The A,B,C's of Literature: O

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The A,B,C's of Literature
This week: O

Welcome to another installment of the A,B,C's of Literature, a weekly article which brings you suggested themes and deviants who begin with a letter of the alphabet.

This week, we will be focusing on the letter O and the themes this week are: Orgasm, Obsession, Old, Opium, Oppression


First Orgasm                     I will give in, tempted to aching
                        by offers no one could refute:
                                                                sink fingers in you

Mature Content

Mature Content


ObsessionMonday morning bright and shining
we awake in perfect timing
you drink coffee I hold tea
you can't bear to look at me.
Monday's dress is ripped and torn
I clutch a shirt I've never worn
he said that I can't clean today
you spill my tea and walk away
You think that it's all one big game
that I don't need to dress the same
or plan the minutes, or count the time
or scrub at non-existant grime
or touch each door and turn each key
you think there's nothing wrong with me
and you'd be right, my cure was care
he rescued me from my nightmare
yet still your words stalk my reflection
highlighting each imperfection
Telling me that I'm so strange
yet hating how he made me change
I hide my face but you still see
the cheating, lying, witch in me.
You found the scrapbook's secret place
you ripped across his  gentle face
and in his Kleenex, I had kept
you stole his touch and scent, and wept.
you sat in ignorance, fear and shame
you looked for someone else to blame
for the first time
I watched


old fruit.if this is technicolour then
i'd rather be black
in white.
we're oh-so-useless as
you love so much to
point out at
every possible interval.
yet i still run to you.
you said it was
too dark so i suggested
you face
the sun; all shadows will be
behind you.
you said you felt crowded by the
ground so you
hide in trees; so all earth is
far below your
we are young.
we are revolting.
and if this is love then
someone find my
gun because this is
not pleasant at all.
but if this is insomnia
then it is much more
enjoyable than
everybody says. i actually
find it quite endearing and its
got a nice personality.
:thumb170463510: Watching him change.He had grown-up hands and
little boy eyes and a way of
saying things that made even
the heartbroken want to love
again; I don't think he could
lie to save his life, but he told
me about things that couldn't
possibly be true, like worlds
full of happiness and love at
first sight; He knew nothing
about real things like math
or how people worked, but he
was the only person who would
just lay in the grass with me
and not worry about the world
spinning away without us.
And sometimes, as he's falling
asleep, I can see the echoes of that
boy I loved; but when he opens
his eyes and opens his mouth,
he's who he's decided to be, just
another lost boy becoming a man.
He was my best friend and my
worst enemy and I wouldn't
give him up for the world, but
he's faded now and I don't
think he'll ever really glow the
same. No matter how much we
wish or how much we pray, he's
back in his land of pretty things
with no feeling, and words
that don't mean anything more
than what the dictionary says
they do;


a modern opheliashe found fennel beneath her pillow,
and felt the familiar flutter
of glassfish between her ribs.
to distract herself, she
scattered the reddest petals
in her bathwater.
she braided poppies in her hair
and, gasping,
let regret invade her lungs.


HerstoryShe has a mouth on her,
that woman down the street
with the magpie eyes
and the skin that shrinks away from touch.
She's a firework,
that woman with the ramrod spine:
she says she doesn't need a man
and two joined hands at the altar
are two hands wrapped in chains.
They murmur about her,
those women up the road -
in the grocery, at the bank -
painting whispered targets on her turned back.
They are caged birds, she says:
silent slaves in their own homes
tucking helpless husbands into bed
and wiping liquor-stained kisses
from their lips.
She lives outside of their boxes,
that woman with warnings splashed over her skin.
She lives strangely, gloriously.
Her skin is her own;
her words belong to her own lips.
Much better, she thinks, to rule alone
than to hide meekly behind a man;
much better to be a rocket, a supernova,
a voice cutting through the chaos and the chains
like a meteor
blazing through the heavy dark.
Ode to OppressionI forgot the loneliness a pencil can bring,
the coldness of blankets,
and the hearts of a thousand lovers
strung through every tendon,
and laughing through happiness
only Friday nights can create.
I’ve forgotten what it means to be inspired
genuinely by everyday things,
and to cherish the warmth of
since we’ve met.
As consistent as the inconsistency of my writing’s form
and the length of each blink,
from open ‘till close,
until closing for good,
I forgot to fight for every breath,
and every chance to see your eyes.
I promise, as a necessary action,
that if I could
I’d bottle my warmth
for use when you’re lonely.
I only ask you return the favour,
and don’t let her make me close my eyes on us for good.
Lesson OppressionPart 1: School Starts
   Summer, the best time if the year, finished. Everyone wished there was another ending, one that never ended, Instead of the relentless, unrestricted constriction of their teachers. Forgiving teachers in Hong Kong were seldom to be seen, and the ones that weren't would never give you a break. Not only was the homework too much, but the teachers would whack you with their ruler for something as simple as forgetting your brush. So, as the the school year was about to begin no student was happy.
      As everyone climbed up the stairs of Stutor Secondary School, a very small privately owned school, they wished their half-day was already over. If you lived in China you would know that the school systems were generally separate from the government. Classes generally had up to 45 students, but this one only had a max of 10 students in each class. Only three classrooms existed. This left no room for changing classes. The tea

