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About Deviant iohes de eyck me fecit.Female/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
aftermath
this morning my heart woke
me up to tell me you're taking
your piece with you when you go,
tugging at the distance as your
plane left the runway and i wrenched into
the darkness you left me for and i swore
i could see the stars falling down around me
the minute i said your name and it echoed,
my god, the syllables sunk deep into the pit
of my stomach and rested there like seeds,
watered by the nights i spent telling what was left
of me to forget all of you while my insides
tried to figure out how to be less, necessarily
it never worked. it never does when you
treat hearts like candy bars, like pieces
you deserve to break off & take with you
like the chocolate centre of my soul i gave
you, instead of my blown glass shattering,
the battery that keeps me thinking about
my live wires at the edges where you picked
up & left; you had me making signal fires -
everything went up in smoke and
i found myself on the edge of arson
where i want to burn everything
down at the site, where i want to b
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 14 2
Literature
last season's mix tapes
in every story, there is a plot.  
this is called “what happens.”  
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.  
what happens is we lose touch.  
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 16 4
Literature
leaving the nest
i dreamed of
growing up a
willow but
didn't budge
from the oak
grove, stayed
unsubtle &
strong. where i
tried to feather
out my edges
i stayed firm
& full coarse.
where i tried
to love i lost
limbs & shed
another layer
of calloused
skin. where i
tried to weep
gracefully i
kept tripping
over my own
roots, kept on
sobbing some
thing awful.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 18 22
Literature
reclaiming boston
on the bus with my
legs sprawled over my bags, i
imagine the miles
falling away from
me like hydrangea petals
in a summer breeze
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 15 9
Literature
e street shuffle
daylight whitens the scars of the hasty
reenactment, the perfunctory funk
of traincar graffiti crews hunkered over
backalley dumpsters making the news
humdrum the creation never undone, the hard-
won that stays because it stays unseen,
becomes routine, becomes
the sheen of art school dreams
still visible beneath the filth of city streets,
a fantasy decaying in its frame
& heedless with age under the superficial
rage of the blindly worked & blindly paid,
systematic slaves to factories where they make
but don't create, where graffiti is the only
god left to praise, where capitalists' fingers weighed
down with rings snap, start to sway,
pay to have it washed away, begin
to annihilate the day.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 10
Literature
love the yarn, love the bestseller
falling for you in december was a cold fiction, myth
rich & beautiful like the frost weighing down the tip
of every blade of grass in the mornings, like heather's
house late at night, bushes swollen thick & obscuring
the street signs, with me scouring evergreen lane
for numbers, waiting for a flicker of the porchlight,
yelling her name to find out i had driven around
evergreen court in stupid sooty circles, down the street
from falling with you in december, when i was trailing
you by entire revolutions, when without your name i
thought i could hunt down your heart in the dark,
when without you i scratched the fable of our love
onto a brick in a house i'll admit i knew wasn't yours.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 16 10
lose your self by anyimacielgray lose your self :iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 17 10
Literature
to giovanna cenami
mother goddess,
your whole deep greens
astonish.
& your pale yellow slivers of sun
& then the blue sky sleeves
with your open fertile hands blossoming
out of them, small & serene.
your gaze a red innocence, heavy with curiousity
& need.
the white
white veil
won't dare
touch your
cheek bones.
it graces your glowing forehead, forgotten entirely
after the shock of love in your glance.
you know this man's  
profound black browns, his steady eye
the flickering immodest uncaring of calculation
hung over his lids, over the hazy grey
of city sky, this hard bent man stooped
with briefcase in hand, thickly
cloaked, thin lipped, top hatted.
you the warm unnamed bride & he
the sharp nosed Man
insisting.
you the pleasant & powerful, indulgent
of his every little
lovely evil,
the eternal forgiveness in the curve
of your lips, the unspoken
colour of power. you the patient
the unending source.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 72 29
Literature
cons
i've swallowed continents en masse, & all
their statues too, or their shot glasses (i
admit to a collection) or their calls,
their laughs & hiccups, ornaments in piles
on trees – the odd ingredient in pies
& tickets to museums & that night itch
of metaphysics' batty evil eye.
i listen for the strange ways we debrick
each other, say hello, craft whole triptychs
of queries after dogs & aunts, i wake
with elbows bruised from who knows which
event i tripped into (but i would bake
forever while you read me nietzsche or
