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150 points giveaway! The winner (:Hello, sweeties!More Like This
I decided to make someone smile again by giving one lucky deviant 150 points!
_
All you have to do in order to participate is:
fave this journal...
...and...
well, that's all
_
You don't have to visit my gallery nor watch me, but if you do, thank you
:iconnaked-in-the-rain:
+some of my works:
_
Thank you everyone who participated (:
The winner is
:iconsmartybloom:
Congrats and enjoy your points!
saudadeLast week, you showed up with the thunder on my doorstep.More Like This
Your voice was so drenched with the rain that I almost didn't recognize the way you said my name. It hung in the air like an incomplete sentence, like something unfamiliar, like you were so lost from trying to find everything we left behind and piece it back together that you couldn't find me in your heart anymore. It was pouring and the power was out and I was so tired of watching the world fall apart from outside my windows that I let you back inside my arms and inside my senses, and your bones were shaking as you clung to me and told me how good it felt to come back home.
There wa
The Cartographer's DaughterEvery night, he would fold her into his arms before she slept. Creases grew into her, turning brown with wear, and she loved them. When she woke up in the night, dreaming of darkness, he would take her to his desk and draw for her a map of her face, turning it into another world. Tracing the contours of her smile, he would scrawl a warning, "Here be monsters", whispering to her that she was a dragon when angry.More Like This
As she grew older, she populated his maps with creatures and peoples from the books she read, or her own creations. He taught her to draw, and to write with an old inkpen, in a cursive script her teacher could make neither head nor ta
Foola bird breaks awayMore Like This
from the surf
carrying heaven
in its beak.
it is all i can do not to cry.
some things are
not worth asking
and some things
not worth answering.
sometimes not knowing
is just as beautiful
as knowing:
why is the sky blue?
for answer a, go here
for answer b, go here
OCDI count the cracks in between the blocks of cement beneath me as I walk. Two. Two. Four. Four. Always four sets of that. Always two, two, four, four. Four times each. Look up. Blink 8 times. Two sets of four. Then back down. Two, two, four, four.More Like This
Safe. Those numbers are safe. Even, not odd. Odd is bad. 'Odd' is what people call you when you're different. Bad. Wrong.
Two, two, four, four. I try to focus on something else, not on how many steps I'm taking, because there are people behind me. Person. One set of footsteps. Bad. Half of two. I think of it as two feet, and that's better. I feel better.
I round a corner, looking for my goal. Alwa
Your Poetry Sucks.Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones.More Like This
You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets.
Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops,
and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes.
Your veins bleed nothing but red.
And your whispers,
they will never leave galaxies
along the length of spines.
So, Dear Heart,
you can take your stars,
your full moon romances,
the many, desperate love letters,
the gag-worthy cliches-
and eat them.
On my own apocalypseMore Like This
If silk could melt
to drip down arms and goosebumped legs
in scarlet rivers, serpentine,
it seems only right
that the sky should burn as well.
Like roses heaped upon a stage,
cloaked in tumultuous applause,
the end will fall in exultation.
Shall we stand upon the shore
and taste the salt upon our lips,
basking in the last breezes
before the Breaking?
These last days are a ball,
a promenade of bliss,
sublime devastation,
a eulogy of memory.
Shiva, ever the gentleman,
asks for one last dance.
The Cartographer's DaughterEvery night, he would fold her into his arms before she slept. Creases grew into her, turning brown with wear, and she loved them. When she woke up in the night, dreaming of darkness, he would take her to his desk and draw for her a map of her face, turning it into another world. Tracing the contours of her smile, he would scrawl a warning, "Here be monsters", whispering to her that she was a dragon when angry.More Like This
As she grew older, she populated his maps with creatures and peoples from the books she read, or her own creations. He taught her to draw, and to write with an old inkpen, in a cursive script her teacher could make neither head nor ta
waste your freedom efficiantlyignorance is no excuse, why don't you open your eyes,More Like This
the same information is in front of you but you believe the lies,
they're easier than the inconvenient truth,
originality is harder than just bein a fruit,
ripe off the line you'll go bad in time,
you age like grape juice, not wine
just because you've been there doesn't mean you're not still wallowing inside
i can play with fire if i want to
i can climb higher if i want to
i can stay up late
i can go on a date
i can smash things if i want to
i scratch these words out about myself
because intensity doesn't mean you're right
you call it flare, but "more matter, less art"
this
The Briny LadyBeware, me young laddyMore Like This
of joining the navy
Beware, me young laddy
of what you'll find there
For if ye fall for the sea,
ye never shall leave her,
for the sea's a fine lady
with brine in her hair.
