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About Literature / Professional Dawn Olmo43/Female/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
Broken Needs Fixed
There’s a piece of me broken somewhere, I don’t know why it happened, or when. Was it when I was a kid? Was that when I broke? Have I been broken since I’ve been born? I don’t know. I think back and try to remember how I was when I was little, how my mind worked, but I can’t. It’s too far away, too far gone. But now I feel like I’m falling apart, or maybe I just now realize that I’ve already fallen. There have been too many years of bad decisions, too many years of problems caused directly by my action or inaction.
Does everyone feel like a waste of space? Does everyone feel like they were put on this planet for no reason, not to learn, only to suffer? All I do know, is that for as long as I can remember, whenever I’ve tried to carve out my little piece of happy, something has come along to show me I was wrong. I keep waiting for the rest of my life to crumble. It’s happening. I can feel it just around the corner. A moment in
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Literature
a broken story
Once there was a broken boy who lived a broken life. He didn’t know he was broken because he was strong and brave and true and kind. The broken boy loved with all of his heart, but did not give that love freely–the broken boy chose his loves carefully.
The broken boy grew to become a broken man. He married a broken woman. She also didn’t know she was broken, but she suspected it. They had many broken children and were married for many broken years.
Throughout his life, the broken boy remained loyal and true, as was his desire, for he loved the broken woman with all of himself. But he, like the woman, was broken. She picked at his pieces, wore away great chunks with her actions and words. She picked at the parts of him until the broken man realized pieces of himself were missing. He realized his once-upon-a-time was just that. Once.
The fairy tale was unraveling, like his heart had done and his soul was doing. The broken man felt hollow, empty–he had no pieces le
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Anonymouslyabducted by damina Anonymouslyabducted :icondamina:damina 6 3 Createspacecover by damina Createspacecover :icondamina:damina 0 0 Untitled Drawing by damina Untitled Drawing :icondamina:damina 6 4
Literature
The Beginning was the End
I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl,
her head fit into the palm of my hand
and her tiny fingers could curl around
my fingertip; they would never curl
on their own, never would her synapses
fire directions to her extremities.
She will never feel pain, anger, resentment,
fear. Never know the touch of love, the ache
of heartbreak, the joy of family. She will
never taste exotic foods or travel to enchantment.
Nightmares will never plague her dreams and
dreams will never invade her everlasting sleep.
Weeks of love and longing, of hope and light
were dashed upon the broken rocks of fickle
chance that took her from my arms and carried
her away from me forever. She never drew a breath,
never shed a tear, never learned to speak.
She never lived outside the womb. But--
I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.
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New Dev ID by damina New Dev ID :icondamina:damina 2 4
Literature
Still Gone
You live above the TV, high
on the shelf where you watch
a family you'll never get to truly
know from your perch inside that
cold, pink-metal resting place.
When I look your way, I wonder--
do our gazes lock? Do we share the
same insurmountable look of sadness from
wishes that will never be, dreams never
realized, may-have-beens never being?
Do we both pray for the past to
become a nightmare, to waken
one morning and find that we're
together again?
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Muro Doodle by damina Muro Doodle :icondamina:damina 5 3
Mature content
Orgasmic Achievement :icondamina:damina 5 15
Umatilla National Forest by damina Umatilla National Forest :icondamina:damina 4 6
Literature
Inner Madness
Screaming inside my mind [does no good]
The banshee of my braincells
finds no comfort in the silence [inside]
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Literature
Chalkboard Dreams
the sun in her hair
is no longer there and
the sparkles are gone
her eyes are an opaque and
dusty chalkboard recently erased
the shape of her words invisible
she grasps at the lost ideas
sometimes sees the shape of letters
but is blind to their meaning
she traces the memories with a finger
drawing shapes in the aimless air but
forgets them as they dissolve
once there were moments of
lucidity of blissful awareness and
understanding would crash upon her
she would realize for those brief
timeless minutes that her mind was
a dry erase board and the lessons of
her life were done
she would cry at
the unfairness and misery
the loneliness of her condition
minutes later she would happily
trace her shapes in the air and
smile at the nothing she perceived
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Master by damina Master :icondamina:damina 4 17
Literature
Love Undying
Moths flitted about the thin light that fought its way through the opaque glass; the inside of the light bulb was dusty white, and though it was years old, it still managed to shine through the dark of night. It keeps me company, as I stand on the widow's walk and look out to sea, waiting, as ever, for my love to return. The ship had sailed upon the morning tide more than a hundred years ago; still I wait. I made him a promise, and I meant to keep it. "I'll wait for you." I'd whispered into the crook of his neck as he held me close, that last night we had together. "Until you return, I swear by the Gods, I shall wait for you."
He cupped my face with a massive hand; it was granite-hard and rough, but his touches were always soft. He'd told me once that he was afraid to touch me: his rough fingers would brush too hard and break the tender skin. "Like a child who has caught a butterfly," he'd whispered, "I will ruin the beauty of your wings, and you will never fly again." That final morni
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Literature
No Words
There are no words in English
to describe the color of skin
fighting for oxygen, for bloodless
limbs. The words give images, but
no one person's image matches another's
unless...
They shared a dark-death moment of
fear and terror and heartbreak.
There are no words in English
to describe the pain that bursts
through my heart (soul?) when your anger
pours into me, ruthless and selfish.
Broken, shattered, torn asunder--
these words fail to capture what
truly happens inside.
And now, whenever my eyes are closed
I see the bloodless limbs, feel the frantic
heart--beating, beating, beating--
fighting against the cruel onslaught of
death. My emotions are in turmoil still,
yet that word (turmoil) lacks also.
This tempest raging inside--a hurricane, a
tornado, a tsunami of pain and fear.
And your anger is like an arrow cast, aimed
to erode, to maim, to torture, to slowly destroy.
It's the debris in the winds, tearing holes.
There are no words in English for these.
There are no words in English.
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These are my newest deviations. I guess that's why it's called, "Newest Deviations" on the header. Crazy!

