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About Literature / Hobbyist KelsiFemale/United States Group :iconunrealists: unrealists
 
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Literature
Untitled
come believe
we were more
than mystery,
jesus smoke
             hello, operator
you grow the world
like love is right -
wax lover;
ready
set
burn
:iconNullibicity:Nullibicity
:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 6 2
Hello, San Francisco by Nullibicity Hello, San Francisco :iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 6 0
Literature
Love, Misery
Miserable people are everywhere.
The dental hygienist sees my tattoo
and launches into her couple’s therapy.
A 45-minute check up crawls
into the skin of a toddler
who continually stops to stare and stare,
its fist falling down its throat.
“What does it mean?” She asks.
“It’s a reminder,” I try, 
licking the vowels from my teeth.
There are too many people
in the room, and the ceiling keeps 
spelling "company", as I swallow
down my blood.
The window becomes an eye
that never blinks, 90 minutes
finding all its eyelashes
pulled out.
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:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 7 4
Literature
Pedestals and Ripples
I am still waiting for someone to capture me and say: "We're on time."
I opened the door and his coyote greeted me like a moon. I don't know if I want to be someone's moon: the moon is unreachable - unobtainable - and she is not allowed to show her dark side. She is not allowed to show her dark side and unlike her, I only have a quarter-sliver of life. I only have a quarter-sliver of light.
Does anyone walk the craters of the moon - besides astronauts who only ever leave? Is she really known? Many admirers on the ground, but I doubt she calls any of them "friend."
I want someone to stand beside me - not behind me, and not beneath me.
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Cerulean by Nullibicity Cerulean :iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 5 0 Brea(d)th by Nullibicity Brea(d)th :iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 10 0 Reflect (Inner Mountains) by Nullibicity Reflect (Inner Mountains) :iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 10 0
Literature
Senses of Proportion
I walk over dried worms, the day after rain, and wonder if their lives (defined by these last moments) were courageous or moronic. I wonder if I am the splinter or the lion—and who would be the splinter? Doesn't someone have to be?
I crawl on my hands and knees to find the river. Trees grow from its overflow. There has been too much rain this week. There has been too much rain this week. Where are the silver linings—the tree in front of me grows proudly as the water laps around its thighs. Ah, I muse, I think I understand the splinter.