the dialogues or charmed me to the floor)
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 15 19
Literature
with a single match tossed over the potomac
reckless clouds sky-streaked
slapdash - the whole mess spilled with
oil & lit on fire
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 5 11
Literature
hands
i call the basket weaver mother so
she'll curl into my future self but time
does not go lending me a favour, knows
whose accusations fray its essence (mine
might be the least inspired) but she will find
the centre of my soul outside of days,
each reed she plaits a branch of my lifeline
in disbelief of past or coming age.
she grows indefinite & kneeling, prays
with spokes & palms repeated into sky,
each revolution of the wicker maze
another texture for the looping i -
the cursive of this self she'll craft beyond
the memories of selves i'll have, i've lost.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 12 8
Literature
Towards Peace
the Means of Peace, betwixt the Government
almost ever worse than the Disease:
of Justice in the Hands and Mouths of the
Aggressors seldom getting what they seek.
fading enjoyments of this Lower World:
and Greatness of Dominion more than Right
     Men seek their Wills by War rather than Peace
     embrewed their Hands in one another's Blood:
     as they will violate it to obtain
     Possession of Princes and People too.
     Perhaps it may be in a good Degree
     not to destroy the Lives of Men: to give
     as War cannot in any sense be just
     the Maker and Preserver of our Peace
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 1 0
Literature
beware of
you my dumpy little cockroach
my forgotten bit of red glass
my not mine
the beautiful driftwood
see how i've made you heavy,
see how i've planted my fingers into the deepness of the deepness & fluttered my eyelids for effect but how i've read the braille of earth & found out your ten thousand names & misplaced just one or two into a decaying notebook once green by incident, by accident.
i'm sorry about calling you a giddy swellbellied politician & about forgetting most of your names. but the nice bit of it is, look, i can figure a language assembled of clicks & berries.
maybe if it's raspberry plickblack pop. pop.
maybe i shouldn't swaddle you in names maybe
i don't want to letter you into a cage
see how i've called you instead by my swelling eyes.
see how the unfolding of my hand
becomes you.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 13 7
Literature
faking halloween: a family pastime
vava drives her old camry smack yellow on the double line. this car's as old as i am i say lisping over plastic vampire teeth & she presses together her purple dry-flower lips humming oh yes – 92 – she counts her feelings in orange lollipops, she arranges the wrapped candy into an elegant JAMES on top of vavo's grave & the trees have gone greening themselves but it doesn't matter, otherwise she'll never sleep so we keep a costume handy all year & black face paint just in case she grows blue underneath her april umbrella.
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 9 6
Literature
FUNERAL
here is a photograph of a car window during the late day.
it was taken on a cell phone.
the car is light champagne & its window reflects trees.
& it reflects a few words smoothed in with a thin finger
faintly on the inside of a foggy pane
too faintly so you tilt yourself inside the memory.
& it reflects a few words we love you will
you spill into it slowly, in reverse, all of you at once.
here is a man in a black suit & tie.
he is telling you where to park your car.
human beings standing up like ants
unfolding their creaking legs & waiting to be devoured.
human beings or ant beings standing up to talk about it.
we are being devoured they say.
nos están devorandos.
they put their ant hands to their faces.
oh they say
ay ay
oh.
we love you will. why
we love you. human beings crawling over each other's tears.
collapsing on top with sobs for the warmth of another body.
there are two faces, one his & one no longer his.
human beings examining his exoskeleton. this physical
stuff. you gr
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 6 0
Literature
for my mother, for whom i am never careful enough
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
dimensional enough i could tip myself over into space:
honest, bones, i could shrug at gravity & join with you
to fashion a rubber duck for the great & terrible zeus
a universe wide, tipping earth precisely in the right ways.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
orchids, carefully, the way my mother often tried to,
she wouldn't die thinking i refuse to carry her face,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
i walk fast without breaking her back – i can love, too:
oh, mother, your beloved & bitchy brace face, space case,
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
new toes, i wouldn't bother about the others being blue
with your poor circulation, or other bizarre malaise,
honest bones i could shrug at gravity & join with you.
but i won't go to space & i promise to wear rain boots.
don't worry if i get arrested at a protest by mistake.
i always thought if i kept still enough or grew two
honest
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray
:iconanyimacielgray:anyimacielgray 158 37