Favourites

Polyamorous stamp by pulsebomb Polyamorous stamp :iconpulsebomb:pulsebomb 90 5 Madame Rouge by maiarcita Madame Rouge :iconmaiarcita:maiarcita 149 92 Calm by funnybone800 Calm :iconfunnybone800:funnybone800 8 0 FUCK i HURT him by funnybone800
Mature content
FUCK i HURT him :iconfunnybone800:funnybone800 3 0
Literature
Basic Character Sheet
Basics
Name (& pronunciation):
Date of Birth (& age):
Place of Birth:
Gender:
Species/Racial Origin:
Social Class/Community Status:
Language:
Family/Friends/Pets/Etc:
Physical Description
Height:
Weight:
Hair:
Eyes:
Limb Dexterity:
Detailed Physical Description:
Typical Clothing/Equipment:
Personality/Attributes
Personality/Attitude:
Skills/Talents:
Favourites/Likes:
Most Hated/Dislikes:
Goals/Ambitions:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Fears:
Hobbies/Interests:
Regular Routine:
Philosophy of Life:
Attitude Toward Death:  
Religion/Beliefs:
Fetishes/Strange Behaviors:
Most Instructive/Painful/Memorable Experience:
Sexual Preference/Experience/Values:
Education/Special Training:
Place/Type of Residence:
Occupation:
Place of Work:
Work-related Skills:
Past Occupations:
Memberships:
Additional Notes
:iconMirintala:Mirintala
:iconmirintala:Mirintala 1,055 125
Retro Vintage Text Effect No.11 by IndieGround Retro Vintage Text Effect No.11 :iconindieground:IndieGround 101 0
Journal
Still Waiting...
Yes. I know. We're all still waiting on #trivia. What happened?
So originally for some reason Thumbbot decided to add 45 misses to every single question. So it was bugging out for some reason, and while I have my theories, I can't prove anything because I don't know enough bot code. Miloticscale tried to get ahold of the person who could fix thumbbot, but got ignored. It bugged me, but it wasn't breaking the game, so it kept on playing.
But then it got worse and only asked questions that had less than 10 hits/the questions that were ridiculously hard.  We(I tired, milotic tried, a Thumbsshare staffer tried) still got no response from the one and only person who could fix the bot or let us have access to the bot to fix it, but decided to stop the bot for a bit until it could stop only asking the low hit, hard questions.
And then the person who had Thumbbot took it offline and went offline and nobody has been able to get a hold of him since then. That's what happened to thumbbot. We
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Kingdom in the Clouds, pt 1 by ChainBound Kingdom in the Clouds, pt 1 :iconchainbound:ChainBound 1,187 534 Stock 032. by enchanted-stock Stock 032. :iconenchanted-stock:enchanted-stock 6,799 2,567 Affected Galaxy Background by Lythronax Affected Galaxy Background :iconlythronax:Lythronax 1,032 57 Beauty Headshot by mockingbird-girl Beauty Headshot :iconmockingbird-girl:mockingbird-girl 258 98 Does it fit? by DoncellaSuicide Does it fit? :icondoncellasuicide:DoncellaSuicide 479 187 Black Cat Clinging Earrings by KittyAzura Black Cat Clinging Earrings :iconkittyazura:KittyAzura 18,459 1,784 Autumn Glory by lucid-light Autumn Glory :iconlucid-light:lucid-light 1,960 259 Unrequited by secret-fantasy Unrequited :iconsecret-fantasy:secret-fantasy 520 29 Drifting on a sad song by Aegis-Illustration
Mature content
Drifting on a sad song :iconaegis-illustration:Aegis-Illustration 1,187 204
These are the things I have recently favorited. I do not randomize this, because it's a way to feature my new favorites without going through the hassle of posting a new blog.

