Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Hobbyist LaurenFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 12 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 143 Deviations 687 Comments 5,555 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Literature
Synthetic Poisons of Familiarity
This friction within me
this enjoyable buzzing sensation
I feel it start to overcome me, an act already in progression,
it's envelopment of me,
making me sick with desire for you. . .
the one who, illogical though it may seem,
I miss the most.
Make me feel for once
as if I haven't lost parts of myself
to the wind; you, only having had a glimpse,
only a faint taste of my temple and mind
and feeling the strongest magnetic force (your pain)
equally felt (amongst yourself and I),
this causing me to fall in love if only with the smallest taste of your skin,
the texture of your hands...
drowning me in the familiar taste of melancholy,
and desire to still find joy in something in my night when I cannot reach
for you heart in the dark of day.
I feed off of the all of you, as you do to me,
but not taking you. . .
leaving us only the option to rent one another's love
one day at a time,
dreading the fear of the potential of a disastrous interest rate upon the soul for this,
lurking in our minds b
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Dirty Razor Resurrection
My mortality is staring me down,
a bolt of fire, stopping me in my tracks,
every time I see the flashing exit sign,
each day that I pass that pipe on the ceiling
(so strongly attached, it couldn't break)
Staring me down with razor sharp conviction,
inspiring razor sharp terror to slice,
right through me,
stealing my breath, I watch as it begins to slither out, away from me.
Thieves made of mist (in my head, they say)
pick-pocketing my center of hope,
my center of made up truths that I'm working on becoming my reality...whatever that is,
taking my ticket to paradise (it's all in my head, they say)
All my imagination, schizo-paranoid filled terror,
self-sabotage because my loneliness, to you, is supposed to  mean
unhappiness. . .emptiness.
There are some of them, the pockets  of my self,
burned of their capacity that I'd given so freely, blindly,
no hopes of getting it back.
Simultaneously in the best and worst shape of my life,
grappling with the varying truths of me,
while I struggle t
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Mature content
Temple :iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Haze of Desperate Solitude
I stare at the water,
pooling so delicately around me,
carrying my shame and
sadness down the filthy drain,
where every other bad, sad, thought
has gone before it.
Refill the tub each time it gets low,
hoping it will sate the emptiness,
the loss, the drained parts of me,
depleted by misdirection.
I try so desperately, day after day,
to surround myself with the warmth that I crave,
begging for it to be the thing
that saves me from my terrors,
myself, begging for that warmth
to be the thing
that redefines the lines         of my reality  . . .
I'll keep begging for it,
like it's a prayer to save me from myself, no sign of hope,
to save me from this dream
    that I dream awake.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 2 4
Mature content
Smog :iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 1 0
Literature
Nature Vs. Nurture
Hangs dauntingly above my eyes,
dangling, daring me to be beautiful,
dangerous, wild!
Daring me to fuck conditional,
conventional existence; to withdraw from the sun,
be born again as a child of the night.
To give in, submitting to my nature,
instead of teachings from those odd moments
of attempted nurture;
dragging my ideals into the inferno
of satin-smooth pull of the moon,
forcing me into moulding my bones and life into what I might have been,
had I been able to speak.
Nursed by a moon matron,
suckling delicious, forbidden fruits and
knowledge from her bouldered breast,
finding in the craters words long forgotten,
learning from these deadly, giving shadows
in a fit of recovered habit and ability,
not exile.
To laugh at the caves as I escape,
defying their unkind foot paths,
leaping to safety
on dining plates on which my cold self
is splayed across, and on this table,
my heart, my liver,
readied to suffice as my final bite of life.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 1 1
Literature
Rinse and Repeat
The star is full of sadness and tears fall on the ground
Fingertips remembering tenderness and feathery lips
Your heart is an anger the makes blood out of me
In the morning still our wreckage crusades into the dawn.
Fingertips remembering tenderness and feathery lips
The roses bloom in the garden, along with a butterfly
In the morning still our wreckage crusades into the dawn
Seeing the mouth I once kissed dripping with the blood of my love.
The roses bloom in the garden, along with a butterfly
Your heart is an anger that makes blood of me
Seeing the mouth I once kissed dripping with the blood of my love
The star is full of sadness, and tears fall on the ground.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Drag King Princess
Never walk,
never lead my body
side to side
with a curve.
I begin to mold my arms, borrowing  
from tough young saplings, weaving muscles,
bulk for myself out of their fibers-
I attach my armor-
strapped on broadness.
My new limbs become strong, thick,
squeezed into a tight V-neck,
I burst into my plaid jacket;
is this manliness? enough?
Wondering if I'm starting to look
like a side show,
freak show.
I'll lead with my chest, forehead high, piercing you with my eyes,
still unable to hide the empty shadow, so I'll use it as seduction-
pelvis forward (drawing a visual power from this mystery),
pretending that it's what most important.
Becoming a man-
not waiting for intervention,
I'll make a man out of me.
I can put patches on spots;
fill in my blanks, make straights of a rolling body,
my own maintenance man.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Color Love
Red, I love you, red!
Red hips, red flesh,
red glory eyes.
Red pixie children gliding
among ruby trees,
leaving red swirls in the dusted air.
Red, how I love you.
Breathing in thick-satin sheets
of red air, shiny red bicycles,
waterfalls of scarlet
feeding into the red ocean.
Red, I LOVE you, red.
Red heels clacking on the red
pavement, whispering, "red, Red, RED!"
Red bodies swaying to red music,
