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Deviant for 12 Years
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Literature
At the Rind
Tell me what a normal brain thinks about,
and I will do my best. I will take
the right trains, I will find the right stops,
I will travel from point A to point B
and shun the wild wending ways in between.
I will give up this mantle of my creation,
accept a machine-washable uniform
cut from the same cloth as generations before me
who laid their dreams to sleep in the blood
and bones of the children that would follow them.
I am not the sinner or the saint, just some
middling human who didn't know any better
and I am tired, I am just so tired.
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 5 5
Literature
Words Softly Spoken
I won't be afraid
of my tears again.
Let my guard fall,
open my arms wide
and I'll say, welcome.
Welcome, friends,
I'll say, come in.
This is your house
as much as it is mine.
Come in, my friends,
come home.
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 7 5
Literature
A Million Pieces
"Am I allowed to love you?"
They asked me, as though love
somehow needed my consent.
Love was a wildfire, it was
thunder on the plains;
it was something
that happened to you,
the only choice was
how you rode the lightning.
If you sailed the choppy waters,
crashed upon the rocks, and
splintered into a million pieces
all in the name of "love"
then you chose wrong.
There was no patience in love.
No one had ever done me
the courtesy of knocking first
and one look was all it took to see
there was no shelter here;
there was not even a roof.
Just a million pieces,
shattered in someone else's name.
"It's broken," I said, expecting again
the storm, the rain, because Love did not wait.
To my knowledge, Love was not kind.
They said, "Don't worry."
(how did they know I worried)
"I have time."
And it wasn't the tempest or the blizzard,
it was ears that listened, eyes that saw me.
Hands that taught me to build, shape, grow
And let go, showed me to trust the weather.
The clouds that gathered d
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 9 5
Literature
Siren Song
I want the crook of your shoulder
to bury myself in, breathe deep
until I feel anxiety uncoil inside of me,
melt in the waters of love so deep
fear couldn't step a foot inside without
sighing sweetly for that smell on your skin,
the one that does me in, damns me
and saves me all in the same breath,
I am blessed and never knew
the name of God except the one I thank
for crossing your path with mine,
that divine movement evident only
in the day I looked across the room,
met your eyes and cried, I found you.
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 42 16
Literature
A Sad Recipe
start crying at dawn
then let the meat rest all day
well brined by supper
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 5 5
Literature
Leg to Stand On
I once took a needle to my skin and wrote,
1 > 2 ? —a question and lamentation
that I coupled with a desperate footnote
But a fraction is infinitely more than zero
But I think that my scars have begun to fade,
a simple gift of genetics or a karmic universe
that has begun to look on me with favor
numbers ebbing, slowly ticking back to zero,
to equal, like the universe is giving me a do-over
One blank slate, blank skin, like spring
after being raised in winter, sun breaking,
smiling, at last, at me, like an answer:
One is less than two, yes, but a fraction is
the seed that survives the snows, waiting
to breathe in that first ray of sunlight.
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 6 2
Literature
Don't Think About Tomorrow
They take one look and they scream,
they cry, they stamp their feet and beg,
so with hands made of bone, you grab
the edges of yourself and you pull,
struggle into the resisting flesh
and the smile you pinch your lips into
is just enough to make them leave.
Thank god. You can take it off now.
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 66 11
Mature content
Falling Spark pt.17 :icontinkertype:tinkertype 0 0
Literature
La Voz de Dolores
I've been trained to wait for scraps
of attention, an affection so sparse that
a look in my direction was downright poetry,
it was a taste of music in a silent world
I would hold out for the very last note,
feast on its echoes, feel satisfied and
empty and hungry for more, always more
and that was my shame, wasn't it?
That I could and would watch her eat,
glutted from the meal of my devotions,
but when she let me lick the spoon
I thought maybe she loved me too.
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 24 15
Literature
Falling Spark pt.16
Ruth searched her pockets, but her fingers scraped the bottom. Without a coin for the runner, she patted him on the head and walked away with the message he'd delivered.