Wishlist

Seasonscape by alexiuss Seasonscape :iconalexiuss:alexiuss 76,062 8,459 Stone of Farewell Cover by kerembeyit Stone of Farewell Cover :iconkerembeyit:kerembeyit 3,179 171 Grammar Natzee by dinyctis Grammar Natzee :icondinyctis:dinyctis 9,431 2,752 DOWN THE RIVER AREND by tigaer DOWN THE RIVER AREND :icontigaer:tigaer 1,027 169 Enchanted Fairies Calendar by cosmosue Enchanted Fairies Calendar :iconcosmosue:cosmosue 404 52 Wallpaper All mine... by hoschie Wallpaper All mine... :iconhoschie:hoschie 4,947 1,255 Endlessly Loving by ThaKillah Endlessly Loving :iconthakillah:ThaKillah 40 30 green by ssilence green :iconssilence:ssilence 2,310 488
Won't you please buy me a gift? I'm really nice. Honest! Plus, it will help the artist you buy it from! So, you get to feel good about sending a nice person a gift, plus you get to feel good about helping another artist stay in Top Ramen. Two birds, one stone!

Activity


I take so long to update anything. I had another girl btw. I'm at 6 and that's where we'll stay.

I'm still freelancing, so there's that.

There’s a piece of me broken somewhere, I don’t know why it happened, or when. Was it when I was a kid? Was that when I broke? Have I been broken since I’ve been born? I don’t know. I think back and try to remember how I was when I was little, how my mind worked, but I can’t. It’s too far away, too far gone. But now I feel like I’m falling apart, or maybe I just now realize that I’ve already fallen. There have been too many years of bad decisions, too many years of problems caused directly by my action or inaction.

Does everyone feel like a waste of space? Does everyone feel like they were put on this planet for no reason, not to learn, only to suffer? All I do know, is that for as long as I can remember, whenever I’ve tried to carve out my little piece of happy, something has come along to show me I was wrong. I keep waiting for the rest of my life to crumble. It’s happening. I can feel it just around the corner. A moment in time that is fast approaching. Hurdling its way toward my destruction like a meteor and there isn’t anything I can do to avoid the collision.

Some bad choices felt right at the time, felt like they’d be ok. While others I knew, as I was making them, that I should not do this thing. And here is something that wounds its way through my mind in my darker hours: I was molested, yet I remain quiet. This is a choice I have made. Who to tell, who not to tell. Still, I make that choice. I decided to not say anything. I remember knowing it was wrong. I remember hating every moment of it but still choosing to remain quiet.

That’s a choice I made. It was not a good one, but it was a choice. It is a choice everyone who is abused makes. The choice to do nothing. To say nothing. To keep it inside.

And now it’s all come full circle. I was always proud that I did not turn around and abuse anyone. I didn’t beat my kids (a strange fear I had because I could tell I had it in me, that uncare that comes when you hit someone), proud that I never molested a child. What a thing to be proud of…. but I still abused. My husband has gotten the worst of me, and I don’t think there is a best of me to be had. I keep waiting for it to be done. For him to realize that he can never forgive this. Me. This mess that is me. Too many years of ignoring his desires, or of painting him with jealousy, or betraying his trust. It’s no wonder he points out my faults so quickly, is the first to say I told you so, even if he didn’t, even if the situation does not call for it. He is too good of a man to hurt me purposefully or callously, as it seems I have done to him. He is too good of a person to lash out at the one he loves with malice. So, it happens accidentally, it slips out of him, smoke that curls around my heart, slowly choking the oxygen out of my blood.

I hate songs that are about strength of will, about how much fight is left, about how I can survive, because I’m empty. I know that I don’t have any will. I have no will to fight, to survive. I just live, because there is no alternative. I refuse to kill myself, I tell my therapist that I don’t think about killing myself, and that’s true. But I always think that I should be dead, that it’d be better if I were hit by a car and killed instantly. Hoping for that odd gunman to kill the poor, innocent bystander. I don’t have the will to do it myself, I don’t have the courage to pull the trigger, nor the desire to be the reason I died. I have ruined enough lives, killing myself would ruin the lives of my children, and I would never hurt them like that. I have no more faith in anything because the one thing I had faith in, the one thing that gave me that will, is crumbling.

