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About Literature / Artist F.M.United States Recent Activity
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Literature
sweet
the insides of my eyelids must be painted with your face,
and my sheets woven with the ghost of your touch,
because when I lie at night and try to close myself
I am faced with your smile, caressed by your skin,
wrapped in your warm and imaginary embrace.
'please. please.' I find myself whispering to the no one next to me,
my lips pursed as if to kiss, my arms around air.
'I love you, I love you, I love you.'
I murmur kindnesses you don't want from me anymore,
as though if I dream hard enough I'll find I'm talking in your ear.
sometimes if I close my eyes you talk back, tell me I'm beautiful,
or just hold me tight and safe.
but I'm naked and alone
and these are my hands running along my body,
my own dry lips spewing sweet nothing.
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Mature content
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Literature
Being Gay
I call myself gay.  If someone says, "Are you gay?" I usually answer "yes."  Occasionally I'll say something like "mostly," or "about half."  I'm female, and I like girls and guys (and probably would like anyone in between).  I'm also quite young.  I'm going to now share a quite personal story, because it's important for these sort of stories to be out there, despite people's inhibitions created by society.
I went to an all-girls school for all of my life and was raised mostly unaware of even the idea of sexuality.  The concept of "having sex" was explained to me by my older sister at the age of ten.  Like most kids, it was gross to me.  At eleven my oldest sister told me about homosexuality.  I don't remember the details, just that I became aware of it.  I asked pretty normal questions, I think, like, "How do they have sex?" (I received the answer "oral sex," which I found befuddling un
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Sideways Smile by vgaer Sideways Smile :iconvgaer:vgaer 1 17

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FEATURE



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Literature
Everything
Soft rustle of dead leaves
follows bristling breeze;
stillness frees necessities
in a melting blushing-sun.
Sweet bells slightly tinge
Colombian, freshly brewed,
set aside on an oak-made taboret.
Sweat, as real as love,
gently cool by giving-in.
Nothing, as it seems.
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Literature
Good Enough
          The sound of his alarm filled the room in a vain attempt to give him some comfort that he hadn’t missed much by staying up through the night. Left alone at his small kitchen table he’s picked up from a garage sale years back, he just stared at the discolored blobs of light as the sun’s light filtered through the grime that was every New York City window. Giving the speckled linoleum surface of the table a sort of puke hue. His gun was in pieces on the old dishtowel, as spotless as when he had gotten it fresh from the factory, another attempt at a fresh start. Trigger finger ached and reflexively curled. He’d never get over it.
          The images that had kept him up all night flickered before him with every blink and no amount of therapy was ever going to get rid of them. The lasting sensation from nails on a chalkboard, it made him feel like he needed to
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Literature
Death Becomes You
Death is fun,
When you knock on his door.
You run away quickly,
He says, “See you at four.”
It closes, you laugh.
He wouldn’t do a thing.
You look at the clock;
Your arm starts to sting.
Did he? You ask the air.
Am I going to die?
You look at the arm.
It’s turning white.
Sting spreading,
You’ve started to scream.
You must be asleep!
This must be a dream…
Your leg’s turning white;
Your other arm, too.
A cloaked man appears,
It’s like déjà vu.
“Congratulations,” he says,
A bright, boney grin.
The cloak is on you now.
“Let eternity begin.”
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Journal
The Stars are Falling: A Contest
One of my very best friends is in the hospital.
She could be there another several weeks or even up to a couple of months.
There's no way to guess.
I met her several years ago and the way we experience(d) our lives is so similar that we made an instant connection and I would do ANYTHING for her.
She is a childhood physical/mental/sexual abuse survivor, just as I am.
[It's how we met.]
Currently, every Wednesday and Friday I take her gifts and such,
but I want to do something REALLY special.
Since the last time we were in the hospital together, she's produced her first album of all lyrics in which she's written and ones that I, and anyone who's experienced abuse, treatment, or even just the trials and tribulations of life can relate to so strongly.
I would love to hold a contest in which you may use ANY image, stock, your own photography, my stock, my own gallerie deviations, photo-manipulation, digital art, anything to depict the message of her songs. &
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Journal
Awesome contest, awesome prizes!
Do you have imagination?
Do you own a camera or a keyboard?
Do you want to win one year subscription?
Join now!
The contest is based on a theme made up of 7 words:
:pencil: irenic(=operating toward peace, moderation, or conciliation)
:pencil:aeneous (=brassy or golden green in color.)
:pencil: anodyne(=1: smth that allays pain. 2: something that soothes, calms or comforts)
:pencil:pulchritude(= physical beauty)
:pencil: oneiric (=of or relating to dreams)
:pencil:ebullition (=1: the bubbling or effervescence of a liquid. 2: a sudden outpouring, as of emotion or violence)
:pencil: incarnadine(=1. of a fleshy pink color)
# You have to chose at least THREE[3] of the words above and compose a PHOTO or a POEM.
# Write in the description which words you used[and maybe explain why if you believe I need further details :blushes:]
# You can submit max 2 photos/ poems.
# Have fun!
:sun: Prizes :sun:
**** First Prize [Heart] ****
1 year subscription offered by sassaputzin
5 prints from my ga
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Literature
Footsteps, Revised
Time did not fly.  Time slunk like a snail,
ticking, ticking,
one minute.  Two minutes.
The room did not smell of fresh air and springtime,
nor of the garden nor the cafeteria.  The chair was not
the comfortable one in the living room or the hard plastic of school.
Waiting was never a favorite occupation of hers.   Especially
when her mind was not its normal calm.  Thoughts
jumping all over.  Tripping over each other.  Clamoring to be heard.
Will I be able to finish school?
What will he think?  Do?
What will she think?

A poster, two children leaning on their mother’s grave,
would not look away.  She was not unhealthy according
to weight, temperature, blood pressure.  Pulse,
that was fast, matching thoughts.
Can I afford this?
How did this happen?

Time still slunk by.  Ticking ingrained in her mind.
What would it be like?
A knock.  Pleasa
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Literature
Far Away
Sometimes we grow up like this:
gyroscopic, like sunflowers, our faces turning
towards the sun.  And the sun is more than a ball
of burning gas.  The sun is warm and bright
and alive.  And we are warm and bright and alive.
I am no bloom.  Wings do not rely
on the kindness of strangers.  But sometimes they will tell you
that people aren’t things you can own.
They will tend to the flowers, they will lean into the garden,
prune dead leaves and reshape
innocent bushes.  Their sweat will drip into
your faces, my glittering lilies, my lonely and cynical roses,
and they will tell you how to
come into your own.  They will say the world is a
cold and frightening place when you are
far from your home soil.  They will pack your roots with compost
and entice you to stay.
Rise from the dirt and move on.
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F.M.
Artist | Literature
United States

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:iconretroblazer:
retroblazer Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2012  Student General Artist
can i have the account ~minifeminist please?
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:iconvgaer:
vgaer Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2014   Writer
whoops i haven't been on here in two years.  do you still want it?  hahaha.
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nihilist-0 Featured By Owner Jun 8, 2015
I want it :3 pwease
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namenotrequired Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2010  Professional Interface Designer
Happy birthday! :party:

On behalf of the #lyriclub admin team, I hope you're having a great day :D


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:iconhugqueen:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2010   Writer
:hug:

Just because!
I hope you're doing well. :heart:
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