Random Favourites

Literature
running.
you tell me that everything has a time limit on it; friendships, days, moments, love. everything is limited, you say, so we might as well rush, run. because it's all going to end anyway, right?
so i started to notice the time stamps painted on your hands, the calendars written all over your heart. i started to wonder, how much time do we have left? how many more held hands, secrets, inside jokes, i love you's? how many more?
i wondered and ran,
ran through the forests without smelling the scent of after-rain. i ran on the darkened streets at midnight without noticing the streetlights, passing lit houses of friends and the sounds of laughter meant to be shared with me. i ran through meadows and didn't see the flowers i stepped on.
i ran, holding your hand and missing all of the people waiting for me.
and now it's midnight and cold. piano music is playing in the background, but my heart's too dead to hear it. now my ears are ringing and there's a pressure behind my eyes, and you'r
:iconAmertie:Amertie
:iconamertie:Amertie 397 252
To just fly away by vampire-zombie To just fly away :iconvampire-zombie:vampire-zombie 842 51 mon frere jumeau by bailey--elizabeth mon frere jumeau :iconbailey--elizabeth:bailey--elizabeth 1,720 237
Literature
soldier's sonnet.
we had soaring songs for
soldiers: simple to sing
because it's tough to speak
when you've got blood bubbling
around your lips.
i want to know: what's it like
when you're fading
to die for an idea?
does it bloom inside you, crawl
across your chest, a red flower
with slick, wet petals
that harden as they cool;
turn black and grip at your clothes--
but you don't notice a thing. your eyes--
they're empty, staring things now:
the life has fled the iris and
the color means nothing anymore--
stained glass panes with no light to
give ardor to their colors.
i want to know what it's like, so
i can save you from your own hollowed out heart
(where every beat echoes like a gunshot
in a church)
but you aren't singing your
song anymore.
:iconRainyDaySmile:RainyDaySmile
:iconrainydaysmile:RainyDaySmile 10 15
Literature
unmapped
i know not where
to begin. the stares
are careless, the stars
couldn't care less,
and the world won't wait
(to spin),
while i catch my breath.
there is no space
in air to take the sky
for a ride in the water,
but i am still
enthralled by
opportunities afforded -
rapt
at each strange path
to be progressed.
we write backward ways
to overlay our inky feet,
these prints too deep to keep
receipt of old transgression.
of misplaced blessings.
of miracles abandoned,
now blooming
on the vine.
you are wrapped around
a finger of flowers
and colour speaks louder,
but by nature
every gesture
of your ghost-shape
is divine.
:iconprairiedaisy:prairiedaisy
:iconprairiedaisy:prairiedaisy 42 46
Little room, by vampire-zombie Little room, :iconvampire-zombie:vampire-zombie 446 45
Literature
a song for sisyphus.
give me the weight of the world,
the hate of the world,
the fate of the world on my shoulders--
all the smoldering boulders full of older ardor
that you can't carry any farther:
i'll just smile and say
that it's a beautiful day
for Sisyphus and being us
and going all the way--
even though we both know
we'll come crashing down again,
a dreamer's art is a broken heart
and learning how to mend;
so climb with me to heaven
tugging the world behind
we'll sing a song for Sisyphus
once we know the lines:
                               press your shoulder to the stone
                                    and let your bones alone atone
    
:iconRainyDaySmile:RainyDaySmile
:iconrainydaysmile:RainyDaySmile 5 4
Literature
stormy petrel
My eyes blush
as your fingers speak volumes
like some cataclysmic score
(you asked for a  crescendo
but my mezzo-forte soul was always a tempo too slow.)
You are progress and steps in all the right directions
I am falling out of place
(and maybe in love)
these intravenous dreams are becoming all too frequent
nightmares
and the butterflies upon my lips have acquiesced to your request
for more sensible diction.
(forgive me but sunburst melodies are all my grass-green fingers seem to know)
If I was summer
you were autumn.
I was forever too passionate and short-lived
to make the history books.
but perhaps your quiet reservation will be mistaken
for misguided hesitation.
(you fell in love with Hollywood irony
just as I fell into you.)
:iconApocalypticDayDream:ApocalypticDayDream
:iconapocalypticdaydream:ApocalypticDayDream 3 9
Left my bones by vampire-zombie Left my bones :iconvampire-zombie:vampire-zombie 782 70
Literature
Smoke-Addled
Smoke-Addled
I’ve put it out there, my heart,
     beating
and freshest at your feet
while you look at it, indifferent.
     You think
we were not obvious, that I was
un-virgin, dark, the pensive windmill
unmoving, unmovable.
But the reality befell you in our somber reason:
Have you been hurt? Have you ever felt
another’s tongue? Would you know
what love was – I wouldn’t –
     if the recipient was not a God?

**
This is what I ask myself now
as I peer into my pack
     of cigarettes,
Camels my roommate gave me
to replace the better ones he smoked
in my absence, since hidden in the left boot
     of the wrinkled,
     black pair I bought in Marfa.
Smoking is bad for me, I cough,
but therapeutic in the absence of
     your answer –
unsure whether you’ll flick me off
like ash
:iconthefoolscribe:thefoolscribe
:iconthefoolscribe:thefoolscribe 2 2
parcheesi by videotaped parcheesi :iconvideotaped:videotaped 2 5
Literature
home.
you've come a long way,
               she said.
i can tell--your soul is tattered.
               you mean my soles, i said
               referring to the remnants of
               my shoes: shreds of leather,
               laces long gone
no
               she replied, her eyes a smiling green
i mean your soul. it's choked with dust,
and silence, and long nights under stars
millions of stars whose light
is a million years old
and not a one of them could
spare you a friendly wink.

