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Similar Deviations
D disliked starting each day.  She'd rather
squander her time writing of dusty dreams
late at night by candlelight.  This bothered

F who loathed the part where father must wake
unwilling daughter firmly from slumber.
Her eyes remain sleep-stained until M rakes

a warm washrag across her face.  Brother
e, now a teenager who refuses
to capitalize his name, walks sister

to the bus-stop where B drives them to school
with a frown on his face.  J, K, and L
form her usual clique.  They chat until rules

force them to part ways when they'd rather stay
and gossip about H--though, i don't know
what they see in him.  G drones on today

about grammar (they still teach that?) until
even the bell is exasperated
and offers to sound in pity and fill

the halls with familiar hullabaloo.
On the way to her next class, D spots O,
her friend whose affinity for junk food

has left her with contours that even eggs
must envy.  They walk to Mr. A's class
where algebra awaits and students beg

for a reprieve to no avail.  D sits
by Q who likes math after a quirky
fashion (and likes D more but won't admit

it).  O passes D a note from across
the room that depicts A as a hog-beast.
They're busted when D overzealously

giggles.  Mr. A remains unamused,
probably because the joke has nothing
at all to do with math.  Lunch!  D assumed

she would sit with J, K, and L; but boys
S, T, and U have monopolized their
attentions.  She sighs and quietly joins

the lunch line behind X and Z.  The pair
disagree as to who was first, but I
settles it by skipping past them both, fair

and impartially.  Y serves sloppy scoops
filled with foods of dubious origins.
D looks disgusted and barely recoups,

her skin a green avocadoes would die
for.  She gives up on lunch and hopes nurse N
will take pity on her condition.  "Lies,"

says N who clearly wasn't born yesterday.
D dutifully doodles through science
and history, wishing the day away

as any dedicated student would.
P and R were unimpressed with her day-
dreaming in their classes (which they think should

captivate any child's attention for
the duration) and plan to hold parent-
teacher conferences.  D heads for the door

as soon as she can and watches reruns
of The C Show on television until
F and M (physically) force her to turn

it off.  She locks her room and she pretends
she were more like voluptuous V with
a glamorous job.  She writes and suspends

the night with unfair tales of how W M
could be and jots down her ideas, too new
to replace her previous dusty dreams.
I was Q.

[alphabet soup].[link]
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the Butchering
by jsenn

I felt
the tears burn behind my eyes
as ever so carefully
I asked the question.

Perhaps I knew the answer, but still
I had to ask.
Maybe, I thought, there will be concern
and care felt in the hesitation.

Confused and confusing,
confusingly spoken
staring unbelieving, listening

Asking why
searching for reason
knowing the answer will be certain.

Still I must ask
still I must seek
sense or peace.

Dawns the awakening.

Now it's done.
We breathe in slow motion silence.
Will you cry, I thought I heard you sigh.
I only imagined...

It began as a ripping
an excruciating rending
as the knife sliced downward through my center
carefully scraping my bones.

I wanted to wail,
such a painful motion this is
this tearing away of love
intrinsically woven
this cutting from the sinew
from the muscles, the very heart of my being.

Let it be over soon.

It's nearly impossible to stand
(I cannot stand)
It's nearly impossible to wait
(I want to run)
It's nearly impossible to stand and wait
for survival.

But, I do survive.
(we all survive)

Now it's over.

I rise tear stained

quietly turn and walk away.

Did you cry?

(I couldn't look)

Joy Senn
I wrote this in 2002 after watching a friend's delicate love relationship fail. Sometimes, when you think it's perfect it is not, and one must be severed from love. It is excruciating but necessary.

