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My supportive friends and talented artists:iconirmazwart:s questions made me realize how I have met so many wonderful people on DA,who have continuously supported my work and encouraged me to continue drawing.Without them,i would most certainly have left DA a long time ago.My supportive friends and talented artists in Personal
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It is because of these wonderful people that i have a reason to stay
:iconwizardphoenix:-who was my very first supporter,and i will forever be grateful to him.His words have always encouraged me and he never fails to amaze me with his talent.Truly,one of my best friends,and simply a wonderful person,without whom i would not have the many watchers i do today. THANK YOU for everything,although words will never sum up my appreciation i hope you understand how truly happy i am to have such a wonderful friend
:iconjennystokes: -She has been SUCH a supportive friend,who i absolutely adore. Her comments and endless support has always encouraged me,and i am so very glad that i met her on DA. She is such a wonderful person,a
Injection DayInjection DayInjection Day in Short Stories
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Monday mornings were always a rush. I sighed, picking up a stray sock at the bottom of the stairs. It was probably my eldest’s, Arthur’s. He hadn’t seemed to grasp the concept of the washing machine yet. But then, few ten year olds do. I took it with me into the cluttered kitchen, and left it on the worktop next to some bills and my car keys. My husband, Sam, looked up briefly as I came in. I was glad to see that he had organised the younger children, who were now eating breakfast. Freya and Peter both looked grumpy and half asleep.
My skinny daughter, with her petulant expression and hunched shoulders, glared at her plate crossly.
‘Mum, I’ve eaten half my toast but I’m not hungry anymore,’ she whined.
I exchanged a frustrated look with Sam, who shrugged wearily.
‘Fine, leave your plate by the sink and go and clean your teeth.’ My voice came out slightly sharper than I had intended, but she leapt down from the table, o
Broken GlassIt's like I'm made of glass. Broken glass, because you destroyed me a long time ago. Each time I think I've managed to rebuild myself, and put up a cold impenetrable barrier, you smash into it and shatter my illusion of safety.Broken Glass in Emotional
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You knock me down again and again.
Each time you say it won't happen again, you say that you'll be different this time. But every time it's not you that's different, it's me. Each time I rebuild my glass barrier, it's me that freezes a little more inside, becoming more and more detached. And each time the shield gets obliterated the shards of glass get twisted further and further inside me. They burrow deep, cutting me open but I don't bleed. The blood stopped a long time ago. Instead the wounds burn, shredding me up inside.
On the outside, the glass appears shiny and bright, reflecting whatever the observer expects to see. The scars and wounds cannot be seen. No, they are hidden far inside, invisible to everyone else but you.
I hold my wrists out to you, the on