Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
×

Similar Deviations
Organized by Artist
Artist Comment: "I don't think the media influences me as much as it does other people and I would also like to make it clear that the only person's appearance I care about is my own."

Send your secret to DeviantArtSecret@gmail.com

You are invited to anonymously contribute your secrets to DeviantArtSecret.

Each secret can be a regret, hope, funny experience, unseen kindness, fantasy, belief, fear, betrayal, erotic desire, feeling, confession or childhood humiliation.
Reveal anything – as long as it is true and you have never shared it with anyone before.

For help or assistance, visit the INTERNATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION WIKI.

Before you send your secrets in, please read the GROUP RULES.

For a list of stock accounts, please read the shout-board on our main page.
For more information on the group, please read our journals.


Submitted by - DAS Helper 7

Send your secret to DeviantArtSecret@gmail.com
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Send your secret to DeviantArtSecret@gmail.com

You are invited to anonymously contribute your secrets to DeviantArtSecret.

Each secret can be a regret, hope, funny experience, unseen kindness, fantasy, belief, fear, betrayal, erotic desire, feeling, confession or childhood humiliation.

Reveal anything – as long as it is true and you have never shared it with anyone before.

For help or assistance, visit the INTERNATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION WIKI.

Before you send your secrets in, please read the GROUP RULES.

For a list of stock accounts, please read the shout-board on our main page.
For more information on the group, please read our journals.



Send your secret to DeviantArtSecret@gmail.com


Submitted by - DAS Helper 3
Show
Comments disabled by owner.
×
Tired, Exhausted, Drained:

I am bloody exhausted! Drained to the core of my soul.

I wake up every morning with bags; burning ever deeper into my eyes.

Sunken masses of flesh, reminding me that the dreamscape -

One in which I sought refuge; is now buried where it lies.

Yet still I force myself to trudge through this wilderness.

Forever caught in a moon drenched, delusory twilight.

An endless cycle of failure and renewed hope;

Giving rise to the very stubbornness that defines me.


-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th February 2013
Alright mates,

Me journey ended officially yesterday, but now it's time to bring on the FIRE. This is my latest work ^^ It's a shot-glass poem, a style which I developed to cater to people who don't want to spend ages reading long works but still want to get the emotional feeling. It's the middle ground between haiku's and the longer pieces that I'm used to writing.

This one is particular is from my upcoming book '50 Little Glasses'. I hope you'll all look forward to it, it's going to be a neat little poetry e-book that you can buy for a reasonable price (and no you won't need an e-reader to read it)

The concept behind this poem is simple: We're all tired and exhausted after going through each day. Sometimes you just want to give in. Some people have fantastic reasons for not giving in, but me personally; I'm just a stubborn bastard.

-Captain Chen of the Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:

If you like my work and want to support me. Come buy my e-book for $1.99. I promise an epic fantasy you won't forget:



Want to stalk me? Here are some cool links:

My Facebook Page: [link]
Youtube Channel: [link]
My Gallery: [link]

Want to sell your soul to me? Join up with my pirate crew:

:iconblack-fedora-pirates:
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Memories of War:

What is this long-lost memory inside?
Where oceans turn; what have we left behind
With star-burned wings out above the sky.
The sleeping sons are lovingly left to lie...

A thousand tears you've cried for all,
Now its time for you to fall!
Will you open up the door,
To the future we ignore?

Are you simply lying broken,
From the memory awoken;
Are you simply living lies,
Bitter taste with ropes you tie...

And the world will soon forget.

Fill my heart with this regret?

For the victims written in stone.

Unspoken sin you now atone...


Yeah I've seen this world where we livin' in pain,
Wrap my body round with chain.
Now we both know we be broken;
Give this man his smokin' token.

Held up guns with both his hands;
Not a boy he's cause he's a man.
Order comes by a suit and hand.
Will you flee or will you stand?


This is a memory of our war,
Of all the things that we can't ignore.
And staying blind to the cries of pain...


Will lonely ashes be what remains?


-Chen Yuan Wen ft. The C-Crew, 15th January 2013
If you liked my work don't forget to click that favourite button at the top :star: (^_^)/ Thank you

If you'd like to support my artwork and you have some spare change. Please take a look at my new e-book it's only $1.99 and available in multiple e-formats for purchase [you can even read it on your PC, phone etc.]:



Other Important Links:

My Facebook Page: [link]
Youtube Channel: [link]
My Gallery: [link]

Author's Comment:

Aye maties,

As I've stated I'm going back t' basics and so this is actually a song that I wrote yesterday t'gether with me old friends from me rap crew. The part in italics is th' guest rap sung by them and I do the clean vocals (no change in font) as well the rough dirty growls (bold).