I’ve torn it apart I’ve torn it down I’ve—
destroyed the foundations
I don’t think we’re strong enough anymore I—
just don’t… I just can’t see it… working.

I know that a year from now, two years from now, we’ll be apart. Either he will decide he can’t handle being unhappy anymore or I will decide I can’t handle making him unhappy anymore. I just want him to be happy and I don’t think he can be happy with me anymore. Having that kind of certainty is scary.

The biggest emotion I feel besides fear is my love for him. The fear of losing him is all encompassing. It’s really gone beyond fear. He doesn’t know, I think, how it affects me when I know he’s depressed but chooses not to tell me. He doesn’t understand the way it winds around my soul and squeezes because I know that if it weren’t for me, he’d be happy.

Even after his heart was broken by someone else, he desired me. He wanted me every day. He showed me he wanted me, every day. Sometimes, more than once a day. Sometimes less, but I always felt wanted. I didn’t realize how much until that desire went away. And now I feel its loss. There is an emptiness in his eyes. He looks, but he doesn’t see, doesn’t process what he does see, and if he does, it isn’t what he wants to be looking at. Not me. Not this person who keeps trying to destroy the man he is.

He forgets he loves me. He forgets to say it, he forgets to show it, and maybe one day he won’t remember it anymore. When that happens, I think that is when he’ll decide our joint happiness is no longer worth the effort. If it’s not worth the effort, then why do it? Why bother with something that will be hard anyway? Isn’t that what he says to me about other things? Maybe he’s right, if it’s hard, it isn’t worth the effort. And this last few years, these last few months, have been effort upon effort upon effort. Anything that can go wrong, goes wrong. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us that we’re not meant to be here anymore, together. Maybe Rhiannon’s death was the first sign that I ignored, maybe the first sign was when he left me standing alone in the middle of the mall in NYC. Ok, not alone, he didn’t leave me there, but he didn’t walk with me, and he wouldn’t sit with me. Maybe that was the first sign…maybe my problem is that I have never listened. I want what I want when I want it. And I want him, so fuck the universe and what it wants.

I only want him to love me like he used to. Before he forgets how that used to feel.

Broken Needs Fixed
I wrote this during a rough time in our marriage. Things were no looking up. I thought it was over for sure. Just so you know, we are revisiting this separation/divorce issue when I get my MBA. I'm trying to remain optimistic as things have been going really well lately. Now i'm waiting for it to go to shit again. To dip down again. Almost feels like it's on the horizon.

This is how I felt that day. This is a train of thought/conscience thing. I try to remain strong and constant. It is hard when everything keeps reaching out to drag me down.
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Once there was a broken boy who lived a broken life. He didn’t know he was broken because he was strong and brave and true and kind. The broken boy loved with all of his heart, but did not give that love freely–the broken boy chose his loves carefully.

The broken boy grew to become a broken man. He married a broken woman. She also didn’t know she was broken, but she suspected it. They had many broken children and were married for many broken years.

Throughout his life, the broken boy remained loyal and true, as was his desire, for he loved the broken woman with all of himself. But he, like the woman, was broken. She picked at his pieces, wore away great chunks with her actions and words. She picked at the parts of him until the broken man realized pieces of himself were missing. He realized his once-upon-a-time was just that. Once.

The fairy tale was unraveling, like his heart had done and his soul was doing. The broken man felt hollow, empty–he had no pieces left to give, yet still she dug into him. Searching, always, for a piece of him that would fit with her. She tore into him, and looked for that last, loose, final piece. He would no longer allow it. He took back the pieces of himself from the broken woman, from her hoard of him.

She’d been trying to keep herself together with his shards for she figured out she was broken long ago. She suspected. But she did not seek outside help. Instead, she tried to glue his pieces into the spaces between. Into the darkness, she tried to feed his light, but it was swallowed. She took the strength freely given like a thief in the night with out regard to how much or how often she was taking. She took in stealth, quietly, and with malice something that the broken man would have just handed over if she’d but asked. She soaked up his love, ounce by ounce, but returned only grams. The vault was emptied and she tore away the only thing that could have helped them both.

She could never trust in his love of her, for she knew she was dirty and terrible and hard to love. She was taught that from an early age and she learned her lesson well. And this distrust bred betrayal–she shattered his trust in her.

Yet the pieces remained, so he stayed.

This, then, leads the broken man and the broken woman to now, to this moment, when final bit of trust falls away. The pieces are returned to the broken man, and the broken woman lies shattered. He must reclaim himself and put the pieces back together on his own terms. He must no longer love freely–he can’t. He is empty. He is alone.