I sent the poem to argylekid and ask him to collab with me by creating an image to go with it. He's posted it here as Simple Truths (Thanks Brett)
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i sink in one foot at a time
with the same anticipation
i would have while stepping into
the shadow of your naked body
if you were standing in front of me

i submerge myself
in the depths of lonely night
water hot with the scent
of your breath
if you were breathing on me
instead of the steam that
pricks my skin
and rises like your
face above mine would
if you were here.

i lay back slowly
letting it run through my hair
as your fingers would
if you were here
and it rises past my shoulders
drowning them in streams
of heat as you would
with your tongue
if you were here

it encircles my breasts
where your tongue would paint me
swallows my nipples
where your lips would embrace me
fills my navel and pours over
my waist sending pools
down between my lips
where you would part me
if you werent apart from me

i let the water hit me
where you are missing
let it bead up on my skin
and gush inside me
the space you would fill
with your electricity
heat and fire
if you were here

i arc back in dream and pulse
sending waves through this
flooded vessel
moving forth
with moonlight-speed inertia
illuminating my body
with candle glow
as you would with your
gift of nirvana
your love shooting
through me with
the power of ocean tide
tumbling tsunami
if you were here

water displaces
never replaces
energy is neither
nor created
but is moved through me
with molecular mobility
where you will
someday sail in
and embark on my shore
displacing the water
that i need no more
well? what can i say? *blush*
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nonexistant poem number 2

I'll pull a line with
chalk and if one emotion ever dares to walk over it again
cut it into pieces
and glue it onto paper
and call it collage number three.Yeah , this is how it goes. I have learned to convert feelings into art before they even show my mind what could be wrong with me. Before they even try to change
the way that I perceive
this world
because because
emotions are better when thrown into
cans of paint and swirled
around with
a thick brush
size 20 or something . Just large enough
to make it drown inside the colours.
And now come on I do not .. want to hear any worried exclaims from the mother of emotions : love.
Because I have handled that one quite well , just a few weeks ago.
See my gallery ?
here is love. Crucified behind glass.
Kept safely on the wall with several nails.
Sadness? Just around the corner
you see that painting with the thick black border?that is sadness
so as you see
do not
stress yourself it is so so easy to manage emotions
I of course call it devotion
when infact the act of creating art for me
is to trap the emotions safely in controlled shapes
So that they cannot break out anymore
those glass shards
on the floor? are
no,no.Everything is alright.
You see my life life is art.
But I am not
the right battleground for the feelings to play around with shrieking sounds so I create artificial ones where my own feelings become the feelings of the viewer and isn't that..
isn't that the easier way?
I give the emotions away and let them stray around in someone else so that I do not have to feel them
Isn't that the easier way?
I'll give everything a shape
a shape to every little thing

to every little thing even if I
am afraid at night in my bed when shapeless somethings float around my eyes and I cannot grasp them I cannot ask them
for a short description.
Just some details so I can atleast imagine.
They like to play
with my unability to see
to really see.
Because the truth is I have never learned seeing.
I claim that I am dreaming breathing feeling through my eyes but most of the time I have them sleeping inside
my skull.
Sometimes when guests are around I
wake them up and say
stop your slumber for a moment and act as if you
observe flower petals real closely
And of course they don't know me. they don't know me so they will
place their hands upon their chest and says
you live
life to the fullest my dear
you really do
Someone like you must have absolutely no fear from what is next because
you'll watch even your own death with loving eyes , like meeting the shadow that followed you in sunny childhood days.. after years.
The truth is .. I do fear death.
I tried to trap
it on
that canvas you see two steps away but
something went wrong
something went wrong
the canvas remained purely white
I placed my eye upon it and tried to see
something but
I am sure there is an easy explanation
if not I'll paint one
All these years given away
to create a name that will be living for decades after me
in book pages upon your shelves
in the news

In everyone else

but not me

Too much "me" is not healthy for anyone , no?
so why not reduce it to nothing ?
why not hide it all behind images that are screaming, crying, laughing
out emotions
While the inside of me
remains a dried out ocean
from which the world
collects shells as souvenirs
and marvels of

Some months ago I ..
started having the feeling that writing about my emotions
was just a way to keep them from really having an effect on me
before I even experienced a feeling truly in a way .. that it got me and overwhelmed me I already caught it on paper, film or canvas.
not giving it any chance to come in the shape it wants.
to come in a self made shape.

