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Artists of the Spoken Word
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Literature
Ceteris Paribus
In an eon
You and I will greet the choate moon
Surrounded by her fairy dogs
warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails
who howl some foretelling tune
decoded only by the whistling winds
within my once listless room
I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow
we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo
We are stomata of the umpteen,
swimming in each other's dulcet drippings
of halved and pitted French tongues and ears
Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness
where Ceteris Paribus
In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know
how in the glow of one night tide
the firmament of all
folded into my limitless room
You and I part in sweet sorrow
the dolefulness of an epoch where
ravens kiss the sky in kismet unison
Obsidian feathers coax my onyx flesh
fingers pressed, heaving chest
we cool down just until the coming round
In a neon genesis
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 25 3
Literature
lacunae of longing, loftiness of words
inked and reaching, this is my remembrall flesh
and if we were to never speak again
you'll find the rest of my bones in the graveyard eaten by a dream
         i hear knives in the wind and earth inside me
survival is a balancing act-
         a selection of extrasensory impulses
         a fracture in late august  
         a week of kisses
         sunday skeletons
         and i am crying out for time not yet lost
when stars collapse,
the sunshine shaking heart of the universe will burn with me
while looking for a silver lining in the sea
         on the edge of nowhere laughter speaks with death
         about maps not meant for following
when i think about you, i remember it all wrong
maybe you were just a hit and run
         strange how the mind fades o
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 40 21
Literature
Haiku Triptych 2015
i. candles
your lifeline's the wick
passing through my waxen flesh-
scar me, melt me, start!
ii. wine
your juice, my sweet sin,
boils in my throat, ferments in
my gall; we age well.
iii. flowers
virgin gul-bahaar,
allow me your vespertine,
perennial kiss?
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 15 10
Literature
tell me baby, what's your story?
                                         i love you to the moon
                                         and back again, babycakes
                                         were the words you tattooed
                                         on the inside of my eyelids
                                         and waking to see strands
                                       
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 17 15
Literature
Beloved
The aegis shielding heaven from earth gives way –
you float down like a feather, fleshly plucked
from the wings of a dove,
the sweetest curves and effervescent beauty
of your mouth remind me of home.
Darling love, the harmony of touch is
everlasting – whenever I
star gaze into your eyes, with wanderlust,
and the crust of this gentle mother
can no longer proclaim me.
Just as she could not have held you from the
moment He breathed life into your halcyon bones,
while caught between a ballad and a poem.
The warmth of winter
would align their hearts again,
two souls united together in twilight –
surely nirvana has always meant to define
the quietest moments spent with you where no
syllables need be uttered, no furtive signs.
A reunion, my beloved – to
simply feel the grace of your hands laced in mine,
as we reach the ultimate enlightenment in
the seraglio of each other's blinks, thumps,
and sighs – these are my treasures divine.
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 26 21
Literature
Pandora's Crack
I breathed in a little dose(s)
of caster sugar and cocoa dust
before I leaped
I dove in ear-deep
to castrate this soured identity
    "Who I am"
will no longer associate itself
with the
    "was" and      "had been"
of
       "me"
The rust that ran through my shackle
could not wear my ankle bones
nor the wings tucked in between
I licked off my salt-covered wounds
-all that once burned me, cured you
This time
I will be my own
salve and salvation
This time I aim to am
sparkle,
swimming through
the moons of mighty Neptune
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 13 6
Mature content
A Great Shag :iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 5 8
Literature
Forbidden Fruit Theory
I planted a fig tree
on the day of my departure
 simply to learn
by my return
  that
its fruit I can only savor
 on the Sultan's carpet  
  that is your tongue
an indulgence I knew would
  Hasten my hopeless disease
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 13 15
Literature
A Prayer-bead Prayer
shi
            ver            
in my 
arms tonight,
precious hummingbird.
grenadined lips and kohl-rimmed eyes,
come now, come; drown down this caribbean sun with me.
disquieted rainfall worries 
-they pitter patter 
quite loudly;
honey,
hold
me.
quick
er,
you brush
my blushing
face with your feather
-weight touch, i become fresh tinder.
i sync our zealous breathing with your zinc penny pulse;
oh how i have fallen tender!
peeled raw, i now burn
dry-throated,
hungry
for
you.
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 34 23
Literature
pyaar ka
                                                      tactile,
                                                        you
                                                      glide
                                                      spread your fingers wide,     palms
                                               