Yes the sea's a fine lady
with a stormy complexion;
Yes the sea's a fine lady
with brine in her hair;
and if ye don't treat her right
then ye'll drown in her nethers
for I said she were fine,
I ne'er said she were fair.
We'll get ye an anchor
to ink on your forearm
and a compass o' blue
to point ye true north
and gold coins in your ears
to pay the good Dutchman
who ferries the souls
that are lost in the storm.
And if the navy
On successI really hate this "work hard and you'll succeed" attitude we have. It gives people false hope. Gets them breaking their backs, thinking their efforts will pay off in the long run. It's all bullshit. The problem is not how hard we work (I know people who work their asses off and can barely rise above the poverty line), it's what we value. We don't appreciate the people who make this country run - people like plumbers, auto mechanics, teachers, and construction workers. No, we're more interested in what people like Justin Bieber and Kim Kardashian are up to, and what new gadgets are on the market.More Like This
And look who gets filthy rich in this country: actors/actresses, singers, athletes, inventors of technology... whoever happens to be or create "the next big thing." Oh, and let's not forget those people who just happen to have good connections - those people who are born into wealth, or who meet the right person at the right time.
Meanwhile everyone else is busting ass trying to make <i>
Public Service Announcement: Rhymes Gone WildFOR RHYMING TIPS, CHECK OUT THE LINK IN THE ARTISTS NOTESMore Like This
Cheesy Cliche Rhymes
Go hand-in-hand with love,
with every angel who falls
from the sky up above,
with those who answer love's calls.
Who needs Rhythm With Rhymes Like These?
The night is dark
as I walk with my two best friends and their dog in the park.
The sky, sinister
as the face on my older sister.
What is behind the big tree?
What could it be?
Oh me, oh my! It's big and bloody, fanged and creepy.
I wake up in my bed, still sleepy.
Nightmares suck.
I'm going back to bed so wish me luck.
Shakespeare, Thou Art Alive In Me
When five or more winters have kissed thy brow,
Thou f
The Cartographer's DaughterEvery night, he would fold her into his arms before she slept. Creases grew into her, turning brown with wear, and she loved them. When she woke up in the night, dreaming of darkness, he would take her to his desk and draw for her a map of her face, turning it into another world. Tracing the contours of her smile, he would scrawl a warning, "Here be monsters", whispering to her that she was a dragon when angry.More Like This
As she grew older, she populated his maps with creatures and peoples from the books she read, or her own creations. He taught her to draw, and to write with an old inkpen, in a cursive script her teacher could make neither head nor ta
Mirror ImagesI was the first person in my family, outside of my parents, to hold my sister. I had only just turned five at the time, and did not quite understand the logistics of adoption, the figurative birth of a child into a family. All I knew was that here was this small, scrunched up little thing and that she was mine to keep. I held my arms out, and she was settled in them, her pink newborn face wrinkling as she was jostled. My sister, in her infant sleep, looked either deep in thought or constipated, her little brow furrowed, her small cherry mouth pursed in concentration. Dreams played out on the movie screen of her face, small fingers flexing andMore Like This
I promiseI promise...More Like This
I promise to be there for you,
I promise that I will always try to understand,
I promise that I will never forget you,
I promise that I won't leave you.
I'm promising this because in my heart I know it's true,
Even if I don't always do what's right you've had my back.
I owe a lot to you and I try to be there for you,
And you know that I won't leave you...
I can't.
I care too much about you and our friendship,
I know it seems stupid but I do.
What's the point in living if people seem to just never understand you?
What's the point in living if people seem to just not care?
What's the point in living if you have no one
Sta.sh