This is however not really written completely out of my position.
I imagined being in the skin of an artist who uses art in fact as
a try to control what normally cannot be controlled
and imagined further on what confessions his tongue might make in moments where nobody watches.

so yes.

have a nice day or something

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I always said from the start no one could save me. Not my parents, not the doctors, not myself. I didn’t really want to be saved.
Four o clock in the morning, found lying on the floor of my bedroom, a breath away from death, with a bottle of pills scattered across the floor. So I had everything, or so it seemed to others. I just wanted to get away. It wasn’t hard to take the pills. All I had to do was think of everything that made me cry, everything they did to hurt me. No one would have missed me if I were gone..
Sometimes hell seems more inviting than life. Maybe life is hell

They got the phone and dialled. Flashing lights and oxygen masks.
My life dangling on a string.
            They fucking got me.

I woke up to the stench of disinfectant, and white reflective hospital walls. The room spun, and the walls closed in on me. I screamed and cried, no one came.
I couldn’t believe I was awake; I didn’t want to think that it had happened, I had failed the biggest test of my life. I never could do anything right.

Why couldn’t they have just fucking left me there!?

I took in my new surroundings with a sick sense of amusement. No curtains or blinds with ropes to hang off, and no long power cords to use as a noose. Nurses watched me take my pills everyday, and checked under my tongue to make sure I swallowed. They always knew when I was pretending. The shower was detachable and I wasn’t allowed to shower my face, in case I tried to drown myself. No sharp objects, not even the forks had a point.
I laughed every time I thought about it. Maybe I was unstable, but I wasn’t stupid enough to try anything when help was a hairs breath away.
There was still some rational thought left in me, I had the rest of my life to plan my next attempt out, thanks to these people.

The nurses all dressed in white, as if they thought they were angels. They scurried in and out regular as clockwork, like mice, never stopping to chat. As if death was contagious and I was trying to reel them in.
The doctors prodded me, made diagnoses and decided my future, and my chances. Seemed like a waste of time to me.. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was just an empty body, devoid of all thought and emotion. But I was like that long before I arrived there.

The hospital room became a cell; I even had a barred window to stop me trying to jump. All words were spoken softly, as if they were scared I would break if they raised their voices. I wanted them to yell, to tell me I wasn’t worth it, to say it would have been better if I were dead. I wanted them to lay on the floor having convulsions, begging me to stay alive, begging me to save myself. Any reaction other than calmness and indifference.
But they never did, every move, every footstep was rhythmic, and calculated.

A lady came to talk to me. She told me she wanted to be my friend; she wanted to know about me. She wanted me to play her stupid game. She could ask me three questions and I had to answer honestly.
The first to were easy, how old was I, what did I like doing in my spare time. The third question was what stopped me in my tracks.

”Why did you want to throw everything away.”

I gave her the coldest, hardest stare I could, dug up right from the bottom of my rotting heart. I didn’t like her games; she just wanted to get inside my head. She thought the same as everyone else - I had done it for attention, to see what everyone would think of me.
To see who really cared.
Funny, I already knew the answer to that.

She spent her time helping other people; she was always needed to make them better. She wouldn’t understand what it was like to never be good enough, to be constantly in the shadows, and reminded what she could be. I was nothing, I had been told that. I was too fat, too lazy, to stupid, to ugly. I couldn’t help anybody, I didn’t make anybody happy, I was an oxygen waster.
I knew what that felt like.
Instead of cuddles I got hit, or if I was really lucky, black eyes. Bruises and scars adorned my body. From their fists, harsh words from their mouths. No matter who held the blade, “they” were behind each cut, each severed vein. Every time I lay bleeding on the floor, I made them happy.
And a little part of me died.

She couldn’t even contemplate how much it means to be cast off by the people you love the most. The ones who are supposed to support you through everything, and anything. And love you until the day you died. I figured they didn’t love me when I was alive; maybe they would love me if I weren’t there. They’d be grateful I made their lives easier. I just wanted them to love me..

But some things just aren’t meant to be.

Time fades into nothing when nothing is all you have. Rainy days, drifting away as I sat by myself looking out the window, watching people walk by, free and alive. They had everything I never could. They had someone to come home to and tell about their day, someone to hold them when they were scared. They had someone who loved them.
I screamed, I screamed at nothing, I screamed to get me out of this place, get me out of my head. I guess it was reasonable they thought I was crazy. I wasn’t crazy, I was just mad. I needed to do what I needed to do, and all I wanted was to end everyone’s suffering. I was lonely, and I was alone.

