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Similar Deviations

noun     /rītər/

A writer is a person
Who sees the world differently
From a high perspective of understanding
To an easily balanced imagery

They stand at the edge of the cliff
And run that extra mile
To gain what a normal person cannot see
And to obtain the hope that they wish to cherish

A writer is a person
Who buries their ego and places boulders upon it
They learn the rules, follow the rules, and will break the rules
And make writing their own

They lay upon the dusty old ground of a graveyard
And do an annual ritual to free the inspiration that has been pinned down
They want to show their abnormality to everyone around
And make this journey an unforgettable experience

Writers are masters of inspiration
And will set aside whatever may ruin the ecstasy of their writing
Which they will forever embrace
And will fight to claim the title author

In their world of words
Their stories are set free
Some are killed to bring back a greater life
And return like a dazzling Phoenix
So, I made my own definition for a writer because other definitions were too vague. ;) This is just a basic of being a writer!
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Dearest reader, please think twice before you try to speak
Words can be like knives that cause the victim to grow weak
Thoughts can be as bullets shooting freely through the sky
Injuring the innocent with every spoken lie

Please forget my laughter, please forget my broken heart
Please do not remember how you tore my life apart
Leave me as a memory that slowly fades to grey
Spend your days as usual, and I shall fade away

Listen to my cry for help, although it is too late
I've become the monster that you struggled to create
Trying to be perfect was a wonderful mistake…
Now I mustn't worry about which chance I will take.

Please erase all memory of who I tried to be
Please do not remember how I tried to be set free
Please do not be saddened under any circumstance …
What's makes now so different from when you still had a chance?
comments? :)
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Feel the broken heartbeats ripping through your troubled soul
Tearing through your very skin to take complete control
Hear the words among your tongue through voices not your own
Slicing through the air and fighting for the golden throne

Sorrowful, you disappear into the shadows thick
Blanketing yourself with thoughts so cruel, so cold, so sick
Knowing that if only you had someone to be near
Every aching memory would likely disappear

Shattered bits of moonlight shine upon the broken earth
Proving once again how much an echo may be worth
Let the damaged hearts unite and save them from the lies
Let them see that love is not always a dark disguise…
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‎"Are you okay?"
No. I'm dying. I have to push myself to wake up in the morning, and when I finally do, I want to go back to sleep. Even my best dreams are becoming nightmares. I can't taste food, I can't stand the things I used to love. I'm breaking. I'm fading. I'm dying.
"I'm fine."
something real quick i wrote...
Thanks for reading :)
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Delving into the origins
Of what makes an individual
Who are you? Who am I?
There’s a lack of understanding,
Yet we jump to judge
And claim to know
That which we could never understand

Attempts are seldom made
To investigate the unknown
To strive to discover
Those we claim to know
From the inside out
Extract the innermost thoughts

In place there is an idealist mirage
To which our beliefs shall cling to
In desperation, or disbelief

It’s the construct of our mindset
That leads us all astray
In essence, this is a short piece about people, and our lack of understanding of each other.
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Shadows burn beneath my soul
Into a life you'll never know
This is what i'm forced to be
Through the world's eternity
Demon on the wall
I hear your angry call
So sink into my thought
And let me breathe again

Let me win the war and
Fight the silver swords and
I'll release the demon
I have kept within
Tell my every villain
I have found a way
I can see solutions
I'll eliminate
Skies of grey...
a song i wrote a while ago :) comments?
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In barely legible handwriting
Scribbled on to the medicine bottle label
Is my name Grayson Oliver Dowd
And two letters printed in ink of bold sable

In haste I didn't check the meaning
It makes sense now that O.D. stands for Once Daily
But I took it to mean Over Dose
Oh how my rational mind once again fails me

Soon after I see the weathered words
Inscripted deeply on to the granite gravestone
Here lies Grayson Oliver Dowd
With an epiphanic epitaph ‘he died alone’

Waking from my sleep I check the meaning
I realise R.I.P. stands for Rest In Peace
And not Recovery Is Possible
So my dose of dopamine I shall decrease

In barely legible handwriting
Scribbled onto the medicine bottle label
Is my name Grayson Oliver Dowd
And two letters printed in ink of bold sable

My shaking hand struggles with the child lock
Let me flush these pills away and out of sight
Oh Dear reads the letters on the label
It appears that you finished them all last night
realityisfarlessexciting.....something a little different to my usual
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The hand on your shoulder
The whispers in your mind
The words on your tongue
The voice in your throat
And the feelings in your soul

To drive to madness
To seduce the insane
To draw the blood
And dull the senses
To plague the memories
Of damage done
To fake safe haven
As the character changes

Light the anger and fuel the rage
Another mind to feed
A second shadow
To take you into eternity
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The recipe for building a loving relationship:

Prep. 1 month Bake: years Makes: 2 serving

2 cups love
1/2 tsp. listening
1 cup acceptance
1/4 tbsp. support
1 tsp. romance
3 cups of understanding
1/2 cup honesty
1/4 tsp. affection
3/4 tbsp. loyalty

1. Stir all these ingredients together except the phrase "I love you".  Leave that out for 3 month or whenever it feels right.
2. Bake for years and don't ever let it cool down.
3. Never add cheating or abuse to the mix or else the recipe will fall apart.  If done correctly results should end in marriage and children.
Written: today, about 2 hours to write due to distractions & perfectionism
Note: I actually wrote this one down first but posted The recipe for a happy life ([link]) first. If things are simliar it's just a coincidence. I also kinda find this ironic considering I'm not in a relationship...unfortunately :hmm:
:iconlive-love-write: 's weekly prompt: A recipe for...