red, how I love you.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 2 0
Literature
Self
I am the starched preacherman's collar, bristled at all times.
I am the unrooted tree, who is raped by the axe.
I am the swollen stillness of a summer night.
I am a bull dog snappi9ng at thin air.
I am soft like the curve of the cactus' flowering waist.
I am the leak in a dam, patched over, suffocated by cement.
I am the ragtime spilling out of the windows, stolen by the wind.
I am the changeling in the arms of a new mother.
I am the yellowed pages of a novella, touched too many times.
I am sliced open, scattered like a slaughtered calf.
I am as detached as the paleness of the dead.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Limbo
This could be it;
Me waiting for you, sipping down my violence,
choking on the urge to vomit up the putrid remnants of the lives that led us here-
well, you haven't arrived just yet.
I have a sense that maybe on a whim I could muster up the courage to tear it all out of my chest, split myself in two, spread it out on the floor,
I have to hold my lungs and heart in place until I can put everything else in the right places again, after I rearrange myself, my emotions, to fit this new life I don't understand just yet.
Not a humpty-dumpty sitting on a wall,
I'm not that gentle, breakable,
can't be seen tumbling down off my pillar of spirituality and anger.
Ever since we broke down I keep hoping that maybe it's just some sick dream, that maybe the god's placed it in my head to abuse me as a fucked experience, or experiment.
As a distraction from reality to disengage my grip on that lovely, comfortable stone that's so close to my chest.
Encouragement to sing some stone into a tomb around me,
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 3
Literature
We
We are varying as shades of blue
as unique and distant from one another
when we disperse and dance in the
light above our beautiful earth-
the Sun gives us life, color,
pouring warming, maternal love into our bodies,
with none of the chains of power
made in the dark.
We see how different we, each one of us,
is, and we kiss the feet and bless
our sisters, delighting in what our bodies
do, allowing us to feel, to love,
have affection towards the warmth of
the skin in each of us,
our sisters and worldly brothers.
We writhe, thrive,
free form structured as snakes are,
like earthworms and eels,
to wiggle under the sun and within our oceans
to the excesses to reach ultimacy-
mental height and achieved through
our bodies,
and the true sight,
that it allows us
to breathe in the rays of the sun,
and the wisdom and honesty of our flesh.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 2
Literature
Cup of Tea
I sit in your cabinets; skulking about in the dark,  forsaking all concepts of nature that bind me when you look at me- turned to stone. Suffocating the ceramic base of myself, with a glance; a frozen, nonchalant gaze, and you have the power, suddenly, to turn me into the mundane object that is all you see. My dear drinker, I feel you choke me as you fill me through and through with toxicity: alcohols, caffeine, plethora's of stimulants, after which there is no enlightenment only nervous shaking and detached awakening, quivering under the power and addiction as you caress my sides. Almost as if, with every timorous stroke, my carrier tries to pull the truth our of their own minds, or squelch it, perhaps. Smoothing over my pores indefinite layers of disbelief, incredulous amounts of repressions- shame, as you drink?
What are you pushing into yourself, so very far down, increasing the volume and pressure of flavors and liquids down on top of your lies, closed eyes. Like washing
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 1 0
Literature
More
You aren't quite real, are you?
Suddenly I'm beginning to suspect
that you might not care enough
to say anything aloud- therefore
you are artificial-
artificial man, synthetic love.
I'm sure...I'm so, so sure that deep within, some seedling is aiting in suspense, to grow into the unrealized life
within you.
And yet it waits, still.
It stays silent as we tamper with kisses,
and skin...
It waits still when turmoil boils
in my veins because I refuse to
yell at you- this unfeeling,
wax figure of a man...a man that I believe I could love;
if only he would realize
himself.
I demand the body within you!
I cannot stay, because
Simple wax men are distractions,
nothing more.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Exploration VIIII
I grow, gain.
See things.
Life is so diffferent.
My eyes are filtering light the wrong way I think,
transforming my recollections into an ugly
mirage.
The old home that was once so sturdy,
so reinforced, has fallen.
Staircases I had pretended were the innards of magick trees-
now they rot.
The bed where I learned how to escape night
monsters and thoughts-
decayed, the refuse emitting a stench
that makes me cringe, and cry.
My past has sprung a leak;
trickling memories back down
into my grasp.
Similiarly,
I watch and see the
innocence and safety be
replaced by
maggots,
cancer.
The rotting flesh
of the life
I left behind;
the remnants bring no comforting nostalgia to mind.
Only brings disease,
pain, doll corpses.  
Childhood,
split open at the seams.
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 0
Literature
Exploration VIII: Dream vs. ?
It has come to my attention
that the point of life
and discovery of your passions,
is to downplay them, and make them
irrelevant.
That the ideal
is to live your life
planning for the life you want,
planning.
No incentive there to go out and get yours,
no passionate love of your art, your forte;
no loving the life that's being lived.
A life invested in the future,
in the potential,
as opposed to the grasping of it all,
everything that has ever come across your membrane,
even those in your wildest dreams.
I am not potential. I am!
I refuse to be the one doing everything in an
effort to please everyone else's idea of a "successful" future.
Success is dying doing what you absolutely love,
dying trying to find it,
living so ferociously,
taking every suck of life from the breast of mother earth that
each of us is allowed,
allowing your talents, and courage and disdain and skill
and hopes and wants to overpower,
to ensurge into your body, and swallow you whole.
Success is finding yourself amo
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33
:iconlolapolly33:lolapolly33 0 2

