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Deviant for 14 Years
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Literature
Sophie Scholl's Last Visit...
Sophie Scholl’s Last Visit with her Mother: Stadelheim Prison, February 22, 1943
              “Die Sonne scheint noch.” –Sophie Scholl’s final words
Like watching two thousand doves let loose,
              Mama, taking wing from university balconies—
                           the descending petals of 1700 white roses
dispensing our message. Unsinn, Alex and Willi
              called it, but I still wanted to dance in that shower
                            of leaflets,
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Literature
Bound By Blood
Bound by Blood
Ave Maria, Ave, Ave, pray for us, Mary, ohhh pray.
She pleads to painted porcelain, fat fingers embracing
each other. Her unmarried son’s voice fades. Mom,
we’re having a baby.
Thirty Hail Mary’s: futile—
like the day her sister called, giddy almost to tears
with news: Ellen, I’m getting remarried. She cried
that day, too, photocopying pages from Principles
of Canonical Law,
dictating Jesus’ insistence that she
boycott her only sister smiling in the ivory gown nearly
destroyed by a careless daughter. Seven years later,
the only reminder of her niece’s inattention: shadows
in a photograph; but her son’s consequence lies
pillowed in her arms. Ave Maria, pray for us
sinners now and in the hour of our death.
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Literature
Arienette Hears Her Song
Arienette Hears Her Song
The only part of him mirrors ever
watched: powder-coated interior
of his left nostril, origin of infamous
fevers. But his fans only want
to know about the conception
of genius, how he brought about sounds
that captured madness, the part I played,
why I didn’t stay. I want to know
what they would do with a sweating
pianist shrieking down the telephone
line at four a.m., howling apologies
at five, screaming again at six. Where
are you, Arienette?
I want my pound of flesh,
& wolves that frighten him can have the rest.
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Literature
My Mother's Daughter
My Mother’s Daughter
I’m curling a backward C into your side, the way
       I used to, Saturday mornings before you remarried
               and I learned to share. Chewie chuffs, so I bury
               my face in her fur, and you don’t see me flinch
      when you say, You’re built like a 12-year-old boy;
soon the only people chasing you will be women.

Swaddled in heavy blue velveteen, skin still moist
       and smelling of Midnight Pomegranate, I beautify
              my reflection, until you come down to make your
              voice heard. I wouldn’t even feel
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Literature
For Robert
For Robert
I threw a nickel into the ugly fountain
at the Berkshire Mall & wished—
       months after Mommy told me cancer
       meant very sick & I told her we should
       bring you soup and tea—
to slide down Penn Avenue stairs, clasp
our tiny hands together, raise voices,
       bounce our bottoms on every step,
       racing up to repeat. Soft splash & clink
       of descending metal, Mommy’s tears
falling on new pink polyester & her whisper:
Baby, I should have told you sooner.
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Literature
Gilded Zinc
Gilded Zinc
Sitting at the table where your girlfriend
drinks her coffee every morning, you iron out
the lines in your forehead with calloused
fingertips, purse your lips and tell me, Right now,
this is
safe, but you're one of those monumental women.
I remember first grade, how I listened
to metal chiming against metal against
my grandfather's rough skin as I dumped
my change. I frowned while he sorted,
held the dullest, said, This one is special.
After 1983, they replaced bronze and
copper with zinc, copper-plated—more
beautiful to look at, longer-lasting. You can
hear the difference.
He dropped a '76
and a '92 onto the kitchen table.
Real copper sings.
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Literature
Atropos, picking at bandages:
Atropos, picking at her bandages:
I learned on a fifteen-year-old boy who
picked the wrong time to run across the street
to the grocery store. Then the tapestry
blurred; I couldn't even bring the blades
near the loom until Lachesis started laughing.
Weep as long as you need to, little sister; he's
the one left lying in the middle of the street, taking
all the time in the world to die.
Clotho interwove
her mirth, and I stood mute, clenching metal
in my fists until blood dripped onto the skein.
In perfect unison they guided my stained
fingers, pressed cutting edges to the dangling
thread until the wool split, and his mother's
scream echoed in my throat. I knew then
I could only cut the threads so many times before
those scissors would start to look like the best way out.
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Literature
Final Bows--Medea at Corinth
Final Bows—Medea at Corinth
Tomorrow they will call me a monster,
among harsher titles, between prayers and vows
for vengeance. Once they put out the final fire,
they will leave you to bury charred Creusa and her father
beside our two sons. But while I have you here now,
think of tomorrow. Calling me monster
won't stop this. I still hear my brother
pleading, Jason doesn't love; he lusts for power
and vengeance. Once you've put out the fire
in his loins, he'll already be seeking a new lover—

