To My Future SelfTo my Future Self,
Breathe. You must be thinking, seriously, my teen self is acting like an old fart of a teacher telling off overstressed kids, but seriously, breathe. Stop. Pause. Listen. It's your heart beating. It's telling you, I'm beating so damn hard, I might just kill you one day.
Okay, let's digest. There can only be two reasons for your heart to beat like that. One reason is because I wouldn't have changed- I would still be that overzealous, neurotic, depressed teenager with a penchant for word thieves, dream catchers and moment makers. The other reason would be just the opposite: it's beating with life, with purpose, with hope.
I hope you'll be that second person.
Because being that second person means being serenaded by Chopin in a boy's car, travelling down to Bondi Beach watching sculptures rear out of the sea and you're feeling like, maybe, love may finally find you at last. Being that second person means you just won't shut up talking to patrons
Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me)Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me) –Dear You (Or, Alternatively, Me)2 years ago in Teen More Like This
I worry about you sometimes.
I worry about how you are doing: who you are spending your time frolicking with, whether or not you have finally kissed someone, if you still get nervous easily. I worry about my friends in your time – are they still our friends? Or have you finally let them all go, or pushed them away, or left like we always dreamed of?
Sometimes I lay in bed in the late hours of the night, dreaming of your life. Do you remember? Do you remember staring at the dark ceiling so long it began turning red, tossing and turning, hoping and dreading what is to come? I wonder if the things I have done effect you as we have always worried they would; if they have broken you.
You see, the truth is – and I am certain you remember this about me – I fear you. I fear you like a lightning rod fears a thunderstorm. Do you remember why I fear you so? You do, don't you? Just as I shrink away from the possibility of becoming you, so you shrink
Dear Teen MeDear Adolescent Self,Dear Teen Me2 years ago in Adult More Like This
I know, everything sucks and you don't want to hear from some lame-ass old person. Lame-ass old people try to tell you things like this all the time, but they're just stupid old people that can't possibly understand. You don't respect me because I'm not in a band, I don't have black hair, and I don't look awesome. I don't write screamey songs that speak to your weasley black soul, nor am I Tim Burton or Freddie Mercury. I get it, past self. I get it. Frankly, I don't want to hear things from me either most of the time. As lame as I may be, just hear me out for a minute.
There's this thing you should really, really try, and it's called being happy. No, I'm not high. Yes, this is really quite terrible and hokey. Shut up and stop judging me for a minute, I'm trying to help you, you little twonk. Also, start thinking of absurd insults now, it will help you in the long run.
As I was SAYING, you spend far too much time and effort on being miserable. Part of it is the ho
dear teen meDear Sarah,dear teen me2 years ago in Adult More Like This
Remember that time you tried to top yourself by hiding under the covers? That was hilarious. I remember you tugging at the edges of the blanket and praying, without a shred of scientific evidence, that the lack of oxygen would be enough to kill you. You sat under there for something like fifteen minutes before you gave up and went to make a sandwich. But while you were under there, choking a little on your pillow because you never washed your sheets, I remember you thought someone was watching. Someone who understood your suffering. Someone who understood you.
Kid, that was me. And I've got two words for you: man up. Life can get a whole lot harder than this. Before too much longer, it's going to. And by the time you get to my age, you're going to be glad.
Why were you
FloodgatesWe’re lined up as we enter Year Seven.Floodgates2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Rulers are pulled out, skirts inspected. Three inches above the knee, no more.
Our skirts are millimeters too short. We hope to pass. If we pass, we’re allowed into the house. Those who don’t are sent home so their mothers can mend what’s broken.
They scour for torn hems, loose stitches, and find none. But Marissa filled out over the summer, and the back of her skirt rises up her thigh nearly an inch above an appropriate level. We share a knowing glance as she flows out of our line, thrust back into the office where someone will call her mother to gather her. Our mothers taught us to lean back when the ruler passed, to let the hem dip down to the creases of our knees. No one would know. When we pass, we share a silent victory.