It was almost sunset in Tremont, and all of the crew had returned except for the three that had gone up to the SMS headquarters, hence the note. In it, Cornelius explained that they were going to get to the bottom of an interesting rumor being shared among the office workers and to not expect them until morning. Ruth snorted and folded the message again before slipping it into her pocket. More likely was that the quartermaster wanted to sleep in a real bed that night and they'd traveled up to his townhome in Park Hill.
Her fist was halfway raised when she paused, turned her head, and leaned in closely to Frederic's cabin door. She didn't knock, instead opening the door just far enough to slip inside. Two sets of eyes turned to her as the door shut, but the captain turned his attention back to the resonator in front of
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 2 0
Mature content
I Found Love :icontinkertype:tinkertype 3 7
Literature
Falling Spark pt.15
Docking in the Southside was a jarring experience in the sense that everything went smoothly. There was no cluster of waiting ships, no careful navigating through overcrowded landings. Everything moved like clockwork. Cornelius didn't even have the chance to complain because as soon as they were docked, an assistant to the harbormaster was there to help with the ship's registry. "I could get used to this," he said, making the last flourish to his signature.
Frederic smiled at the quartermaster. "This too shall pass, Master Culton," he said, and Cornelius chuckled just as a runner came hurrying up the gangplank. She looked between the two of them and settled on the older man.
"Captain Lassiter?"
"Does this look like a captain's jacket?" Cornelius huffed, thumbing the collar of his marine-blue coat. Frederic waved her over as the quartermaster laughed. "You're lucky. In my day, the captain was the man with the biggest hat. You'd look terrible in a hat."
"Thank the Three the world's more
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 2 2
Mature content
Falling Spark pt.14 :icontinkertype:tinkertype 2 4
Literature
Falling Spark pt.13
Carissa hurried back downstairs, watched Frederic disappear down below and sighed. She could already imagine the next letter she would be writing back to Doctor Swafford as she passed by Cornelius putting the mess room back to rights under Neonna's supervision. The engineers, or engineer and pilot now, were in their bunk room, securing a heavy piece of equipment, and her sick room was crammed. She only had two beds, one with Dane in it, Bonnie perched on the corner, and the other full of Barristers. "Where's Otha?" She asked, remembering the man's bleeding forehead.
"He doesn't like doctors," Bonnie replied.
"Would it help if I took off the coat?" She asked, sobering instantly when the redhead didn't even smile. "You took a fall, Bonnie, do you know if you hit your head?" She shook her head in response, with enough vigor that Carissa was inclined to believe her. Not a moment later, however, and her expression fell again, eyes out of focus. In the short time that she'd known the navigat
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 3 0
Literature
Falling Spark pt.12
The navy blue uniform of the Imperial Scouts was much duller up close, Frederic noted, but their presence made a more vivid impression than when he'd spotted them in parades and royal events in the past. They were quick and brutally efficient, arresting the living raiders on board without so much as a blink, the cyphers on the arms of several Scouts lighting up and putting down what resistance there was left in them. They also took away the dead, carrying them on stretchers that soon turned brown and stained. The body of the enormous otherkind that Dane had put down took two stretchers and five men. The rest of the Daruna crew came up on deck amid Scouts, a few helping to secure the ship to the HMS Celestiana, freeing Myka from the helm. Only once it was clear that the Daruna was safe did the Scouts clear the gangplank for the prince to cross over to their ship as his name and titles were announced. Leading by example, Frederic bowed first, fist over his heart, so
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 3 0
Literature
Tight-Knit Boys
Julius knew something was wrong right away, in the furtive way that the crowd of children was gathered around Frederic. There was a flutter in his stomach that was unfamiliar to the young boy at the age of eleven.
"Hey! Freddie!" He called, picking up speed when the children dispersed at the sight of him, leaving so quickly that Julius ran to close the distance, chasing after them as they laughed and threw back looks over their shoulders. "You better run! I know where you live, Maxine!" He kicked at the dirt, huffed indignantly with his hands akimbo like he wasn't 90 pounds soaking wet. "Freddie," he spun on his heel and darted toward his adopted brother, stopping uncertainly a couple of feet away.
Frederic was taking small, shuddering breaths, red-faced and brow scrunched angrily, but his eyes were glued resolutely to the ground. Julius made a soft noise, reached out for his shoulder, and said, "Don't cry, Freddie."
"I'm not crying," he replied hotly, taking a clumsy step back from th
:icontinkertype:tinkertype
:icontinkertype:tinkertype 3 6