I cut him off, then, with a few well-placed blows.
They've called me a killer and a whore
across the Aegean, from that first murder
to this last. There's much to be said, you know,
for vengeance; I recognized the fire
in your heart as fabricated the day you kissed her
in the middle of the street. But it's time for final bows,
my love: Tomorrow they will call me a monster
of vengeance—if they can put out this final fire.
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Literature
Midnight, West Reading Diner
Midnight, West Reading Diner
—for Justin
You were smoking for me,
one Camel Light after the other, ground
into a pile of ash in a black plastic dish. They
weren't your lungs to safeguard, but you
were adamant, refusing to share
despite my appeals. Setting your Olympus
Digital on the table, you watched me
on LCD, and I talked to the girl in the mirrored
wall, my fingers following the outlines
of her clavicles, feeling bone through chilled
flesh to soothe petulant nerves, while she lifted
a steaming mug to my lips. You let me
have the seat aimed at that wall, knowing
I needed to consider my reflection, like you
knew I'd drink only tea while you ate
grilled cheese and fries, and knew I loved it
when you asked, So, are you going
to let me take your picture, or what?
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Mature content
Intermission :icontragiccomedy:tragiccomedy 0 4
Literature
Thoroughly Modern
Thoroughly Modern
I don't miss you in sweeping waves
of anguish like the boys with cheap guitars
and dyed black hair that we ridiculed. I miss you minutely;
the minor changes in routine are mental splinters:
driving home after an eight-hour shift, aching
feet and fudge-smeared arms, I should
be calling you, rambling ridiculously and ending
with, Well, anyway, I love you. And I've
been taking melatonin ever since the last
time the LCD flickered, Good night, beautiful.
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Mature content
Waking Up :icontragiccomedy:tragiccomedy 0 5
Mature content
Ora Pro Nobis :icontragiccomedy:tragiccomedy 0 4
Literature
Dad Called It Tact
Dad Called It Tact
He only gave bad news when we were alone
in the car, driving along the mountain road I loved in fall
so when I asked, he said, I don't know, Love. I don't know
why,
but he promised it would pass. I had no
words—it stole my breath—but in his usual
way, he gave me the news when we were alone.
It was always something worse each time we'd go
to lunch or a backyard party—or when he'd call
and I'd ask why he didn't know. Love, I don't know
all the details yet,
but we'd put our trust in chemo-
therapy, and prayer. A year later, they hadn't caught it all,
and when he gave the news, we were alone
in a steakhouse, for my birthday lunch—although
a few weeks late, as usual. If he was sick, I couldn't tell,
so I asked if he felt it. No, Love. He didn't know
when we'd meet next, that I screamed at the phone
after hanging up, if he'd still be okay that fall,
that he only gave bad news when we were alone,
or that I never asked why he didn't know love. He
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Literature
Shoptalk
Shoptalk
There's a Gibson Les Paul with a broken
input jack lying belly-down on my
workbench. In under fifteen minutes, I
isolate the problem. I'm a surgeon
unmasked, hunched over a muted patient,
incapable of communicating
anything, aside from static. Wiring
the replacement in, my hand twitches—"Shit!"
There's no time to waste apologizing,
but I do it anyway. While I scrape
away the solder, Ron buffs the back-plate
clean, and when we're finished, there's no telling
I slipped up. He asks about my father;
I shake my head, turn Jethro Tull louder.
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Mature content
The Easy Way Out :icontragiccomedy:tragiccomedy 0 8

Favourites

Think by danhauk Think :icondanhauk:danhauk 1 2 Life of a rose pt 1 by jack-skellington26 Life of a rose pt 1 :iconjack-skellington26:jack-skellington26 3 14 belated gift by chibiyin belated gift :iconchibiyin:chibiyin 1 12

Activity


  • Listening to: Scouting for Girls - Heartbeat
  • Reading: Sommerhaus, Später
  • Watching: The Dark Knight
  • Drinking: too much.
For my 21st birthday I got...

well, drunk. didn't intend to, butttt some things really are unavoidable.


and also, new clothes from grandmom
t-shirt from my sister
new tires from the parentals
A HARLEY QUINN T-SHIRT FROM RON WHO IS AMAZING AHHHHHH :D :D :D.

word.

deviantID

tragiccomedy
Dee
Artist
United States
Current Residence: Silly old Pennsylvania
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Small
Favourite genre of music: New Age/Celtic/Irish/Indie
Favourite photographer: Emily O\'Donnell
Shell of choice: Conchs are nice...because they remind me of Lord of the Flies ;D
Wallpaper of choice: cillian muuuurphy <3333333
Favourite cartoon character: Catwoman
Personal Quote: The opposite of war isn\'t peace, it\'s creation--RENT
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconteiganas:
Teiganas Featured By Owner Mar 1, 2010
*crosses paws and hopes you remember me after all this time...*
Reply
:iconnecronomicon32:
necronomicon32 Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2008  Hobbyist General Artist
How'dy
Reply
:icontragiccomedy:
tragiccomedy Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2009
heyyyy!
Reply
:iconnecronomicon32:
necronomicon32 Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2009  Hobbyist General Artist
How Are you??? Its been like forever!! Hope all is well with you!
Reply
:iconpl3x1eglass:
pL3X1eglass Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2008
MELODYYY!
it's lexi, kari's friend.




your work is beautiful!
Reply
:iconicerosephoenix:
IceRosePhoenix Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2008  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hey, hey! How's it goin? It's Molly! Heather's little sister :)
Reply
:iconrylothean:
rylothean Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2007
How about posting some more poetry <.<
Reply
:iconyoggington:
Yoggington Featured By Owner May 16, 2007
:poke:
Reply
:iconchibiyin:
chibiyin Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2006   Writer
So like..... ignore my last comment to yours on my page. DA revamped and shite, and apparently the front page comments changed around, and I thought you had just posted that and was confused. I'm the crazy one.



But still---! You need to write in Stel and Mal. :nod:
Reply
:iconkneesocks:
kneesocks Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2006   Photographer
you've got it all wrong.
dee is hot, not chelsea.
DUH.

D
Reply
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