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 14 15
Literature
sacrosanct perversion
he is
my paragon of feverish intemperance
my casanova
my galatea
my blue-flamed boy nova
he is
the burning of my besotted wits-end and start
the reticence under the gape of endless stars
whose abdomen fell
prey to my scathing eyes and starving claws
whose mien asphyxiated
by my irrepressible thirst
to osculate
to navigate
past his past lovers and navel gait
how i pine
for the warmth of his gargantuan laughs
for the coolness of his gaze transfixed
on my lips
for this
for his
blue-fire fervor and inferno
withal
dearest penned don
should she
scallop-shelled goddess
grant me my sip of the holy grail
i would become a polyglot existence
singing of her myrtle and doves
and my mirabile dictu love
on every known continent
blue-blaze transcendent
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 18 12
Literature
to nurse doe (whom we all know)
                  i watched her
                  blood orange heart
                  cleanse and suture
                  through
                  old bullet wounds and
                  new bouts of lilacs,
                  lime, and blue
                                                    her alcohol and aloe
                                                    hands hold
           
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 26 16
Literature
Pushing Poison
                                     My darling,
                          If I had to color you
                                   from the buzzing of your irises
                                            to your footprints in the sand
                               You would be deeper
                         than liquid gold
                  though
                         
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 16 6
Literature
Kintsukuroi: A Rensaku
                                        In my rested palms
                                        and your shoulder-neck's hollow,
                                        in these expanses
                                           did we find koi no yokan
                                           in a rose gold reverie
                                        By your h
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 37 41
Literature
Nocturne
                                   
                                   At afterglow I walk into
                                   cafes with momentarily golden glass  
                                   Tonight I scratch out a moon
                                   to brighten up this blackbird sky
                                   This evening I rummage for
                         
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 22 26
Literature
(we're all) hopeless wanderers
           ..............She was nefelibata.....,,,,,,...............
              ...............................,,,,,,,,,,,,,,...
   ,,,,,,,,,...........a dream cloud walker.....................,,,,,,,,,,,
    ,,,,,,,,,,,,....with precious crystalline wings,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,                  
          ...................potent enough....................
   ..............to keep her feet.......................................
.....................a few inches above........................
                    ,,,,,,,,,,,,.............earth..
          ,,,,,,,,,,,....,,,,,,,,,,......................................
                          ....,,,,,,,...................
   
:iconSammur-amat:Sammur-amat
:iconsammur-amat:Sammur-amat 19 21
Thank you so much for taking the time to browse through my gallery! Every fave and comment is truly appreciated!:heart:

Random Favourites

Literature
japanese mermaids
O, efflux fairies and
sunset hangovers that drop so
deeply, heavily, 
the Mother's nightmare trickled on my fingertips:
I spit salt trinkets out of my mouth
while sky gods crouch over the ocean, 
fishing for Japanese mermaids.
Their golden grins like shaman women 
unclog the sin from my brain,
a massive drain
plastering the floor of the planet. 
I inhale a pale bloodied sun
that tips against evening grey.
A young one heaves toward me,
reeking of old fish; 
her infant teeth, jutting out of hell-licked decay,
kiss my tongue and my milky eyes
see a shrinking sky,
drowning along a temple dirt road. 
:iconIyraEMM:IyraEMM
:iconiyraemm:IyraEMM 11 5
Literature
Soft Shells and Buried Ships
Mind drifts in pieces
wax moon
drip drips
delicate veins of butter melt
pancake mix onto the pane of the window
as if bone marrow had been stirred and removed of its lumps;
my skull turned on its side and
down the side of the wall, wailing
across the floor to the soles
of my bare feet.
These are not tears, clear and translucent, but
thick and congealed with blood invisible.
Genetic recipe that called for essence of vanilla and deliquesce sugar
where rogue hands added instead a stealthy dose of cochineal
on the grubby wings of an unseen parasite feigning symbiosis to a host.
A dash of red gives rise - a butterfly blush to the cheeks
for ghost girls.
They said it would become me.
That boys don't favour alabaster.
Stains can stick to hands forever - shame comes in all sizes and hangs heavy on
shoulder blades
her coat-hanger bones will bend and bow like cupid's
and she will bow her spine to the floor
and how her proud relatives will learn that no matter how much calamine lotion they
:iconRosary0fSighs:Rosary0fSighs
:iconrosary0fsighs:Rosary0fSighs 31 17
Literature
Last Day of August
 