My friend raps in a voice similar to snoop dogg's smooth style so I thought it worked very well with the overall chemistry of the piece ^^ His piece is in italics.

It was a lot of fun to do this song (gotta admit that) even if the topic might be over done, I was happy to explore it and doubly thankful for the chance :3

Enjoy mates.

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:

If you really like me lots and want to show some epic support (other than just purchasing a book), following this link and read the journal (^_^)V >[link]<
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

These Words Aren't Pretty:

My verses are ugly and I admit to the fact
I can't use pretty language when I'm working with rap
Because the things that I write, are just the things that I feel
I ain't an Edgar Allan Poe or a Danielle Steel

And I'll be honest with you, I've got an envy inside
Because some poets got a flow that's as smooth as the tide
I read some stuff that they write, it's just so dope I ignite
Burning shame and my anger at the beautiful sight

And like birds of a feather, they're flocking together
These poets are the Gods and I'm nailed by the weather
But as the rain pours down, lightning resound;
I try to write pretty words but my lips remain bound

So deeply silenced by fear - the darkness I hear,
Afraid to be unloved by the ones I hold dear
I've hit the limit of time; my lyrical crime
These words that I've lived are just turning to grime.

So I wish I had their talent; just a sliver of that
If their skill was a mountain then I've broken my back
It's like the city of Gotham, where my poetry bleeds
I'm just the poet they've got, but not the one they need...


-Chen Yuan Wen, 21st January 2013
Aye maties,

After a long break, I be back. Honestly the recent stress has left me unable to write and during those days I'd see all the other poets writing beautiful things and I'd feel envious.

I tried to imitate it and failed, but that's when I realised that I should do what I'm good at, because the difference in my style is what makes it unique. In addition to being a horror and fantasy poet, I am (probably more than anything) an urban poet.

What I write is what is real and the streets will always be a part of me and my work. Thankfully though, I don't walk them with a cigarette in my mouth anymore.

-Captain Chen of the Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:

If you like my work and want to support me. Come buy my e-book for $1.99. I promise an epic fantasy you won't forget:



Want to stalk me? Here are some cool links:

My Facebook Page: [link]
Youtube Channel: [link]
My Gallery: [link]

Want to sell your soul to me? Join up with my pirate crew:

:iconblack-fedora-pirates:
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Daddy, please don't touch me.
It doesn't feel good.
It makes me feel..
Naughty.

Daddy, please don't hit me.
I didn't mean to disappoint you.
When you hit me, it makes me feel...
Bad.

Daddy, please don't hurt her.
Mommy didn't do anything.
When you hit her, it makes me feel..
Mad.

Daddy, please don't say you love me.
I know you're lying.
When you say you still want me, it makes me feel...
Sad.

Daddy, please stop screaming at her.
You already killed her.
When you scream at her, it makes me feel..
Angry.

Daddy, stay there.
Let me sink the knife into your throat.
When you bleed, it makes me feel..
Alive.

Daddy, aren't you happy now?
As you lie there, lifeless.
I'm only following your footsteps.
This makes me feel...
Happy.

Daddy, please listen.
I know you can't hear me, but...
I still love you.

The same way you always loved me.

And it makes me feel...

Good, Daddy.
It makes me feel..
Good.
I don't really like this one. But I decided to post it since it's one of my poems that ISN'T about labels or stereotypes =P
Comments and critiques?
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

The face at the door is a demon, a god
He smiles through stitches, his stare rather odd
The face at the door is a cruel, silent being
Yet, people are calm, and the children aren't fleeing
Quiet yourself, for you're the only one
Crying for help at the point of a gun
Learn how to fly, rather, learn how to fall,
The face at the door... well... there's no face at all.
About a hallucination I had.
Thanks for reading... comments and critiques? <3
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

The sun melted into the glamorous sky
The moon stood there, hidden by sweet lullabies.

But mommy was crying, her day had been hard
The tears in her eyes twinkled just like the stars.

Her face wasn't happy like it should have been
And though she was saddened, she forcefully grinned.

