh as the acid
ebbing and flowing,
oceanic,
around the isles
of my teeth.

like an old sweater,
i am unravelling by my threads;
caterpillars breaking
through cocoons,
never metamorphosing
into the butterflies
they could have been,
the very same
as you and me.

now that i have put you
inside of this jar,
chrysalis sticking fragile
to the copper lid,
you have become
someone i could love.

i hold you like a lamb,
tight to my chest
so that my air
is your air,
and our breaths hit
the same measures.
we are synchronising
the beats of our hearts
to the metronome
of swaying emotion.

please,
when you arrive,
remember me.
and when you leave,
remember me still.

i do
and will continue to
love you
as long as i live
but who can call
this
a life?
hi, this is my heart
please, treat it with care
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goodnight and i breathe out
shutting my eyes
to images of
jumping fish,
stormy theme parks;
a solemn grin
that drives
my fingers to
my throat
       and lets go.

we're pacing down
a broken hill, green
and deep,
though i have little doubt
you're losing me
the trail past the graves
is somehow screaming
and we can both feel
the blue house
       a curve ahead.

there's a picket fence.

i've never been here with
open eyes, open the
vibration of my cells
that knows this place
in some life
(maybe past-life or a
half-life yet to come)
this place never
       let me go.

but then why are you here
with your dozing eyes and
careful lips, holding
my hand but
not going inside.
is this wrong or

       are you saving me?
something old. i feel like i've been writing so much but really, i haven't been writing at all i've just been living so much.

this is a double edged sword.

i adore comments :heart: ~~
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i'm just a kid  trying to make something beautiful
from the restricting feeling that encloses my chest and the hopelessness that presents itself in the form of blurred vision and
shaking,
submitting hands.
-
it's all i've got;
life gets fucking ugly and i write stories to the shins and jeff buckley
but i can't deal with it any more;
can't deal with the lines underneath my eyes and can't write
about this any more
-
i hate my body
its just a shell for the words i
spill
-
would you even cry?
would you get up and move on or would you take the
kurt cobain route;
or blow your fucking brains out?
-
do you need to know why?
i dont fucking know.
where'd you go?
why?
-

scraps soon.

edit 2/10
11.46 pmmmmmm and im tired and i need to fix this but can't do it properlly.
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he asked me once, 'are you afraid to die?' and i didn't know how to answer. i'd like to say that i am; that it scares me more than anything else, but i can't help but think that the world becomes a better place when you die. i told him i wasn't and he stared out the window at the dark street. resting his head against the slightly-frosted window pane, he breathed 'neither am i'</acronym>
-
we're all just dying, though, don't you think? we're not living, we're dying. every day is another day we won't ever get back and another day that we won't ever remember. at least we're dying together, though. at least we can say that we've spent time watching our lives pass us by and not doing anything about it. i think that's the best thing we can do, really.
-
i realised the other day that there's nothing to be afraid of. that even if we are dying, that even if we are lost, thats the point. that maybe we're supposed to get lost and find our way out. that maybe if we spend long enough dying when the time really comes we won't be afraid and we'll have beautiful last words. i realised i have a boy who belongs to the sun and people who appreciate the words that spill from my mind onto my computer screen. i realise that the only thing i was ever scared of was myself and i've learnt to write in first person. i've realised that there's nothing to be afraid of.
-
today, i believe you when you say i'm beautiful.
this is for.
this is for.
this is for.
everyone.

for my beautiful boy who belongs to the sun and means more to me than he could ever imagine and checks my deviant art page more than nessecary, to everyone whose name i will one day learn that favourites and comments and i never ever thank your properly, for chloe whos book i accidentally set on fire (i promise you'll still get it though, chloe. burnt and paint plattered and all) for devin whose logic and mind-fucks make me smile, for everyone i've done collabs with who have sparked some words in me, for :devslightlykitsch: whose diary made me smile, for the people who have been here since the very start when i wrote about robot love and the summer, for michele who knows my name and that made me smile, for megan whose work just makes me want to die over and over again because i can't deal with the way it makes my heart race, for everyone who said they'd miss me and then i never really left, for the other writers on here who don't get nearly enough credit, for sibel who has honestly been the most supportive person, for elizabeth who sparked this realisation, for people who will never, ever read this, for people who won't get the chance to read this, for people who are long gone, for people who i still think about almost every day, for the people who invented water colour pencils, for the people who deal with my spelling mistakes and for the people who promised me everything would be okay in the end. because it is. because without you guys i'd be nothing and still lost. it's corny as all hell, but really. i mean it.
thank you.

:heart:
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silence unfolds, breaking and falling
like the young and the blind, like the
rhythmic pattern of sun and rain

and i grow hollow and eternal, fingertips
tracing the hollows of your shoulder blades
while the night holds its breath for us

damp orange light dances stale ballet
with the smoke trailing your jaw, and your
eyes make me feel like this pain -
no, it never existed
you do not understand metaphors.
so maybe it would make more sense,
for me to just say that i love you.
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sunlight pales without
you and i realized that
love breaths forever too.
love doesn't end.
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