Pale horses in a field of sun-burnt grass, legs buckling
Falling, grace, succumbing; un-becoming
 
We stood in the harsh August sun, naked and maddened
Red wet flesh glistening, thirst, baked, dreamless
 
Hallelujah and amen, in the distance a choir sings
Lightning cracks sky; hope, wait, plunder
 
Crisp brains search for old dreams of starlit night
When we were young, and not so mad
 
The first drops fall, and we are redeemed; we live
Drinking rain from cupped hands; delight
 
When the storm passes it is night; a billion stars twinkle
We remember why we’re here; deliverance
 
Now we can see the lights of home shining, welcome
Spirit horses fade into darkness; we walk
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 46 53
Literature
Airports
Another day with nothing to say, blue grass green sky moving
Clouds falling into bodies of water, dissolving into smoke
The beholder is at an airport, maybe O’Hare, lost as I am
Idling, waiting to see what happens now, speaker-voices instruct
What to do in case of emergency, if the stars all fall, if, if
If all of our minds go south at once, and we can’t reach home
Who will comfort us, then, if the flights are all cancelled?
A human being sits wasting time, wasting away, cancer-ridden
Dreaming of a day unlike today, when we were strong and tall
Tall as the blue trees which scrape the green sky, puncturing
Letting all the air out, little by little, with a soft hissing whisper
I was in Laurinburg that day, that day I had nothing to say
The airport there was tiny, too small for the silver-ships’ bulk
As I recall it now, no one had anything to say, voices stilled
No one even moved, but their eyes were screaming like mad
Madness moves sideways, multicolored billows of reje
:iconBark:Bark
:iconbark:Bark 30 25
Literature
killer clown
John Wayne Gacy, Jr. was a man
who didn't know what to do with his hands.
in 1978, his blood rivered over the streets of Chicago
and the floorboards silencing the stripped bodies of
26 teenage boys were overturned like a grave robbery.
there once was a time when i didn’t need whispers or phone lines,
when i fell asleep curled around bed sheets, a proclamation of autonomy.
he was a troubled man plagued with the ache
a father leaves by sticking around.
his mother laundered his pillow cases,
not once questioning tear stains or scar tissue.
i fold laundry quicker than usual, now.
i keep my head up as i walk, make pointed eye contact,
and smile at strangers on the train. it’s all a distraction;
even the bones in my neck miss you when you’re gone.
John Wayne had a knack for reinvention.
in 4th grade, he sewed canvas rice bags into a cape,
thinking flight was an immediate form of escape.
when he molested a boy named Donald,
he thought he was reciprocating sexual advances.
hi
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 23 12
Literature
my grandmother had a blanket of galaxies
my grandmother once told me that if i gathered all
the stars in the midnight sky, i could sew them into
a giant blanket of galaxies for lovers to make wishes on.
this is what you do with your hands:
learn the same language my grandmother did all those
years prior to this moment of steam and shake.
come daybreak, we collapse into each other with the
sort of stumbling that my grandmother warned me of.
foolish hands know no boundaries, she would say.
thank God that i am boundless, finding you with probing fingers,
your shoulders a make-shift ladder i climbed to catch
just an inkling of heaven on the tip of my tongue.
if every i love you we whispered
into the gentle morning's ear
brought us closer together,
we would become each other.
folding until we are one:
nothing but a crease of constellations
on my grandmother's blanket.
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 132 47
Literature
the evolution of goodbye
1.
your brother embraced me first.
his skin was warm and his chest was bony.
he tucked my head between his elbows, told me he'd miss me & meant it.
you pulled me from his arms into yours,
held your breath tight in your lungs,
and let me slip away.
2.
i cherry-picked the memories of you and hid them under my bed,
but treasure always has a way of finding itself again.
3.
i've never had the patience for puzzles.
still, you left me in shambles that used
to fit together. no instruction manual.
how do you assemble a working machine with broken parts?
4.
in Grand Valley, Arizona, i was in my grandmother's
home after so long. you buzzed my phone to life and
the entire Grand Canyon collapsed from the shock waves.
you asked about my puzzle. i told you it was perfect.
to this day, orange dust puffs out of my phone to remind
me that i’m still missing pieces.
5.
we closed our eyes at the same time,
said i love you the only way we knew how,
and clicked each other out of existence.
we were sure
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 19 7
Literature
my father lived in India
my father is a man of many colors.
on the nights when the moon stays asleep,
he lotions his palms with pomegranate juice.
the sugared blood pools in the creases of his
skin, staining it India’s red.
sometimes, my father scrubs his hands until
they are nothing but flesh & fruit rinds.
when he was younger—all skinned knees and pocket
knives—he must've slipped on a thousand marbles.
my father’s father was a welder who rolled and spun
steel into tiny spheres.
when he died, my father’s hands became blue and
free of pocket knives. to this day, he keeps a bag
of marbles on our mantle.
from time to time, he shakes the cool metal into  
his open palms and waterfalls it back and forth.