:star: My Favourite Piece
A piece selected from the above featured
71, Obsession by xelex

:spotlight-left: Spotlight Deviants :spotlight-right:

:iconoritpetra: OritPetra:

:iconobsidian-nightfall: Obsidian-Nightfall

:iconorphicfiddler: orphicfiddler

Mature Content

Love In A MouseholeBecause we would not show our love like wares,
Like bright and nacreous baubles fading fast,
Displayed for all to see at passing fairs,
The world of cynics claimed it should not last;
Yet who are they to say what sacred things
Have slipped between the cracks of mortal sight
And slid to rest upon the lustrous wings
Of something less than wrong and more than right?
And there in some forgotten, downy lair,
Concealed within but slinking ever higher
Along the groove that shields it from the air,
It spins to higher heights than eyes aspire.
      And thus our love by loving in a chink
      Can grow more deep and high than man can think.
I Have Always Loved WinterI have always loved winter
With its caressing touch of icy-bright fingers
That stroke past my flesh with a tingle that lingers
A crystalline splinter
I have always loved winter
She was constantly cold
Her skin was of porcelain, her hands were of snow
And timidly soft into my hands they’d go
But her lips were more bold
She was constantly cold
Like embers her kisses
That latched onto mine like a coal hotly dropping
Down fast onto ice sheets without sign of stopping
And sputters and hisses
Like embers her kisses
But I liked the cold best
That bit of her most like a clear, frozen shard
And it pleased me to see her grow pallid and hard
More than the rest
I liked the cold best
And hard she did grow
When the winter’s invidious, envious chill
Slipped into her heart and set out to kill
That angel of snow
And hard she did grow
I crept into her tomb
Before they could padlock and shut the door fast
I crawled quietly in for a parting look last
At her in her room
I crept into her tomb
OrphanWickerwork upon a skeleton frame
In claws and tendrils
Scratches fragments of a name
Past whispered
Ever softly by the glowing embers
Of a night
Though only he remembers
And dreams of gardens never lost completely
And words that
(Spoken once) may lie more sweetly
Than a world in which
The mirrors have all been shattered
For they spoke with tongues too candid
In the way his dear old man did
Shot without a warning
On that ember night
And so each day
(Wrapped in a coat of woolen
Still rusty with his dad’s blood)
Pale face sullen
He makes his way into
The woods beside the home
For children with no owners
Set to roam
Until he should espy his precious aspen
Like a gallows
In the dusking gloam
There he sits with small heart pounding
While the lost one’s name is sounding
From the highest branches
To the umber loam
And as the wind his father’s name repeating
Lets out a shriek
As of a kettle heating
The boy looks to the nothing
All alone

:star: Other Writers to Check Out! :star:
OokamiKasumi neurotype  Oli-S
one-strange-dueto-ohhai otherwise-duck
oldest-boy OneLove94 oddkward-haiki

Thank you to all the deviant suggestions and theme suggestions from pullingcandy rockgem Vashta-Nerada91 LilaJanet Created-By-Caz hiddendelights jcroxas thorns Jade-Pandora K47454k1 OritPetra Magic-fan Memnalar WorldWar-Tori
Remember you can suggest a theme or deviant to me via note, or if you have someone for the next feature then please let me know

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Only-Another-Wraith's avatar
i just wanna say i love this series thing.
it really opens up the world of literature and well...makes it more open and stuff. sorry, i have no words right now, it's been a long day.
thank you for creating this - you're doing a wonderful job!
mreid973's avatar
Thanks for the feature! Good word choices. And now I've been featured enough times to spell a word with my letters. Exciting.
the-photographicpoet's avatar
tragicreciprocity's avatar
Thanks so much for including me! :) Wonderful feature!!
OritPetra's avatar
Thanks for the feature, hon. Interesting picks. :heart:
Magic-fan's avatar
An amazing article, yet again! :faint: Keep up the great work! :heart:

You mentioned =rockgem as a suggestor twice, but forgot me. :giggle:
the-photographicpoet's avatar
ah sugar, sorry hun :hug: I'm like, super tired atm and on autopilot but will make sure that you get credited :heart:
Magic-fan's avatar
Don't worry about it. :huggle: I understand what it's like to be tired and it's hardly a problem. You go get some sleep! :heart:
the-photographicpoet's avatar
Magic-fan's avatar
I wonder who. :paranoid: XD
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