When they can’t hear us, we whisper about Marissa’s chest, how red splotches cover her nose and cheekbones. We think she won’t come back, girls like her never do, and seventh years a
That which is most preciousShe was more suited to be a prince than a princess.That which is most precious5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders
and she wanted nothing more
than to lift that sad look from his face.
She walked up behind him
put her arms around him, pressed her lips to his ear:
Please don't be sad anymore.
It may not be all smiles and sunshine
but I want to try and make you happy.
Maybe not forever
Never tell me you love meI'm not a pebble in your ocean,Never tell me you love me7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm not a speck of dust in your universe,
I'm the lava in your mountain,
And without me you're just a canopy of trees,
I make you brilliant, I define power in you.
I make you breathe fire,
I make you speak as though you burn the whole world,
I'm the infinite universe contained in your tiny vessel,
I'll burn you down, scorch you into million constellations,
And incinerate every second of your memories into ashes.
So believe me when I say this,
You can never love me,
You are incapable of loving me.
-Never tell me you love me
SadnessI’ve been sad for about two weeks.Sadness2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
When I say I’m sad, please know that it does not mean I am in absence of happiness. There is happiness here. It just has a very short half-life.
The sadness lives in a little tiny circle that is under my skin. It’s like a bruise. Right now it’s sitting off on my right side between my seventh and eight rib.
I’ve been sad for about two weeks.
That’s long enough to die of dehydration four times over.
The sadness comes and goes, and the happiness comes and goes, and there’s this emptiness that sits underneath it.
People aren’t talking to me too much because of how stressed we all are. Finals. But when they do talk to me, their words ping off like stones on a frozen lake.
How are you?
Ping, ping, ping.
I have the scrape the words out of the back of my throat and my chest because they’re stuck.
Words like “I’m fine” are all glued up with words like “My dog just had chemo
What You Learn From The Stars1. The stars are the greatest liars to ever exist.What You Learn From The Stars1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
2. They will always remind you of him.
3. Your obsession starts when your cousin gets a telescope. He wants to be an astronaut. He shows you Orion. The two of you sit in the long summer grass with your necks tilted back and he tells you about flight and velocity, but all you know is gravity. The way it drags your limbs low. You listen and stare over the treeline and wonder why people are always trying to explain things instead of just letting them exist.
4. You buy a box of glow-in-the-dark star stickers. There are sheets, and there are thousands. You use an encyclopedia to look up star maps and painstakingly recreate the winter night sky in the northern hemisphere. Your fingers bleed from the pointy corners sticking under your nails but on stormy nights at least you still have the stars.
5. You learn about horoscopes, try to find your zodiac so you can know your f
Identifying a Possible DDWith so much variety out there, it can be difficult to know what makes a piece good enough to receive a Daily Deviation (DD).Identifying a Possible DD2 years ago in Art Features More Like This
We've put our heads together with the Literature Community Volunteers (Lit CVs), to come up with some advice on what makes a DD stand out. This isn't a definitive list, nor does it guarantee that your suggestions will actually get featured, but it should help you better understand what sets DDs apart from the rest.
Emotional Reaction and Wider Appeal
Possibly the most defining feature of all successful DDs is how they connect to the reader. Reading is often a personal and intimate activity, thus the emotional connection between the reader and literature varies. At some point though, we all form a connection with what we read. In the words of Nichrysalis:
"Writing should resonate on an emotional level, as art does, whether it entertains, saddens, or shocks. If a piece resonates with me, and I
Fuck your truth, I'll find my ownI have never understood the bipolarityFuck your truth, I'll find my own11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of the world, how it gives you ice
with one hand and fire with the other.
Be proud of who you are.
Pride is a sin.
Seize your life.
Go with the flow.
Fear is a gift.
Fear is the road to hate.
Moving: A YaduWe keep a homeMoving: A Yadu2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Of unknown hums
And lonely cats.