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How many bones must I swallow,
how many ghosts must I drink,
before the taste of you recedes
with the tide’s heartbeat – cruel and brutal –
pounding cobwebs against the shores of our memories?
The moonlight washes your footprints away,
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deviantID

tinkertype

Artist | Literature
United States
:reading: Quote of the Day:

"You cannot take the darkness from a dark room. You can only fill it with light."

by Lindsey Stirling

The high moments, those flashes of sunlight breaking through the clouds, that breath of fresh air, they are miraculous and precious. In these moments I don’t doubt the validity of life. I value its fierceness, its flare, the parts that give me joy and the parts that give me pain. In those high moments, I can see the length and breadth of the universe and it is infinite and merciless and one hundred percent worth it.

But those high notes, they echo and fade away; those flashes, they leave a glow and it dims and it is dark again, and he's laughing, grinning at me above the mire I'm wading through, the stagnant waters of living moment to moment. This is the everyday, it's the fight, the battle to keep moving.

Maybe you broke above the canopy, but now you're back in the woods and somewhere in the dark there’s a wolf in the woods. Maybe you’re safe at the moment, maybe you’re even warm and fed, but it’s always there, in the corner of your eye, this vague unease, this feeling of being hunted, because your life is the woods and there is always a wolf in the woods. Chest heaving, muscles straining, pushing for just one more step, one more breath, a little faster, a little longer, don’t dare to fall but the very trees are against you, roots grasp at you and reach for your heels. You can’t escape the clawing dark, the biting cold. There’s a wolf in the woods and he has your scent.

In those low moments, I don’t doubt the futility of life. I curse its mindlessness, its relentless drive, the parts that give me joy and the parts that give me pain. In those low moments, I can see the length and breadth of my consciousness, the mind numbing eternity of it, and it is impossible to scream loud enough for anyone to hear me, much less do anything about it. But those moments, like the tide, recede, inch by inch, they lessen, loosen, and you fall slack from their grip like a newborn, red and raw all over but grateful just to be alive.

Gaining your breath, reaching your equilibrium, is the greatest comfort you could ever feel, and the oxygen in your lungs is suddenly better than all the riches in the world. For just one breath, you are in the center of the storm. Should you fall or be launched to new heights, should you journey alone or be found by that cursed wolf, it does not matter because for just that instance, existing is its own reward.

But even that fades, the calm leaves you in a gust of wind, and the storm rages again. It's either ecstasy or agony, the canopy or the ground, it's the wolf in the woods or the sunlight on your skin, but always the fight in between. The unbending, uncompromising fight, chest heaving, muscles straining, the relentless fight because the moment you stop fighting, it's over. And it's inevitable to begin questioning the fight itself, the need for it, the drive and where it comes from.

Because every day I carve away from this mountain of depression should be a victory, it should be a resounding success, a prize I've wrenched away from mine enemy, but instead it feels like weakness, useless passive resistance. My stolen days, numbered as they are, feel like taking a bucket to a sinking ship but it's the ocean that's flooding in and all I can do is fight, battle the everyday moments, try to put off the only ending to this story.

In this moment, it is Fate in the ring with me, and my only free will seems to be in the speed of my defeat, whether I will go to the grave now or days from now, exhausted, crippled and done in. And she whispers the word, inevitable, as though I could forget that all of my days will boil down to one day, and one day, sooner or later, I will stop, just stop, I will stop rising and falling, winning and failing, I will stop fighting and all of it will be over.



I just wanted for this to mean something.

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:iconddarknezz:
dDarknezZ Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
woah, really thanks for your llama Christmas Owl 
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:iconruecypress:
RueCypress Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav!
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:iconninjaginja134:
NinjaGinja134 Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2018  Student Writer
thanks for the llama!
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:iconsehlley:
Sehlley Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2018  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you so much for all of the favourites and the watch!
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:iconkc3hub:
KC3HUB Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2018
Very glad to see you back around and in the spirit as Tinker! Thanks kindly for punching the Favorite button :)
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