Everyone wanted me to be fine, but no one really cared if I lived or died. At least they could say they tried. Written off as a hopeless case, she never really stood a chance anyway. The posters would be taken from my walls, the furniture burned, the paint recoated, until all traces of me were gone forever.

And people would cry, watch as my body burned, as my ashes were thrown into the sea. The photos would be put away, in a box for safe keeping way in the attic, and in time, they would forget.
I would just be that girl, who did a stupid thing, and didn’t really give herself a chance.

That girl who wasted her life on a bottle of pills, just to see what would happen.
No one would really give a fuck why she did it.

Blame the one who can’t speak out.
My original title was going to be
"White pills, white lights, white lies"
but it didnt fit =( .. thanks again to fez for his wonderful titles

it reminds me of the atreyu title - "living each day like youre already dead"

Comments welcome, just dont ask me where this came from.

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"What am I going to tell Hinata?"

Sasuke paced back and forth in front of a large, wilting tree that stodd in it's place outside the Ninja Academy. He held in his hands a broken kunai. A kunai that Hinata had lent him. Hinata's kunai that he had broken.

He felt bad.

It was only a kunai, he thought. But then again, Hinata was so sensitive that Sasuke feared she might burst into tears if he told her he'd broken her kunai.

She was kind, and he was thankful for that. He had chosed quite the wrong day to forget his kunai pouch, as Kakashi had planned a surprise training assault for them. She was a damn sight nicer than Naruto, though, who refused to share anything in his legal possession. And he hadn't asked Sakura because he was afraid she'd start worshipping the "kunai that Sasuke-kun touched".

But what to do know?

"Just give it back," he told himself. "She's nice, she'll probably just forgive you. It was an accident after all."

The kunai (which was supposed to be strong and unbreakable) had simply snapped when Sasuke had hurled it at the wall he was practicing his aim on.

"Well, maybe there's a way I can repay her," he thought, and a thought flashed through his mind.

And then a brilliant smile darted across his face.



The Hyuuga stared at the handsome approaching figure of Sasuke.

"Oh, Sasuke-kun... d-did you come to return my kunai?"

"Well, I..."

"You-you can keep it, if you want. I don't really need it back."

"Well, Hinata, actually... I broke it."


"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It just kind of snapped."

"That's alright, Sasuke... r-really."

"No, I need to repay you somehow."

"But it's not that important. I don't mind." She gave a nervous giggle.

Sasuke shook his head slightly, cupping Hinata's chin in his fingers. He pressed his lips to her in a gentle kiss, watching appreciatively as she turned crimson.

"Sasuke-kun... what are you doing?"

"Repaying you." He smiled.

"Sasuke... I have more kunai... if you need something to break."

He stared at her blushing face, and leaned forward again.

"That's okay... this one's for free."

This was just a little SasuHina oneshot I wrote a while ago, just because I'd never written SasuHina before.

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I can see in your tender face,
A unique and beautiful grace,
Colors found in no other cheek.

I can see in your attentive eye,
A unique and beautiful sky,
A special look that can speak.

I can see in your floating hair,
A unique and beautiful care,
Giving the feeling of a Queen.

I can see in your cautious hand,
A unique and beautiful land,
A faraway Earth never seen.

I can see in your loving heart,
A unique and beautiful part,
In a busy and lively life.
A poem I wrote in June 2003. I like the rythm it has... enjoy :)
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You'll learn it like their mighty catechism,
before you ever know it like the back of your hand
and you'll study it like a famous painting
but it may never take life in your weak eyes.

The things they teach in school,
never will ever touch you where this does.

If a word is a whisper,
then an action is screamed at you.
A promise is hollow,
and trust is a precious gem
(fucking poetic now, aren't we?)
and both can be broken, snapped in half, crushed.
Impale yourself in the seas of "fucked"
clench your fists and prepare to bleed.
What if this all = nothing, and that goddamned tripping caterpillar was right?

So what IS greater than God,
and more evil than the devil...?

It's a fucking riddle, you prick
I hate Riddles.
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