The sky cracks but
He lacks a raincoat.
Fueled by smoke and
Words he lands on
A branded street,
Knows the sweet rage
Of meeting too soon and late.
This town belongs
To a song man
And wrongful ghost.
He is most sure
The coast will fade their remnants.
Critmas is here! (Last Day!) Today is the LAST DAY for you to get your 12 critiques in! Make sure you leave a comment in this journal linking all your pieces. There's plenty of prizes up for grabs Remember you have until 11:59 PM pst TODAY to complete your critiques!Critmas is here! (Last Day!)2 years ago in Deviant Events More Like This
On the first day of Critmas, a deviant gave to me.
Back by popular demand, I bring you...
The 12 days of CRITMAS challenge!
"CRITMAS IS COMING, THE PROSE IS GETTING FAT. OUT COMES THE RED PEN TO GET RID OF THAT!" (Memnalar)
Now most of you are relaxing and chilling out on your Christmas vacations; some of you have time off work/school and will be staying at home in the warm over the next week or so. So why don't we make use of that hermit time and do something productive? Get your onesie on, warm up a mince pie, pour yourself a Baileys and let’s get comfortable around our computers!
I want you to kiss meI want you to kiss me.I want you to kiss me1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not because of you
or me, or us.
Not for a relationship.
Not for the promise of another.
But because I’ve looked
into the mirror these last four
years, and I’ve seen the same girl.
Four years tired
and a lifetime weary,
but the same.
And I’ve never been kissed before,
so I want you to kiss me.
I’m not rushing to grow up,
I don’t want to.
But I want to change.
I want to grow,
and still be the same.
So I want you to kiss me.
So I can grow, and still be me.
I want to grow
and not grow up.
Because growing up
is leaving. Growing’s just
And if I must be known,
remembered as a bit
of broken glass as you
age, If I must be remembered
when you die,
I want to be beautiful.
I want you to carve me beautiful.
So I want you to kiss me.
If I must be condemned
to melt into a drop
of water, indistinguishable,
I want to go a snowflake.
I want to shift irrevocably
and still hold still.
Then the fear of movement will fade.
I don’t w
Community Project: One-Sentence-At-A-Time [CLOSED] Well, that's a wrap! SCFrankles got in the last word this time. Expect the deviation to be posted sometime tomorrow. Thanks for a smashing success!Community Project: One-Sentence-At-A-Time [CLOSED]2 years ago in Literature Features More Like This
You've all seen these, I am sure. The idea is one person starts a story with a single sentence. Each participant writes a comment that adds another sentence to continue the story. You can leave as many comments as you'd like, but no two can be back to back. Please make sure you read previous comments so you know what general direction the story is headed.
Some ground rules:
The story will be written in third person omniscient which allows us to be in any character's head at any time. But try not to do too much jumping as that gets confusing.
Absolutely stick to the ONE sentence per comment rule. They can be compound sentences.
Let's aim to have this story done by January 5th at 11:59pm Pacific Time. I'll compile all the comments into one
The Family Has Been InformedBullets that are too far away to hear back homeThe Family Has Been Informed8 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
But words that will forever ring just as loud in my ears
Delivered from the lips of a uniformed man
The sympathetic sentence any mother fears to hear
I turn away as if ignoring his presence
Will make this unwanted reality go away
But he repeats that he is sorry for my loss
Those words are the last thing I remember of that day
I find myself looking out of the back yard window
On the swings in the garden I still see my boy play
I am bringing drinks out to him and his brothers
Under the sun, on the grass, on endless summer days
Those memories like photographs in frames on the wall
Now show my son with a wife and child of his own
A husband and father torn from their loving arms
In to the mass grave-in-waiting of a war zone
His old bedroom was already a shrine to him
Even before his blood soaked deep in to the desert sands
We waited for him to return from his first tour
Knowing the boy we’d said goodbye to would come home a man
april 18th, 2012.therapy:april 18th, 2012.2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
"I'm not an artist. I'm just a kid with a keyboard."