I wanted to see Mommy smile through it all...
I painted a picture on her bedroom walls.

I told her to look, just to come in and see
But Mommy was angry... she wasn't happy.

She threw me down hard on the cold wooden floor
Then picked me up, slamming my head on the door.

She yelled and she screamed, then she hit me once more
She slapped me till I couldn't see anymore.

My heart then stopped beating, my laugh went unheard
Then Mommy got up without saying a word.

She looked at the walls splattered with my young blood
Then fell to the ground in her tears with a thud.

She looked at my face, then she looked all around
Then wrote on the walls with the first thing she found.

Then, after she finished, she wanted self harm....
She sat on the ground, putting me in her arms.

She reached for the knife she had placed on her bed
Then stabbed her own body... she cried as she bled.

The words on the wall echoed throughout the room...
"I love you so much, Mommy... get better soon!"
An older poem that i wrote :)
Comments and critiques? <3
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

you are dead and buried
six feet under yourself,
still feeling the way you did
when you were seventeen

and when you bathe, you still
keep your head under the
water, wrists upturned, red
eyes open, trying to drown yourself
out
i will light a candle for your sorry soul.
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

and i stopped killing spiders
when i realized that we are both just trying
to make our way in the world
and he hasn't got a clue
how he ended up on my bathroom floor

and i can turn out the lights to
stop the moths from killing themselves
but i can't turn off my brain and
stop myself from doing the same
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

.

Mon Feb 3, 2014, 5:52 PM
she told me i had soft palms,
i said yeah but i've got a hard
heart, because when

i was young i got given
two goldfish, and one day the
big ate the little

and that's when i learnt i'd
be fucked by the world, it would
do the same thing to me too

(i heard the language of evil and i started to speak it, saw the actions of evil and i started to be it)

:iconoaklungs:
.
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Rose blood
on her tongue
reminds her of yesterday's.
Lonely bones.
A heart's hoarded secrets,
love me pretties, &
scarlet letter dreams.
But
do these boys know
of the bitter winter
churning,
like a blizzard
in her veins?
The sharp edges
of half-empty
kisses,
or the crisscross
folding
of origami limbs?

Her eyes,
as deep &
unfeeling
as the ocean;
.
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

There are ghosts in my bloodstream
kissing concrete cells &
the bedroom eyes of nerve endings.

( foreign words
engraved into my marrow, birds in my chest
& wars not yet fought between my hips. )

I've taken myself apart every night
since I learned how to swallow a pen
without gagging;
limb by steady limb.

Passed around by grabby hands,
a sold, & borrowed daughter;

I am a lion among sheep,
drunk on life & ink.
Clearly I didn't get these words from my mother.
I'm adopted.

Featured: [link] [link]
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

-I had never wished to know the moon,
or the burning gaze of her lover.
I am merely a forest of silences,
old dogwoods & untamed hair.

-But, I made a promise
to a bone collector once.
He could have my spine,
my kneecaps, &
one flowered rib,
wrapped & bowed-up
like a present

-if he could fall in love
with things that slip through his fingers:
Me,
the sea,
shooting stars.

-“It would be a sin to love you,
my dear sweet wolf;
you will always cry for the moon.”

-dp
it always has been.
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

enjoy!
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Font used:Cassanet
Favourite, comment, watch. Thank you!
If you like what I do, you can support me by downloading it! The archive contains a wallpaper version besides the original deviation.
Have an awesome day!
~TheUnforgiving~
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

:D
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

you call me an angel
in spite of the bruises left on the fronts of my knees
stains of sin left on my skin;

the knots in my back,
you liken to the wings soon to burst from my shoulders
&tell me you can feel no sadness
when looking at my face-

eyes you analyse
into paints of the colour wheel,
several shades i have yet to see;
my smile,
despite its crooked nature
&peeling lips,
thinning enamel from my sickness-
you still find me amongst the heavens.