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The Dirty Dog
By Philip Brocklehurst

Down a green meadow, across the blue river, lay a quiet little village. A peaceful community never stirred by any chaotic hustle and bustle, never frantic as the city life many miles over. Located on the outside of the small village lived one family in particular: the Trenchers.
Mr. and Mrs. Trencher, a humble farmer, a big bushy beard like that of Father Christmas, warm greeting eyes, a face of a worker and a bulging gut, and his wife, flowing locks of blonde hair, eyes the shine of sapphires, the face of the sweetest that could be. People often wondered why she married a man of such gruffness, the answer was simple: she loved him. The husband and wife lived with their two kids, Ian and Tisa, a cheeky rascal of 8 and delicate sweetest angel of 5. Mommy's boy, Daddy's girl.
Although not a perfect family by any means, they'd have their quarrels, disagreements, family feuds. The family stood together through thick and thin, through thunderous storms and gentle calm. If one fell, the other helped them to rise.
Like all families, they would come home from a tiring school day, return from a labouring day at work to spend quality time as a family, read stories, share tales of their eventful day away from home, Ian frequently had some account of cheeky misbehaviour he had done at school to get the teacher redder than a ripe tomato. They'd celebrate family occasions like birthdays and Christmas. Mr. Trencher would surprise his kids by turning up at their little farmhouse dressed as Chris Cringle himself, a disguise made effortless due to his already ideal appearance.
Life was good on the Trenchers farm housing a loving family so close together. And what family would be complete without a pet. After all, a home is not complete without the lively company of a 4 legged companion. A furry friend.
The Trenchers had the pet of all pets, boy oh boy did they have one. His name was David, and he was a dog, a big, sloppy bulk of a dog. When he wasn't slobbering his family with wet kisses, he enjoyed frolicking out in the farmland getting himself mucked up in all kinds of mud, dirt and things best left unsaid. David was a good dog for the most part, but when it came to bath time, he became a whole different story. A trial and a half it was getting him in the dreaded tub of water to clean the muck out his fur. The chase outside was usually a strenuous one, never did they catch him in their efforts, never could they give him a good cleaning. After the ordeal, David would resume his place as family dog, giving his love to all. Throwing in the towel of trying to clean him, the smell had become so accustomed to them, that it smelt as clear as the air outside. He loved the Trenchers and the Trenchers loved him. The village, however was a different story, they loathed the unbearable stench their dog's odour carried off with it, fouling the freshness of their baked goods, making their flowers reek, and themselves stink as if they had not bathed in a year. By the end of the day, when the stench faded as the dog went indoors, it was a relief. The smell was a passable annoyance.
One day however, such was not the case. David had decided to venture further from the farm than usual, getting dirtier than often. He leaped in dirty patches, rolled in the muck of the earth and swam in the pits of the moors. The smog his body brought travelled to the humble village, a stench far more potent than ever smelt before. The last straw had been plucked, the mayor and his people decided enough was enough, something had to be done with The Dirty Dog. Together, they stormed to the Trenchers Farm, ready to siege it, declaring that they give up their dog so they can live a smell free life.
David heard the footsteps of angry trotting following his potent odour, quickly he fled to his home, leaving a odours for the furious village to track. Surrounding the farm, the Trenchers stood before the enraged mob filthy from their trek through the fields to get to the farm, adamant they were to have David removed from the village. The Trenchers refused,  they'd rather leave than give up one of their family. The village decided if that's what it took to make their home fresh again was to get rid of the family who refused to clean their dog and let it run dirty then so be it.
The mob stood to an abrupt halt when an unexpected sight graced their eyes, a dog walked outside, standing in front of his family. He looked like The Dirty Dog, only his fur was spotless, his scent was sweet as strawberries, surely it wasn't the same dog, but it was. Ian and Tisa, before the siege had finally given David a bath. Now he was clean as could be, and still as loving as ever.  Ready to stand by his family and never leave their side. He would take the fall for them if it needed to be done.
The village saw something that made them ashamed. The dog, although dirty on the outside was clean on the inside, while they clean on the outside were dirty on the inside.
They learned that anyone should not be judged simply by appearances, the outside is merely the doorway, it's the being within that houses who and what we are.
From that moment on, the village respected him from his pure heart, allowed him to do as he wished because deep down, he was cleaner than they ever were.
To this day David is still getting mucky, evading the bath as much as he can and returning to Trenchers Farm to spend time with his family, and always will. Once a family, always a family.
On a side note, the village strives every day to follow the way of the Trenchers and their dirty dog.
A little short story I wrote a while back, I was experimenting to see if I could write a small quirky story for kids with a deep message within it and so The Dirty Dog was written.  

Copyright of this work belongs to me
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