“And, y'know, I’m probably not really sick.”
“I read a lot of books. I probably just act like this because I saw it somewhere on the Internet.”
“I just want to be more like my dad.”
“I’m really just a pathological crybaby who wants attention,” I tell you.
You say, “I think there are better ways to get attention than fake a mental disorder.”
“Maybe I’m doing it for fun.”
The problem isn’t that I need to see a therapist.
The problem is that I need to see a therapist because I dream about slamming your head into a tree.
Right after we broke up, you took me to the bike cage and promised me everything would be okay. Then you got together with that fifteen year old from Michigan and told our friends that I was a freak.
Slamming your head into a tree might be painful, but nothing will ever hurt more than kn
Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back 1. I say nothing I am thinking.Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For twelve years I have wanted
to do exactly this, but suddenly
pronouncing my own name calls up
the question of who it belongs to
in the same breath Like
Solomon I was born a singer
but in the wrong key and my
chords will not carry me, will not
summon the wolves to me only
packs of hungry dogs
stupid with domestication
but nearly feral And like
a hungry ghost I have learned
not to speak against those
who will give me food
2. A sketch of myself.
He says I must have been born
in the wrong culture, he says. I got a taste of
the crackling heat here, heat to drive you crazy,
and suddenly I open my wide arms for
New Orleans, find myself needing the wind from
the Great Plains. Like a buffalo I have the spirit
of the Sun and I carry it with me. I am a plant
of burnt umber,
brown, ready and waiting like
sage bushes, like the hill you go to that is best
for collecting jun
Survivor's guiltThere's an Excalibur in your heart.Survivor's guilt3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Little Things, Big ThingsListen:Little Things, Big Things5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You didn't hear the alarm go off this morning and you're lying in bed, wanting to sleep forever. School's about to start in an hour and the only thing you move is a pyjama sleeve hanging over your bed.
Down the hallway, you hear the fridge open, your lunch coming out in pieces of bread and chicken. Those hands that carry them are ever so invisible to your eyes. You may as well blink and think a machine is doing all this for you, for all the care you had about the world.
When you finally get up, rubbing sleep from those eyes, a lunch box sits on the dining table, waiting for you.
The screaming begins.
Why don't you get up earlier and make lunch for yourself? Why don't you walk to school instead of me driving you up? What's wrong with you?"
It's early morning. The birds have already begun chirping and time ticks away on the grandfather clock. You have enough.
"Shut up! Just shut up! I'm tired of hearing this again and again. I wish you would just leave me alone and let you
Only as Old"Frail bones predict what fragile minds can't detect,"Only as Old4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He trailed off slowly, "And my bones are achin'."
The air around me hung low and depressed,
Sticking to the back of my throat like a stormy syrup
I'd tried to swallow down.
I peered out the kitchen window
And caught an inklet of patched-over-grey sky;
I wondered what was in store for the day.
Impartial to the gloom outside, we stepped out onto the back porch;
Grandpa wobbled out with his cane in hand and we waited.
In the hushed stillness the trees traded birds
Robins, swallows, whippoorwills, and cardinals.
If you squinted hard enough at the sullen shrubbery,
You could spot the caterpillar creeping to the underside of the leaf.
That's when I looked at Grandpa,
And saw through his eyes nature receding
At his prescience of a storm.
"Grandpa, how do you always know?"
He chuckled and simply said: "The world tells me."
It was left at that, but years later I have found
That the world is only as old as the person to whom you speak.
Bitlets 138I feel as if I'm barred from love;Bitlets 1383 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
this barrier I have established
establishing my asexuality.
My mind wanders linearly
(if she fucked me would I feel it?)
and at right angles
(if he fucked me would I care?)
and at the speed of thought
where I don't know
how to slow me down
I was hoping now someone
could show me how
because I've never seen a smile
that doesn't expose a skeleton.