&sometimes,
as this once,
i kissed you to shut you up.

my skin is removing itself after my clothes
in the winter,
cold &dark,
too unlike the white night of russian summers.

i kissed you &it was wet because i was crying
&every time our lips parted
another sob stuttered its way through the gap.
you heard what words i couldn't swallow,
the ones straining to pass over my tongue
yet drowned upon existence.

you listen to me until i lose my headstrong aim
to starve back to bones,
to see the angel wings i've lost in my skin
you touch &feel are there;

you leave me warm
&wet in a cool bed beneath your window
as no one had managed before;

you lull me to sleep
with lips on my
forehead
cheek
nose
chin
&hold me lightly enough
that i can move
unrestrained
but when i do,
i only curl closer
to you.
i cannot believe i wrote this i cannot believe i wrote this i cannot believe myself
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

if anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.

and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.

i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat
or sleep
or laugh at your favourite tv programs
i want to be the reason
you walk with your eyes on the pavement
because too many things
remind you of me
i want you to feel the soreness of a heart unloved
loudly enough that the beating is mute and slow
loudly enough that you keep your hands in your pockets
when you move through the city so you don't touch anyone by accident
because right now a touch would be a touch too much.

what i want is for you, to be here,
tonight, two rows back.
i want you far enough so you can't touch me
and you won't feel it when my tears hit the ground but
i want you to see it all and i want to watch you take it in.

instead of me, the worm, the perpetual squirm,
the body beneath yours in warmth and rapture and fullness,
i want to see you watch me empty myself and see as nothing and nothing and nothing comes up in heaves.
i want to watch your eyes the whole time and never look down
because i don't want to miss a minute of this, i want you to see with clear eyes
what you've done and i want to see that you mean it when i say
you're sorry.
we both feel it happening but i don't want it to
this is the hurt from last time and the hurt i'm feeling now
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

the sky fell when you left.
it rained like it knew how to let go of the tears i couldn't.

six word story no. 3
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Just give me one dream that isn't see-through.
One substantiated claim to reality,
that I might hold onto life with.
Every quivering cell, mid-osmosis, begs you
for a shred of dignity with my tea.
Just one chance for something heavy,
something hard and room temperature. Real.
I don't want to look through my day dreams
and see someone else's face there.
I don't want to dream of those people
who may make, or break me, in the future tense.
I am tired of milky white and reflective black.
It is time for a life of colour and hope -
and not looking back to see if the past
matches up with the jigsaw map to the end game.
I want to be in the game, participating,
feeling, like I might make it there one day.
Just give me something, that I can hold onto;
something harder to see through than a whisper
of that voice in the back of my mind that says
Maybe.
Maybe i'll make it.


My friend Nichole has her skype message as "Just give me one thing that isn't see through". I have no idea what it means or where she got it, but I took it to this place. Soo, thanks Nichole / wherever she got it from. Hopefully it's not a quote from her awesome writer boyfriend. That would be awkward O_o
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

We cut hearts
into paper to make streams
                         of love.
That was my impression of it.
That you ripped
      off
    the pieces you didn't want
until you got something that was
                          pretty.
It's no wonder
that I can't believe that someone
would think I was paper-perfect,
                         or loved.

             ~♥~♥~
Inspired by the title of one of today's DD's; "paper hearts" so thank you *travelgirlxx!
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Hear me read it!


They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.

Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.

Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.

When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.

Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.

For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Walk a while. I will know them, and I will lend them to others as my own.

Every time I write of a man kissing the crown of a woman's head to relieve her pain, I will use your liver. It will filter out poisons and allow love to be pure again. For every route, your fingertips will guide me. They will be the map of the city in my mind.

I will borrow your parts, unasked, as my templates of perfection.

Because when a writer falls in love with you, you never really die.
When the time comes to say goodbye, whether it be tomorrow or a million kisses from now, I need you to know that I won't, shan't, can't forget you, and you will never die in my heart.

funerial: something with qualities resemblant to a funeral or related to a funeral.
metaphise: making of a metaphor
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Quotes #54 | “I like work. It fascinates me. I sit and look at it for hours.” -Jerome K. Jerome

New collection:
DA: [link]
NEW Facebook : [link]

The old "finished" collection
DA: [link]
Facebook: [link]

About the quotes:
1.) I don't own any of the quotes in my collection (unless it's stated otherwise);
2.) Credit is given if the ORIGINAL author of the quote is known;
3.) Even if they are racist, sexist, etc. there is no offense intended; They are made strictly with entertaining purposes;
4.) I don't own any (copyrights), so you can use them however you want them;
5.) Possibly there are some grammar mistakes and it would be much appreciated, if you notice them, to let me know, so I can fix them asap;
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

I do not own any of the quotes in my collection. Most of them were found on the web and I only pick the best out of them. I made these (800x600) images, to print out little entertaining stickers, with minimalistic approach - that's why there is no background.

