YouYou2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The reflection in the Mirror is no longer broken,
The flower in Bloom no longer stained,
The song that I Sing is no longer sad,
The Unconditional love I feel is no longer strained.
The Supernova I see is an explosion of desire,
The Unknown no longer compels me to fear,
If a Hospital is where I seal my fate,
Let it be known I died loving You, my dear.
True and HaikuArt is lingerie;True and Haiku4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
silk and satin draped upon
our starving egos.
the trans-, the pan- and the asexual. i.the trans-, the pan- and the asexual.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He couldn't feel like a boy
And a girl
At the same time.
So he grew his hair long
With colorful dreadlocks
And wore eyeliner
But kept his name.
They told her that
She could either love boys
So she fell in love
With the boy who
Was born as a girl.
He didn't feel love
For the girl with the large chest.
Or the boy with the sparkling eyes.
But that didn't mean
He didn't love them
In his own way.
If that boy's way of loving is
And the boy with the long hair and eyeliner's way of loving is
And the girl who had a taste for personality, not gender's way of loving is
Then aren't we all just
musicaque fluya,que fluyamusica3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
el sonido de esta melodia
que suene,que fluya
el compas de esta dulce melodia
que suene,que fluya,que madure
como un buen vino chateau se madure
puesto que la musica es
puesto que como alimento ella es
que suene ,que madure, que fluya
como la dulce alimento para nuestra inspiracion
que suene ,que fluya
su nacimiento como arboles en floracion
que fluya ,que fluya
como un magnifico vino chateau
puesto que con su compas
puesto que con su compas
ella da nacimeinto a increibles canciones
ella da un breve escape a nuestras imaginaciones
como el mas dulce miel ella es
como la mas sabrosa fruta ella es
el sonido que fluye
la musica que fluye
los petalos en el viento bailan al compas
los geramios crecen y perecen en paz
las estaciones viene y van como olas del mar
es acaso nuestra provenir una simple brisa del mar
como petalos o geramios nuestra vida danza
solo como un paso de una magnifica danza
still.one.still.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
(and sometimes, she swears she can smell her mother's sadness.)
when alice was little she remembers playing freeze tag with her mother. she remembers feeling anxious, and now she feels sick. "if daddy touches you, stay still, and don't make a sound."
Swish-CthunkSwish-Cthunk8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Today I went down to the Bureau of Words to trade in my autumn onomatopoeia. Usually I put it off until at least the end of November, but this year the squelch-thud of my boots in the mounds of soggy leaves brought me up sharp. I went home, gathered my dry snaps, crackles and swooshes, as well as the cheerful spthooshk of a water balloon left over from August and headed down to the department. The rain hurried down to meet my umbrella, an excellent winter sound for which I had no words. But that would soon change.
The stooped man at the front desk greeted me with a finger to his lips. "We're running the barnyard tests, so we've got to be very quiet. Get me?"
I nodded. Fortunately, the entire antechamber of the Bureau is soundproofed, so my rubber soled boots made no sound on the white carpeted floor despite leaving a great deal of mud.
"What do you have in mind for me today? I'm here for the seasonal trade-in deal."
"Well, we've got snow falling on cedars, rain dripping into a puddle o
messages.it's twenty degrees outside, and when he breathes into the air, the smoke spells sex.messages.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
but not the loving kind, the kind where taking a shower just isn't enough to get the smell of him off of me.
he's all wrapped up into disney movie, magic shit. when i know that he is just some dirty subliminal message, and i'll get sucked in.(but i'll tell myself it's not my fault, because my sub-conscious should be more aware, and i'll pinch myself to make sure i'm sleeping.)
i know that's not right. (anything to keep me asleep)
if and when he holds my hand he squeezes 3 times, and that means "i love you." and i am aware that i should squeeze back 3 times because that is just courteous to do. but for some reason i squeeze once, and that just means, "okay."
(there is this part of me that wishes my subconscious could catch
Rehab for Roleplayers - IntroWelcome to Rehab for Roleplayers, a series of articles aimed at helping roleplayers more successfully make the transition into writing fiction.Rehab for Roleplayers - Intro5 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Introduction: How to Spot a Drow Illusionist
I can identify a habitual roleplayer from fifty paces. Those who've been spooked by my asking whether they're a roleplayer within ten seconds of reading their fiction will know what I'm talking about.
"But how did you know?" they gasp. When I'm done chuckling, I explain that I know they are a roleplayer, because they write like a roleplayer.