Favourites

Sol gives a hug by CrazyIguana Sol gives a hug :iconcrazyiguana:CrazyIguana 2 0 The Witch (Halloween makeup) by Chuchy5 The Witch (Halloween makeup) :iconchuchy5:Chuchy5 4,458 214 Shala Jarias_Color Commission by vest Shala Jarias_Color Commission :iconvest:vest 329 30 Zuko and Sasuke by serenarockbell Zuko and Sasuke :iconserenarockbell:serenarockbell 83 15
Literature
Look At Me.
look at me.
really look.
because i know you don't see me.
you know what?
i don't even care anymore.
i actually like my body, thank you.
i like my eyes.
when i'm looking in the light,
it would be a nice picture.
when i smile, they turn up,
reminding my of why i think the Japanese are so inspiring.
i actually like my eyes.
i like my lips.
a little cracked in the winter,
perfect in the summer.
pouty when i'm frustrated.
my lips tell my feelings,
when i don't want to.
i really like my lips.
i like my tummy.
it's average.
pooches out when i eat too many Ramen noodles.
looks really nice in the morning.
feels fit when i do sits ups.
i enjoy my tummy.
i like my hips.
they move on their own when Katy Perry is on.
not too wide, not too narrow.
i once won the hoola-hoop championship with these babies.
i freaking love my hips.
i like my legs.
they take me everywhere.
i appreciate them everyday.
they're strong enough to ride hills on a bike.
nice enough to barely get ashy.
i have fun with my legs.
:iconsammiola:sammiola
:iconsammiola:sammiola 1 2
Me. :D by sammiola Me. :D :iconsammiola:sammiola 1 1 Terribly Unfinished Mandala by sammiola Terribly Unfinished Mandala :iconsammiola:sammiola 1 3
Literature
Fuel
In bed next to him,
your arm follows the swell of your hip
and your hand hugs your thigh;
you've never felt so alone,
or so beautiful.
His closed eyes have mapped
even the ghost towns of your skin;
every time you slipped off your shirt
you wished you could outline your contours
with a dirty brush, darken your creases.
Hot breath shivers on your neck
as you leave him for the last time,
corkboard walls still rattling in your ears,
his father's shouts like accelerant
aching for a match.
Now your ribs pant, tired from caging
your heart puckered lips
kissing the same depression below his ear,
lungs lolling dead in your mouth.
The broken air conditioner whirs,
stale air pumping through tired rubber tubing
trapped beneath your skin and bleached fine hair,
saving scraps of shallow breath.
You forget his name,
drag his limbs through your fingernails catching
on the deck's laughing splinters.
You forget his details,
dirt smeared in the crevice of his hip;
sun casting shadows on his eyes
so you n
:iconWaltz-With-Me:Waltz-With-Me
:iconwaltz-with-me:Waltz-With-Me 3 3
Literature
Broken Chains
Some one pinch me
Some one wake me up
Is this a dream come true?
Did I finally say enough?
Did I finally break your betrayal bond?
Did I finally let you go?
Are you finally out of my life?
Oh please say its so.
No more lies.
No more cheating.
No more girls.
No more deceiving.
No more "drive me here"
No more brutal fights.
No more jail visits.
No more you in my sight.
No more late night phone calls.
No more complaints.
No more lingering questions.
No more "Amanda, be my saint."
No more lonely nights alone.
No more control.
I broke your chains you had on me,
From my wrists and my throat.
No more accusations against me.
So your guilty mind feels at ease.
Don't ask me to save you,
From a minor you teased.
The court passed their verdict.
You must stay away from me.
I stood up against you abuser.
So finally you must let me be.
This story is about a girl.
Who was once broken by a boy.
She stood up and said enough is enough.
I am not a slave or a toy.
There is the door.
You can step out.
Becau
:iconJEWingItUp:JEWingItUp
:iconjewingitup:JEWingItUp 1 10
Literature
Fenstanton Churchyard
There was nothing about the weather that told us the future;
no omens hidden in the wrinkled cloud-banks as they curled,
twisted and forewarned rain one black Monday mourn.
From the sky, graffiti defiled faces were stained in the first drops
of a January flood, as breakwaters crashed and rushed the tracks
of the Via Devana.
I swam inside, curdling the swells in the hallway and progressed
in legionary manner amongst these Roman peristyles-
dimly lit from the half-light penumbra in the chandeliers.
It was architecturally sound, battered by the storm winds
force nine gale and the ever-pressed murmurs of the district council.
There were many names and many faces coloured in the skyline
stain-glass and engulfed in the mayflowers hold.
God-like candles did nothing to help me recognise any statute of behaviour;
I was, after all, only young, and in my youth I squirmed and dealt
in the frivolous half-truths printed on my name tag.
To sneak a glimpse at the churchyard would be cheating,
my legio
:iconAstuteEyes:AstuteEyes
:iconastuteeyes:AstuteEyes 9 9
Literature
This is sawdust.
The smell is of splinters in
eager fingers and protruding
from the spare cuts
clatter, littered on the ground;
Of unwanted, unneeded, spread
luxuriously across wood bench
hung from outer-side, over
concrete, patterned paving
– hardly post 60s –
hiding between firefly curls of
casual tufted grass;
Of late evenings spent
– without miserly tendency –
in nine o'clock tired orange
and trickle of
reach-out-and-clasp-it
gold sun...
And this is the satisfied feel of delicate
leaf crunch under fraying-sole-shoes
as you breath in the rich,
free,
air.
:iconjonskiigator:jonskiigator
:iconjonskiigator:jonskiigator 6 23
Ike fights for his FRANDS by StupidlyAwesome003 Ike fights for his FRANDS :iconstupidlyawesome003:StupidlyAwesome003 3 15 GAAAY BOYFRAND by StupidlyAwesome003 GAAAY BOYFRAND :iconstupidlyawesome003:StupidlyAwesome003 3 39 Dragon Doodles by goodgooey Dragon Doodles :icongoodgooey:goodgooey 10 11 The Sun by TenOfSwords The Sun :icontenofswords:TenOfSwords 1,252 54 Is this Love by aNdikapatRya Is this Love :iconandikapatrya:aNdikapatRya 9,001 1,036