see, this is the trouble with blue hands:
they never let go of the things that scar them.
they try so hard to be red again.
my father doesn't like whistling because
an old woman in India told him it was uncivilized.
she perched herself on the edge of the Ganges River
and kneaded
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 173 86
Literature
crooked noses
we fall in love in those in-between moments,
like when the sun is buried right at the brink of
that fine line and if you want to know the truth,
the boy i sit next to in physics drew the horizon.
his name is Cameron and in Scotland, that means
“the essence of deviation.”
his feet have always followed a wayward path,
his hands grip things much too loosely to mean anything.
he crosses his heart and swears to God for everything
and when i think about him, most times i want to
shake him by the shoulders and say:
show me how you cut the world in half. your blueprints
must’ve been just a little crooked, you made the skyline
an eternal smile; how do your lungs find all that breath
in all these in-betweens?
Cameron is the boy who resets broken noses. he’s always
had a hard time looking forward and keeping a straight face
so sometimes, he disfigures the bones without even knowing.
no one gets too upset. after all, he took a sharpie
to the edge of the Earth and made seven
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 29 3
Literature
my brother taught me about the sun
I.
they say that one day, the sun will burst into
trillions of fragmented fires and sometimes,
i think science is the only way to describe
this phenomenon called love.
II.
the other night, my little brother told me i use
the word "love" immaturely. i guess he's not so
little anymore; the stubble and calluses have
taught him a thing or two about girls like me.
how we never look away from the sun, even if
it could explode any second. how our eyes stay
fixated upward because it's the only direction
they know. how we have calluses, too, but
we seldom learn our lesson.
III.
it is human nature to tether ourselves to everything
that tried to leave. missing is an ache that curls us
into knots and ropes are used to pull two objects
closer together but also to hang those same objects.
is it also human nature to not recognize the difference?
IV.
i have been taught that everything is objective, that there
is no algorithm for any of it but the sun will erupt and the
scientists have always relied on
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree
:iconlearningtobefree:learningtobefree 28 15
Mature content
Conquests II :iconnichrysalis:Nichrysalis 8 20
Literature
The Romantics
They are young and tender,
stealing kisses that make their hearts soar
like kites dancing on a summer wind,
They have poetry eyes
and notebook fingers, which print
endless words upon each others skin
as their souls explore,
And they believe for two
with every breath they take,
entwining their hands as they talk
the minutes away, sinking into
the sweetness of starlight.
:iconLady-Yume:Lady-Yume
:iconlady-yume:Lady-Yume 38 27
Literature
hurt heart haunt
when you walk through new minds
do you feel the old souls of those
who first roamed their halls?
hear the creak of once-upon-a-time feet
tip-toeing across their sympathies?
memories wedge like old pennies
into spaces of precious things.
you left fingerprints in me
that no amount of alcohol
wipes clean. no amount of shadow
hides. no amount of unconditional love
will alibi. 
she approaches my windows
and squints through the dust--
your skin. you are motes catching
light, a glinting gleam,
a ghost's defiant dance.
I gave her the keys
and she lifts things
with a curiosity that stirs me
to shut all the doors
like a vengeful spirit
holding onto yours.
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity 15 15
Literature
lazy days
a young sky blushes
soft, vast
and the rhythmic son rises,
smokes hot poison
in a fever,
leans out the window
for air and slips
a lithe tongue
along fair lips.
sweet smiles
open his salty sails
the way he opens legs--
in a breathy unfurl
and he has eyes set to ex-
plore and life to pour
into hour-glass figured
vessels singing along the bay
and there will be time
to taste and waste
away the debonair day.
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity 11 6
Literature
.
i wonder if i can still
send you texts
after you're dead
and i know i'm killing you
before you're really gone
but these are the things
i have to think about now.
i wonder if there's a god
and i don't believe in much
but i want to try for you
even though you put
all of your strength
into a big man in the sky
begging him to keep you here
but he's still taking you away
i hope there's a heaven
because you deserve
life, but if you have to die
you deserve more than
the darkness death
seems to bring because
you were made of light.
i don't believe in god
i believe you were made
from stardust and earth,
kissed by rain and dried
by the sun. but you do.
you believe in god.
you love god.
for your sake,
i swear to god
i hope he's real.
:iconbrokenfragilethings:brokenfragilethings
:iconbrokenfragilethings:brokenfragilethings 30 11
Literature
One last you
What happened to us
talking all the time? Always
in one another’s ears, hands,
minds? When did you decide
that my voice, my me, was no longer
worth you? Why didn't you tell me
before you left?
Now I have to track you down and
kiss you one last time so
I can die with you
on my lips.
:iconVertigoArt:VertigoArt
:iconvertigoart:VertigoArt 7 8
Amazing displays of talent and artistry! I hope you get to show these works some love!:heart:

Critiques

by Bark

Hello there, dear friend! :huggle: Allow me to begin my critique with my initial reaction after the first read, which was that I was highly im...


Reading the piece twice over, I have come to realize how much I truly appreciate your plot and pacing and if only one thing, I have a f...

So much has changed during my unexpected hiatus
(I got engaged then married then moved halfway across the globe)
and now that I'm back I cannot fathom being Sammur-amat again
as I can clearly tell how much her and I have outgrown each other

I hope, dear friends, to reconnect with you all as soon as possible
and so I pray it not be too much of a bother to watch my new account
Nour-Elaine I cannot wait to find out how you've all been as well as
witness all the brilliant ways your writings and paintings have developed

Once again, I hope to see you over in my new account :iconnour-elaine:
Love and endless squishy tight hugs,
Dee :iconaawplz: :iconbeatingheartplz:

Activity


deviantID

Sammur-amat
Dee
Artist | Varied
Female.
Twenty Four.
Virgo.
Its always complicated.
Professional substitute grandmother and
Cookie Monster stunt double.

My greatest inspirations come from starry skies and shimmering seas. Nothing in my opinion is more beautiful to paint/write about than the seemingly endless. I fantasize about being an astronaut or a mermaid or better yet, an astronautical mermaid.

If I were to color myself, I'd do so in rose red and iris blue, then I'd spinkle glitter all over.

I am the pervert in the art store who's always copping a feel of the sample papers.

I believe that human souls:
1. are and will always be the most dumbfounded existences in this world and therefore,
2. are and will always be on this never-ending search to find themselves.

My heart's an antique that I can never leave home without as I've always worn it on my sleeve.

Chancing upon butterflies fluttering about on sunny days makes me happy beyond measure. Fireflies on cool nights work splendidly too.

