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About Literature / Hobbyist fluffypiranhaFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 6 Years
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Ancient and New
Ancient and New
Ancient and new mingle in poetry.
The road on which the beginning poet stands,
disappears into the past,
where it once wound across
the dusty savannah, through
Ice-age mountains.
Civilizations rise and fall.
Paint flakes, stones falls from stone.
Languages alter or disappear.
The arts, however, have been passed
along from living hand to
living hand.
Source: Writing Poems. Robert Wallace and Michelle Boisseau.
:iconfluffypiranha77:fluffypiranha77 0 0
The Simple Uncomplicated Man
The Simple, Uncomplicated Man
My chief desire is to set down in plain language
the sobrieties of everyday occurrences—
the unpretentious homilies of unpretentious men,
who perhaps have queer views of
the pursuit of happiness and who
above all has an inordinate passion
for freedom and fresh air.
Some are original.
Others have wandered,
unlettered vagrants,
so far and wide
as to have lost all record of legitimacy.
Not youthful enthusiasts, but beings who
had arrived at an age when many of
the minor romances are of the past.
These chronicles really have nothing to do with sensational adventures.
Possible there may be something to interest those
who wish to learn a few of the details of the foundation of a home—
to understand the conditions of life.
Whosoever looks for the relation of
sensational adventures will assuredly be disappointed.
The wisdom of the sage who wrote—
”If you wish to increase a man’s happiness
seek not to increase his possessions,
but to d
:iconfluffypiranha77:fluffypiranha77 0 0
She Fell for a Woman
She Fell For A Woman
She fell for a woman.
How did it happen?
Quite simply—
through a kiss
(an unexpected kiss).
She fell for a woman.
Two faces stared at each other
like playful moths freed
from a cocoon of timidity.
How did it happen?
The moon hung there
—huge and dreamy—
in the firmament.
She fell for a woman,
indulged in abstract cravings
and passionate kisses.
(in moonlight the world is
more itself than ever—
an eternal world).
How did it happen?
Charms of a summer night:
Eyes become mad or else poetic,
Mouths burn with need.
She fell for a woman.
Source: Lonely Adventure. Anna Blaman. Trans. Donald Gardner. (1948)
:iconfluffypiranha77:fluffypiranha77 0 1


Pencil Vs Camera - 57 by BenHeine Pencil Vs Camera - 57 :iconbenheine:BenHeine 25,455 1,436 A Century of Color Swatches + Bonus by Jeremychild A Century of Color Swatches + Bonus :iconjeremychild:Jeremychild 19 2 Found: Warden's Incident Form by HarvestmanMan Found: Warden's Incident Form :iconharvestmanman:HarvestmanMan 2 0 Selfish by yuumei
Mature content
Selfish :iconyuumei:yuumei 25,427 5,684
[stock] Mystic woods by DominikaAniola [stock] Mystic woods :icondominikaaniola:DominikaAniola 17,080 2,890
Ten Year Reunion
I hated you for leaving me.
I was angry with you. I could not understand how you could be so stubborn to think that I had to be a different person in order to be worthy of your presence. And I was stubborn, too. I couldn't accept how you could hold me, a child, responsible for your absence, and expect me to apologize to YOU for your abandonment. You devastated me, ruined my life, and filled my heart with rage.
And when those fires died, there was nothing left but a burned out shell. I was numb. I plucked myself from the ruin you left me and moved on with my life, carefully, ever aware that the world was full of people who could never accept me for me. After all, I wasn't good enough for my own father; how could I expect anyone else to love me? Rejection was surely around every corner. I would simply have to be careful from now on.
Years passed and I analyzed what you had done to me. And you know what I found? You were a waste. It wasn't that I wasn't worthy of you - you weren't
:iconstacykendra:StacyKendra 8 15
I am eight years old.
I am eight years old.
My lips are perfectly pink. They don't need to look glossy or tinted redder. My cheeks don't need this, either. My eyes stand out well enough on their own without being lined with black paint. The mascara weighs on my lashes and makes me tired and itchy. This shit on my eyelids shouldn't be there, either.
That was a bad word. I am afraid to say bad words, but I've got a few in my head. My friend told me that the word "bitch" means "female dog," but I think she's wrong. I don't think I've ever heard it used in this context. Actually, I think it's a word for people like you. I say this to you with my eyes.  You threaten me because you hear me loud and clear.
Every other weekend, I have to sit here and endure as you put this shit on my face. But that's not why you're a bitch. That's why you're an idiot. What makes you a bitch is the fact that you expect me to be silent and still every time your hand slips and the curling iron burns the top of my ear, or you
:iconstacykendra:StacyKendra 1,114 556
It takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day.  Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.
You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.
Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the doctors told us you had an illness. I sat there with your parents, listening to a man who said words like 'terminal' and 'leukemia', and counted the number of times he said 'patient' as if it were your name (Seventeen).
The blood bank says one unit is four hundred and fifty milliliters and I watch as they put the needle into my ar
:iconuntamedunwanted:UntamedUnwanted 1,442 675
Depression Isn't Real
Depression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear?
Depression isn’t true!

Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...
Just maybe not for you.
:iconmikkimarie:MikkiMarie 1,315 249
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Disorder | Rating

ParanoidDisorder | High
SchizoidDisorder | Moderate
SchizotypalDisorder | Moderate
AntisocialDisorder | Moderate
BorderlineDisorder | Very High
HistrionicDisorder | Moderate
NarcissisticDisorder | Moderate
AvoidantDisorder | Very High
DependentDisorder | Very High
Obsessive-CompulsiveDisorder | Low

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Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States


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