Two trains come by. Two trains thunder through this railroad town, and they whisk the chocolate dirt. The earthquakes scare the geese. They blow by like dried leaves, and there, there is the sound of the river. Here [in the stillness] is the display of hope.
I cry in front of the river, longing to sing alongside chickadees—I do not know enough happy songs. I cough with the crows, instead: I do not know enough ha
:iconNullibicity:Nullibicity
:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 38 20
Literature
Untitled
Time looks wrecked,
like the coming home
of a sunrise, shoes in hand,
the put-together-ness
of a three piece suit:
snug, then suffocating.
You lead
with blind navigation,
echoes resounding
through revisitation
(though not all memories
are welcome).
See,
Time is a serial killer
with an exceptional alibi,
its victims printed in the paper.
You change the locks
with shaking hands.
Time sends invitations
to your funeral in advance,
because it’s the kind thing to do -
smiles you into stone, sweeps effigies
into the dustpan of eulogies,
your name under “deceased.”
Your corpse gets up
to walk the procession.
:iconNullibicity:Nullibicity
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winter sentry by Nullibicity winter sentry :iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 10 0 one for sorrow by Nullibicity one for sorrow :iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 18 5
Literature
Lightyears
Your memory greets me
like a sun flitting between the trees;
it is an overcast day and
you do not know me.
The clouds linger where I disappear
on the hospital bed, thinking of how
you sleep with your casket.
Couldn’t they at least buy a better bed?
I think of how one bed begs more remembrance
than the line of pictures hung up on its curtain.
(I feel as if we keep playing ghosts in the bedsheets,
clothespins the only things holding them
up in your head; I watch them come loose over
and over again).
I bring your laundry, and the sun doesn’t shine
for your favorite blouse. I don’t tell you:
“you used to wear pink lipstick with this one,”
or how you always paired it with denim jackets.
Instead, I stuff it in the closet and hand you
the quilt when you remark on the chill.
I don’t let you see my hands shake
when I remember your ring in my pocket,
your figurines in my car, your house freshly turned over,
a new name in the dirt; I kiss the bruises
on your wr
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Literature
Aphasia and Bones
i.
Life is like a hymn, mint
candy tucked into a pocket.
The stairs are creatures I tame
With a spinning mind, palms coaxing
them to docility.
Life sounds like a hymn,
but I empty my pockets and
there are only mint sticks of gum.
Courage is a poet on my tongue;
I could fix this. I could fix this.
I cannot read the letters glowing
beneath my thumb.
There is a water wheel spinning
and spinning inside of me
like a dog gnawing off its tail,
and I beat it down the sink
headfirst.  
Coffin system,
clay signature -
I changed my name,
I changed my name;
now I feel defined.
ii.
Call me Wernicke, and I'd answer
dutifully, ideally, but probably
I'd turn your way and scream.
You can be Broca.
We both know you're Broca.
There's an epicenter to this storm,
but no words for navigation.
There are cars flying through the air
(if I receive a concussion maybe
it will change the functioning
of my brain)
and headstones clutched
to the ribs of skeletons
waving arms and teeth.
I want this in a way
I hav
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Literature
Five Words In Place of Alone
I’m a lo
           cation.
Come sit with me,
darlin', and please
take off your coat.
Tell me adventures
of the sun and the moon
and whatever else
comes in pairs or attractions.
Remember to give me
those five stars
before you go.
a lo
     tus,
a lo
     cust
persistent
in the mud
of a dried up
ocean.
I’m a lo
           ading dock.
I’m a lo
           wering sun,
and you don’t have to worry
about me: consistency
is my horizon, predictability
my city. And remember those
stories? I'm a pair with the moon
and the stars and the absence
of sound, and until I rise in the ash
of proximity, I’ll always
                                   be.
:iconNullibicity:Nullibicity
:iconnullibicity:Nullibicity 21 9
Literature
O Wandering Woes
Oh, hello.
I've always been
the wand'ring girl,
but all I can ever find
is your ghost.
My city is Jericho,
and all I ever am
is their ghosts.
When my skin hangs low
and bloody from my heels,
I try to retrain my toes,
so forward is not a nightmare
but a direction I know
(oh, hello, alone) -
but all I ever find
is you in the snow,
climbing my legs to my spine
in a dead-man's hold,
a bruise addressed to me
from the cold.
I cry, and I wonder how it sounds
like a prayer for the road:
"I guess we're going home."
Goodbye, silver wolf,
but oh, hello.
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Literature
CRIT WELCOME - Friends Are the Family We Choose
You, whose phoenix feathers
are not visible to a passerby:
I see you.
Do not weigh your purpose
like a grain of sand on the beach:
ordinary, plentiful – there is no one
that shines like you. Did you know that
sand can turn into glass?
You are not a pit of uncertainties
but your own kiln of memories.
You do not speak for the sake of speech;
you listen in creation and drape your sun
alongside people’s shadows to illuminate
the space within them.
Do not hammer your worth to faces
or numbers: there is no price tag
for the way the moon loves the ocean,
the sun the mountains, the rivers the stone.
None can give love to the night, the silence,
the spaces, in the way that you do.  
You are a bookmark life has lovingly
pressed into pages, recognition of the words;
you are the glare in the ripples of water,
discovering change. Do you know that
over and over,
I’ll always pick you.
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I had an entire thing typed out before, but it didn't seem appropriate. For the context of the below section, I will say that I was reached out to by two very, very close friends, who were brave enough to confide in me that they were suicidal on a particular day. It was distressing. I needed to say that sentence (1) for myself and (2) because I realize so many people who reach out worry about "burdening" people or making them worry.  If you have ever felt similarly, I can assure you, your loved ones' distress (or whoever you trust enough to come forward to) is just proof of their immense care and love for you, and they want what is best for you. It can be so easy to forget how many people love and care about you. If any of you ever need someone to listen, my notes are always open! I may not always express myself properly, but I've had very dark periods in my life. I've struggled with suicidal thoughts and attempts in the past, so I understand how dark and overwhelming it can be. Again: It's really easy to forget how many people love and care about you - the good impact you have in many lives. I know that sometimes hotlines don't seem the best options, either, but (if you don't feel comfortable reaching out to someone you know personally) I and people close to me have had great success with them and their very caring staff members. The National Suicide hotline is free and open 24/7, for those who live in the states. It's available for not only suicidal crises, but also emotional distress: 1-800-273-8255
Other countries have their toll-free hotlines, as well! 