The scent of roses, eucalyptus and cinnamon always reminds me of people, places and objects I hold dear.

Someone once told me that I smelled like a walk in the gardens after a drizzle. It is still one of the best (and original) compliments I have ever received.

My loved ones know me as a seriously ill, art-dependent bibliophile. I've been caught smoking paint and ink as if they always were my last joint. I also secretly have bottles and bottles of book wine hidden all over my home.

I have big, cat-shaped sleepy eyes that some people find fascinating.
Interests

Donate

Sammur-amat has started a donation pool!
2,007 / 3,000
:bulletpink: First and foremost, donations will be put to good use as I wish to reward fellow deviants- whether for acts of kindness or victory in competitions or challenges:heart:

:bulletblue: So please, do help me help others! Thank you so very much for your assistance and generosity, it is truly appreciated! :huggle:

:bulletpink: Again, I also do literature commissions for points :la:

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Comments


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:iconlucilaleyla:
LUCILALEYLA Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2018  Hobbyist Photographer
Happy birthday by little-one-girl   Thank-you! by vafiehya   Commission for Arichy - Animated Emote OC by Web5teR  
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:iconthesvetislav:
thesvetislav Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2018
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:iconthesvetislav:
thesvetislav Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2017
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:iconlucilaleyla:
LUCILALEYLA Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
happy-Birthday by vafiehya   Happy-Birthday-cake23-150px by EXOstock   cute gifts by Chibivillecute  
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:iconnamco-nintendofan-88:
Namco-NintendoFan-88 Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
HAPPY belated BIRTHDAY, Dee, a.k.a. "Sammur-amat," dear artist 'n literaturist gal! Hug
Singing Singing Singing Singing Dance! Dance! Boogie! Boogie! Party Airborne

Good luck 2 days ago, beautiful, and I hope you had a great birthday!
Also wishing you keep up the good work on all awesome art 'n literature writings; I love 'em! ;) (Wink) Heart
Thumbs Up Pringles Have your cake and eat it too Yummy pie!

Comments by:
Nelson C.,
"N.N.F.88"
11:40 P.M.
Los Angeles, CA ;) (Wink)

Since I wouldn't have been able to do some birthday muro drawings, I got you three extra drawing copies, so...
SURPRISE;
Believe it or not, three birthday muro drawing copies I made, of birthday feet, chibi Haruhi Suzumiya, and Mikuru Asahina wishing you one, so, wishes 'n' luck!
Click on them:
muro00.deviantart.net/d9e2/z/2…
orig07.deviantart.net/00d4/f/2…
muro00.deviantart.net/9f3a/z/2…
Reply
:iconthesvetislav:
thesvetislav Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2016
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:iconlucilaleyla:
LUCILALEYLA Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
Happy Birthday - PNG by lifeblue  ForYou by KmyGraphic  
Reply
:iconnamco-nintendofan-88:
Namco-NintendoFan-88 Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2015  Student Traditional Artist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Dee, a.k.a. "Sammur-amat," dear artist 'n literaturist gal! :hug:
Singing Singing Singing Singing Dance! Dance! Boogie! Boogie! Party Airborne

Good luck, and I hope you'll have a great birthday today!
Also wishing you keep up the good work on all awesome literature writings; I love 'em! ;) (Wink) Heart
Thumbs Up Pringles Have your cake and eat it too Yummy pie!

Comments by:
Nelson C.,
"N.N.F.88"
3:50 P.M.
Los Angeles, CA ;) (Wink)

Since I wouldn't have been able to do some birthday muro drawings, I got two extra drawing copies, so...
SURPRISE;
Believe it or not, two birthday muro drawing copies I made, of chibi Haruhi Suzumiya and Mikuru Asahina wishing you one, so, wishes 'n' luck!
Click on them:
orig07.deviantart.net/00d4/f/2…
fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/z/201…
Reply
:iconladylincoln:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday, darling girl. Missing you terribly.

I do hope your day is beautiful :heart:
Reply
:iconbyzho:
byzho Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2015  Professional General Artist
Happy Birthday! Have your cake and eat it too
Reply
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