     
:iconRainyDaySmile:RainyDaySmile
:iconrainydaysmile:RainyDaySmile 10 12
Literature
Theory of Flight
Lately
I’ve been writing poems on old construction paper
a scourge of haphazard stanzas
crooked letters
and uneven lines
trying to find beauty without perfection
trying to comprehend what its like to be you.
Yesterday
I discovered the road maps under your skin
waiting to carry us away to the kinds of places only bird-bones could find
Today
You trace hearts across my shoulder blades
and ponder where our avian affinities have flown to.
I remark at how dejected penguins and puffins must be
as they are only birds that couldn’t learned to glide
and that I wish bats wouldn’t have stolen their dreams
because mammals were never fated to fly.
(It is a pity you didn't had the courage to tell me
that even featherless wings deserve to soar.)
Once
I asked what you believed in and you declared
‘only what I can see’
Tomorrow
perhaps I will have the heart to tell you
that you’re blind
(Maybe you should invest in sonar)
:iconApocalypticDayDream:ApocalypticDayDream
:iconapocalypticdaydream:ApocalypticDayDream 5 5
two hands too many by ApocalypticDayDream two hands too many :iconapocalypticdaydream:ApocalypticDayDream 1 2
Literature
we're all glass bottles.
1.
somewhere, there is a superhero meant for me, clad in a black cape and hope, adrenaline jumping in iron veins.
we could be a racing river, and no dam could ever hold us in. we could be a fire that no one could put out (i'd be the ashes if he'd be the flame), or maybe even a gust of wind that no wall could ever stop.
maybe we could live in a cave, away from the noise and pain, or maybe we'd live in the clouds and eat dreams all day. maybe we could catch fireflies and pray for the lights to stay lit another moment, just so we could finally hang onto something.
maybe i'd learn to bottle my fears and doubts - and then, maybe, i'd break the bottles and everything they hold. maybe i'd close my eyes and find comfort in the silence, or maybe he'd teach me it's okay not to fly. maybe he'd teach me how to be happy on the ground.
somewhere, there is a superhero meant for me;
but it's a shame he's not here.
it's a shame he'll never save me.
2.
the sky is empty tonight, just like my heart.
:iconAmertie:Amertie
:iconamertie:Amertie 164 196
Literature
pyromaniac.
dearfireofaboy,
i remember the first time you set me on fire.
and no, not in the cute, metaphorical way
you'd probably expect me to say. i remember
literally the first time you set me on fire.
i had a box of matches in my pocket and
fringe from the holes in my kneecaps, and
right quick you slipped the fire right out of
my hands and let the flames lick at my jeans,
proving to be quite flammable as they burned.
that's the first time you set me on fire metaphorically speaking too.
after the fire burned out you turned into
shattered mirrors and broken bones,
beautiful though you were of the flawed
sort. your hollow cheekbones and one-sided
smiles kept you gorgeous, as you attempted
to flick the charcoal hair from your ebony eyes.
- - - -
it was eleven-eleven and you asked me what
i had wished for. lovemelovemelovemeloveme
it was eleven-eleven and for the first time i
lied to you. thunderstormsandburningbridges.
you told me you didn't know what you'd do
if i ever
:iconcrushasphyxia:crushasphyxia
:iconcrushasphyxia:crushasphyxia 20 16

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anyimacielgray
iohes de eyck me fecit.
United States

love that's all







favourite genre of music: everything, operating system: borrowed spleen, shell of choice: turtle, favourite cartoon character: calvin and hobbes, personal quote: I'VE HELD MANY A BABY WHILE THE HOMEGIRL GOT HER SCRAP ON
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:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner May 1, 2018
Happy Early Birthday wishes to you and may it be a most wonderful one!
Reply
:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2017
Happy Early Birthday next week my dear and may it be a most beautiful and blessed one!
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:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner May 6, 2016
Early birthday wishes goes out to you and may it be totally fabulous!
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:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner May 7, 2015
Happy Birthday to you and may it be as sweet and lovely as your great poetry and writing!
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:iconmel-dickinstein:
mel-dickinstein Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
ive always been a fan of your work. keep up the awesome work. you are definitely an inspiration! :heart:
Reply
:iconei9:
ei9 Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2014
 great writing and poetry that you got here and its awesome with a capital A!
I have a few of your masterpieces in my faves and look forward seeing more from you in the future. keep up the great work and God bless!
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:iconspartan-locke:
spartan-locke Featured By Owner May 7, 2014   Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!
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:icontheemptychest:
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013

Tag a quality deviant, You’re it! Quality doesn’t mean that you have a lot of followers, or a lot of messages. It means that you’re nice to other people, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love you as you are, and they don’t care how much followers you have. Send this to 10 deviants who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love them! ♥

(Just thought you deserved this.)

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:iconanyimacielgray:
anyimacielgray Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
thank you so so much! i will definitely pass this on <3
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:icontheemptychest:
TheEmptyChest Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
:huggle: Good!
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