There's usually a pause, then, while the writer decides to what degree they're going to feel offended by this statement, and/or wonders whether I've been stalking them, before they pose the next question: "What, exactly, do you mean by that?"
What I mean is this: roleplayers almost invariably share the same basic writing habits, and some of these habits stand out as flaws in their non-RP material.
Many people develop their interest in writing
charlotte.it was halloween and charlotte was dressed as an obnoxious pumpkin, because her mother tries to make her a normal child.charlotte.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(and charlotte will whisper that normal children smash pumpkins, not wear them.)
when charlotte was seven she decided that she would swim far out into old pine lake, and hold her breath until the colors in her eyes turned purple, like the bruises that slid down her thighs and touched apon her fragile feet.
(and it was then that charlotte realized, that no one would be around to save her, and that just wasn't the point.)
charlotte decides to be called "char" because it sounds like something silent, and distant. when you say a word so many times in a row it just doesn't sound the same anymore.
(because charlotte wasn't the same,anymore.
charlotte's first b
watching you spin.you're a disco dancing, drama queen with dirty hair and the permanent smell of stale cigarettes. but god, are you beautiful, twisting and dancing under circular lights,watching you spin.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
and vomiting when you're done.(acid does some crazy shit)
your hair was once blonde and beautiful like your eyes, but now it's laying in clumps almost everywhere, because you fucking pull out a strand whenever i'm around, i don't know why i do that to you.
but i never really ever offer to leave, either.
there's that one song that i always hear you listening to, it's the same old shit about love and loss and never being able to forget that special someone, i use to get mad at you for giving in to such conforming types of art.
but now i just let you go, because last time i actually made you cry.
"would you rather fly, or read minds?" i told you i'd rather read minds, and know what everyone thinks, because you can fly on a plane anyday, but no one ever thinks the same.
lightening bolt eyes.he has lightening bolt eyes and one fucking killer smile.lightening bolt eyes.6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
let me introduce you to whom i call "fire-fly."
he has ice white skin and something about the way his hair falls that makes me wish mine would conform to such a beauty.
looking at you for so long makes me feel. Really feel.
he calls them fire-flies but i say lightening bugs.
fire burns hot against his skin, and i can feel the heat in his heart
but lightening bolt eyes can destroy you.
but god, it's so beautiful first, but only at first.
he calls me his "freckled girl" and i call him my heart
and he says that i shine underneath the sun
like it was made for me, and only me
but he has telescope eyes, and those can see to the stars.
he has razor blade hip bones and they stab into me while i dream
lightening bolt eyes and freckles like stars
and in my bed at midnight is the perfect galaxy
and for a second we make one constellation
dArama - ISSUE ONE - Love.dArama - ISSUE ONE - Love.7 years ago in Editorial More Like This
The dynamic between core staff, volunteer staff, and the community can at times be pure quality dArama.
It's worth noting that for years I've worked pretty hard to remain neutral on community politics. Today, I'm going to shatter that concept.
Needless to say, I am extremely politically aware of the inner workings of the deviantART community. I read *a lot* of journals, comments, forums, chat rooms. I have fake accounts. I spy.
But I don't spend my time talking politics, instead I focus internally at deviantART designing technologies and implementing understandings with core staff to address the issues I see pop up.
It's time to take a moment to be a bit more petty.
In the inner workings of our politics exists the soul of deviantART. What is this place? What was it meant to do? What does it do? What could we do better? And it's the politics that give insight into how well the greater plan is running.
There's $core staff who are employees or contractors and work 8+
Neco AvisThe birds preach:Neco Avis3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"empathy, all things
beneath the arms of oaks;
all the wingless toilers of the earth.
Turn a kind eye on your lot
and we will gaze down upon you,
And the men beneath,
so busy carving arrows
do not reply.
Much to tired to sleepSoMuch to tired to sleep6 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
I eat this pan filled of dough
I break he fingers I sing with
I'm much to tired to sleep, much to lazy to do nothing
I am surrounded by shit and stones
Im neither a bug nor sword
Im Neither intoxicated nor sober
You are fucking explicit
I am touching up on pass memories
The worm had its way with everyone
9.11 is...9.11 is...6 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
The day I died
You were listening to the hand stains slapping against skin
The day you died
I was executing an electronic rythm with it's corpse
To explain the way I enjoy hand wrapped sponge cake
Would be...practically inpheasable
Light and dark is starting too
bring us down, wouldn't you agree
Eh hem...turn off the lights will you?
To say my head is hurting
Is the equivelent to saying
We all have aquirred a taste for champagne
Which is not as good as it sounds