Many places also have local hotlines, if you're looking for someone who perhaps understands your area or circumstance a bit better (should there be environmental or societal pressures of some kind) and many also have free options for counseling if you're financially strapped. These can sometimes even be attained through universities, should you be attending, or at a reduced cost should you not be attending. Counseling can also be achieved through Skype (voice, chat, and video), texting, or phone calls, should you be after something different. Just wanted to say that you're never alone, no matter how it might feel in the moment. And that you are so worth it.

I know that a lot of people tell you "it gets better," and that sometimes that hope is more a sword than the voids you can fall into. I can only say that for me, the little things got me through: the challenge of another hour. Birdsong. Sunrises. Coffee in the morning. My bare feet in the dew of the grass. Music was a huge help for me, personally. It's damn hard, but you just cling to what little lights you can find, and eventually peepholes become sunrays in the storm. You can only do your best. I still cling to those, and I've been out of the woods for over a year. It's definitely not an experience you just get over, so don't let anyone tell you there's a date for you to be better by, either. 

That seems like a sobering note to jump from, but I thought I'd share a favorite song of mine! Every time this song comes on, it makes me smile and want to dance. I'm a kitchen-sock dancer, what can I say? There's an energy about this song, and it's just so catchy! I hope maybe some of you can covet it in a similar way to me. Maybe it can even give you something to smile about? Feel free to tell me some things that have made you happy or proud, recently! Or if you've just had a sucky day, feel free to tell me all about it via notes. I don't care if we've never talked before: I'm always open to falling into new friendships and acquaintanceships! I'd love to hear from you! :heart:


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Nullibicity
Kelsi
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
21 years growing. Forest-dweller, friend of the moon, shy hermit crab... a pagan, seeking. I howl to coyotes at 1 in the morning and am a self-proclaimed music-swimmer (mostly, I drown).
Admittedly, I'm not very interesting, but I am fairly friendly. Feel free to drop me a line. Or a poem. Or your favorite song.
my activity on this site can be compared to guerilla warfare:
I'm currently a junior on the path to pursuing my PhD in clinical psychology. The dream is to one day work with the Department of Veterans Affairs. I'm a research assistant in one of my university's psychology labs, where we are studying sleep. When I'm not on campus memorizing every chip of paint, I'm working at my other "civilian" job (which I like to think makes me sound similar to a superhero).
the heart:
trees, racing rivers, singing poorly to the moon, Lord Huron, Dead Poets Society, Pride and Prejudice, ambiguity.

nullibicity: n. - the state of being nowhere; non-existence.







My favorite word-weaver (I'm biased and not sorry): :iconsoundlesswhispers:

some truly amazing people you should know: :iconladybitterblue::iconangelserum::iconladylincoln::iconpennedinwhite::iconmozartsnemesis::iconakrasiel:
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:iconmalintra-shadowmoon:
Malintra-Shadowmoon Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello Nullibicity and welcome home!!

Thank you for joining the family of artists here at :icontheartistlounge:. We are eager to see your display of skill and talent and have it showcased in the Group! If you have any questions feel free to message us, and don't forget to check out the Group's rules.
Again, we say WELCOME HOME! Cheers and Applause - NaNoEmo Day 8 by Ridley126

TheArtistLounge's Team
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:icontwilightsfall:
TwilightsFall Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2018
Hello, enjoyed your works so far. Watching so I can read more. Thanks for sharing your mind!
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:iconcuspofamanifesto:
cuspofamanifesto Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2018
You changed your face.
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:iconwilliamfdevault:
williamfdevault Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2017  Professional Writer
Happiest of birthdays!  :blackrose:
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:iconnosedivve:
nosedivve Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2017   Writer
Hey happy birthday!! (:
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:iconkellyseale:
KellySeale Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
"My Thoughts, I Cannot See"

My emotions reflect off the screen,
They pour from my eyes,
Seep from my veins,
And I'm blinded by the intensity of "feelings."
Keeping them hidden, I do my best,
But in the end,
They're exposed for all to see.
Naked and in your face,
Just like me-
Take it, or leave it.

-Kelly.
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