Because of huge positive feedback among my friends I uploaded them to various sites and here on DA they quickly became huge "hit". I do not consider this as art, but I get more and more requests everyday so I will keep uploading them.

Some of them are just pure fun, some racist or sexually offensive, maybe both, and occasionally with really poor grammar, for which I deeply apologize - please correct me! I will do my best. My intention here is just to make you smile, and nothing more. Hope you like them, but if you don't I don't care... :P

I don't have anything against sharing them, you can use it where you want, whenever you want. The only "copyright" here is the whole collection, not the single quotes. Enjoy!
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Quotes #55 | “KarmaSutra: When fate fucks you in all sorts of creative ways…”

New collection:
DA: [link]
NEW Facebook : [link]

The old "finished" collection
DA: [link]
Facebook: [link]

About the quotes:
1.) I don't own any of the quotes in my collection (unless it's stated otherwise);
2.) Credit is given if the ORIGINAL author of the quote is known;
3.) Even if they are racist, sexist, etc. there is no offense intended; They are made strictly with entertaining purposes;
4.) I don't own any (copyrights), so you can use them however you want them;
5.) Possibly there are some grammar mistakes and it would be much appreciated, if you notice them, to let me know, so I can fix them asap;
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

If you are the great poet as you say,

Rhyme yourself a key or make the bars fray

If you are the great poet as you speak,

Turn us to ash, make us truly weak

If you are the great poet as you so boldly tell,

Just simply write yourself free from this hell!

“No,” said the poet,

“Why is that?,” we growled in sync

“Well, you forgot to give me some paper and ink”


A short little rhyming thing that some may call a 'poem'. ;)
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

Writer’s Block

Time to write,

Rhyme on rhyme,

Without earning a single dime

Crap, crap, crap!

This happens all the time!


Mirror

Why hello dear!

It does appear,

That you have a twin,

Reflected in

That small, silvery, mirror


Witch Hunt

Oh neighbor, have you heard the word?

That little blonde girl broke the mayor’s urn!

For that she must be a witch!

And for that, she will burn


Leave Us Be

Just leave me be

It’s not that hard

I send a prayer to the trees

And the stars

Let us be free,

And who we want to be,

And what we want to be,

And where we want to be,

Not just do whatever we can, to please ‘The Man’

Just leave us be

And just let us finally be

truly,

liberatingly,

wonderfully,

free!


Killing Fields

Massacres in the jungle,

Massacres in the woods,

Massacres in the desert,

With the culprits wearing white hoods

Massacres in secret,

Massacres well-known,

There was once a field in Cambodia

Where nothing but the body-count had grown...


Smile

Hey, Lil’ Timmy, look at Mama!

She wants to take a picture of you

Please listen to me,

And don’t cause any drama

Just smile, you brat, and we’ll be done and through!


Confessions of a Dictator

I stood over my people

I swear, they didn’t look starving to me!

I stood over my enemies

I swear, I wasn’t aware of the camps!

I stood over my allies

I swear, they asked for their land to be taken!

I stood over my court

I swear, they were plotting against me!

I stood over the world

I swear, it was all mine for the taking!

I tried to stand over death

But as you know, it killed me...


America Forgot

They said “Immigrants are bad for the economy”

Then what is going to happen to my family and me?

What’s going to happen to your family and you?

This whole nation was founded by immigrants!

But it seems we’ve long since forgotten that...

Random poems that i've accumulated over the past couple days. ^^;
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.

When a poet dies

All his work transforms

The ink turns to coal

Faster than fossils at best

The paper goes back to it's mother tree

And all his work continues to manifest

How can this be?


When a poet dies

No one really knows

Until a hundred years later

When all his children are grown

And people start to realize this

And start to say ‘you shall be missed’

But it’s far too late

Oh, it’s far too late


All of

The creations

Leaping from the page

Of the poet that they revered as their god


They keep praying,

And praying for him to return

But he won’t be coming home

Why won’t he come home?


When a poet dies

All his work transforms

The ink turns to coal

Faster than fossils at best

The paper goes back to it’s mama tree

And all his work continues to manifest

How can this be?


How can this be...?

I heard that this happened to Everysinglepoettoeverexist. :I
True story. :iconthemoreyouknowplz:
Show
Add a Comment:
 
No comments have been added yet.