The broken woman once told her broken father that she couldn’t have love without trust. She’d finally gathered enough of both from the broken man. She’d finally started to believe in his love and trust in him with all of herself. Too late she realized that the things she had greedily taken were offered freely and in honesty and truth. Too late she understood that the gift he had given her was misused.

Some of the pieces he gathered up were not his, for her parts were in the jumble. He held her heart, her soul. She is in pieces. She begs silently, pleads in whispers, for she knows, now, the depth of despair that her malice created. For his beautiful eyes are flat, emotionless. His smiles few and far between. His laughter vacant–it is in the jumbled pieces.

The broken woman picks up the few parts left, gathers her tattered courage and begs for her life. For he is hers and she is his. When the broken man and the broken woman are in harmony, when trust is allowed to flourish and love given room to bloom, they are just man and woman, husband and wife–soulmates. Two pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. So well that they are no longer broken. She knows those edges are jagged and worn, but with hope and knowledge of her wrong doings, knowing when to give and when to take–she hopes that the pieces will grow back together and fuse.
a broken story
Something I wrote
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This should have a dd
Madame Rouge
Red love This is my entry for "The Red Contest" by :icondigital-art-fantasy:Red love 
The Red Contest    The "RED" Contest 2018  
 
The Red Contest is Now Closed. Wishing all who participated Good Luck. :)
Winners Will be announced Mid Next Week.
:bulletred: If you would like to offer a Prize for this contest please leave a comment in the messages or note me.
Red is the color of extremes. It is an intense color that is packed with emotion ranging from passionate, intense love to anger and violence — representing both cupid and the devil.
:bulletred: In this contest you must show the colour red and what it represents for you. Is it Love or is it Hate, what emotion does the colour red bring to you?
It Must be a New Piece and Submitted to Deviant Art on or after the 21st of January 2018
:bulletred: Particpate & Create and most important have fun :bulletred:
Start date is the 21/01/2018 (21st of January 2018)
End date is the 28/02/2018 (28th of February 2018)

The Rules
Please read the rules below before submit


:bulletblack::bulletblack::bulletblack:Stocks:bulletblack::bulletblack::bulletblack:

:bulletblack:Textures
:iconsirius-sdz:sirius-sdz.deviantart.com/art/…
Texture 753 by Sirius-sdz

Texture 666 by Sirius-sdz

:bulletblack:Model
:iconflexdreams:flexdreams.deviantart.com/art/… (no stock)
Black Widow by FlexDreams
(Note: Because the supplier of the stock of the model was a thief, I have contacted the legal owner and he has given me permission to use it. Thanks!)

:bulletblack:Frame
:iconravenheart1989:ravenheart1989.deviantart.com/…
Png stock #3 by RavenHeart1989

:bulletblack:Hair
:iconcindysart:cindysart.deviantart.com/art/H…
HairStock III by CindysArt

:bulletblack:Hair Ornament
:iconforestgirlstock:forestgirlstock.deviantart.com…
:thumb153457283:

Rest is painted and own resources.

Thankss for sharing us :blowkiss:

Thankss for all :iconfavoriteplz:


:bulletblack::bulletblack::bulletblack:My artworks and photographs may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my permission. My works are not public domain © All rights reserved.:bulletblack::bulletblack::bulletblack:

deviantID

damina
Dawn Olmo
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
I am a technical communicator who is currently in search of work. I can edit anything. I have a Master of Arts degree, and experience in editing and writing grants, essays, resumes, websites, articles, poetry, prose, instructions, and teaching materials.

I dream in vivid detail-lately about zombies. Love isn't just a dream, it's a reality. Polyamorous stamp by pulsebomb

Follow the guidelines here: dailylitdeviations.deviantart.… to submit a poem or prose to DailyLitDeviations

Current Residence: Washington State
Print preference: Any
Favourite style of art: photomanipulation, visual poems
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:iconmaiarcita:
maiarcita Featured By Owner Feb 24, 2018
Thankss for :+fav:
Madame Rouge by maiarcita
I really appreciate :iconcocoloveplz: :rose:
Reply
:iconjasperinity:
Jasperinity Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2017
Happy birthday! :D
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:iconannaivri:
Annaivri Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy birthday! :party:
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:iconbirthdays:
birthdays Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2017
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

It's November 16th which means it's that time of the year again and your special day is here! We hope you have an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

---
Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: UndertakerMichaelis
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:icondragonschest:
DragonsChest Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2017  Professional Writer
 :iconsmilecakeplz:  Happy Birthday
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