Activity


  • Listening to: Jar of hearts- Christina Perri
  • Reading: my pores and my supergirl morning hair
  • Watching: deviantart green!!! it flashes before me!
  • Playing: piano!
  • Eating: tap water yo. in a bOTTLE.
  • Drinking: ice. wait, switch!!! XD
   This morning sucks. that is all. lol. 

deviantID

lolapolly33
Lauren
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I love to write! I absolutely love it <3

if you want to skype, message me and i'll give you my name, or add you :)
Interests

Friends

Donate

lolapolly33 has started a donation pool!
0 / 4,000
Please sir, can I have some more? Want to buy some prints :D

You must be logged in to donate.
No one has donated yet. Be the first!

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:icontristancody:
TristanCody Featured By Owner Mar 14, 2013  Student Writer
Thank you for the watch!
Reply
:iconlolapolly33:
lolapolly33 Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
no problemo :D
Reply
:iconsolinius:
Solinius Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2012
hi :3
Reply
:iconsammiola:
sammiola Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2011  Student Photographer
:iconmegustaplz:
yuh yuh. all up in that. uh, yo. and again i say, THE YO!
Reply
:iconastuteeyes:
AstuteEyes Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2010  Student Writer
:heart: Thank you
Reply
:iconlolapolly33:
lolapolly33 Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
you're most welcome! well deserved!
Reply
:iconjonskiigator:
jonskiigator Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the favourite!!!
Reply
:iconlolapolly33:
lolapolly33 Featured By Owner Oct 26, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
abso-posi-tutely!!! well deserved! :D
Reply
:iconjonskiigator:
jonskiigator Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for watch, now I know time. MWWHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Reply
:iconlolapolly33:
lolapolly33 Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
? HAHHA
Reply
Add a Comment: