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An Open Letter to Lindsey Stirling

A

An Open Letter to Lindsey Stirling

Hey Lindsey- I have a bone to pick with you. Last week you came to Boston and I was fortunate enough to see you at the Blue Hills Pavilion. I have been listening to your music for the last few years and I have been hooked ever since the first song I heard. Your show was beautiful. Sharing your music with some of my closest friends and my very musically-inclined boyfriend satisfied me in a way that not much else can. But the truth is that you said some things that truly marred the evening for me and I haven’t yet let it go. Towards the end of your set you put down your violin for a heart to heart with the audience. You spoke of how yo

Tales from the Diner

T

Tales from the Diner

I have a secret. I have kept it for years. It is the kind of secret that you don’t dare tell, if not for fear of the possible consequences, for fear that no one will listen. Both outcomes are unwelcome and damaging in their own right. My friends and I have shared this secret and all its grisly details over eager sips of coffee after long overnight shifts, our voices heightened in our rage and our exhaustion. I had hurriedly whispered conversations with my coworkers during hasty smoke breaks and bathroom trips. These were girls with whom I had nothing in common – save our employment and our secret. Sometimes we exploded. Sometimes

Stop saying I shouldn't get raped...

S

Stop saying I shouldn't get raped...

When I was 18 years old I was sexually assaulted. In the warm summer months following my high school graduation I basked in the sunshine of my newfound adulthood. I had a car, a steady job, and the freedom to leave town for weeks at a time. I returned home infrequently, and these trips were almost always in the name of social calls. On one such occasion, I attended a party with one of my best friends. We drove along the winding dirt roads of Colrain, in search of our friend’s far-off farm where we would not be disrupted or caught drinking underage. The briskness of the night was a welcome break from the oppressive heat of the August d

Shedding Skin

S

Shedding Skin

I am no stranger to evolution. My life is one that has often left me with no option but to adapt quickly to rapidly changing circumstances. I have twisted, bent, stretched, and squeezed myself into scenarios, places, and people before I was ready or it was comfortable. And I have wiggled, climbed, and torn myself out of these same tight spots when the need grew strong. I learned early that there are many spaces in which I cannot fit. Again and again I watched people wait to ease into some sort of conformity.  I looked on in dismay as they prayed that their very selves would shrink so that they may require less room. I saw them hope that the k

Bad Body Days

B

Bad Body Days

The air has been beautiful lately. Even at my most tired, I have opted to walk to work in the early mornings and soak up the sun’s first rays peering through my neighborhood’s gold and crimson leaves. The air has also been biting on these occasions, but unable to give up the smell of the night’s rain on the pavement, I have pulled my scarves and sweatshirts from the back of my closet, and inhaled the changing seasons. This particular time of year is usually one I find difficult. This time around isn’t especially different, although I have been taking steps to avoid the annual hibernation and shutdown I have experience

Melancholy

M

Melancholy

Depression is a lonely thing. Even now, in a generation that is becoming more and more vocal about the issue, I find that I– and presumably others like me– still safeguard our ailment and rarely allude to the severity of our experiences. My best guess as to the reason for this, is that despite the barrage of awareness campaigns that have begun to sweep the internet, there is still an underlying attitude of discomfort– a recoiling– towards any type of mental illness. If someone is not suffering from some sort of trendy or movie-style horrifying and intrusive disorder like DID their ailment tends to be overlooked.  For

Ex-Boyfriend(/Franz Ferdinand)

E

Ex-Boyfriend(/Franz Ferdinand)

Charm you and tell you Of the boys I hate All the girls I hate All the words I hate All the clothes I hate How I’ll never be anything I hate You smile, mention something that you like How you’d have a happy life If you did the things you like I listened to Franz Ferdinand’s, “Dark of the Matinee,” yesterday for the first time in something like five years. It brings me back to a lot of closing shifts on warm summer nights in Shelburne Falls. I remember mopping and laughing with old friends while this album played in the background. At that point in my life, I was still posting lyrics that suited my mood t

Homesick

H

Homesick

I cannot remember a single time that I have felt legitimate homesickness. Not in my entire life. I recently was told (numerous times) that I am cold and unfeeling. These traits are news to me. But maybe my inability to feel strongly about a place I call my home is a result of my alleged coldness. Or at lease an illustration of it. I’m not so quick to buy this. I have felt a deep and heartfelt longing for places that I have not yet been able to call home. Maybe this is my real crime. Sometimes I feel as though it is my aspirations that have damned me.  My family has condemned me again and again for reaching farther than they ever have,

Acupuncture

A

Acupuncture

Something is wrong. For days I have felt weak. My sleep has been heavy and dull; my waking hours filled with vague melancholy and sharp spikes of id. I have not upset my routine: at 6am I still know your decaf, your milk on the side. My mouth is a wide grin. My eyes are glass. I went to acupuncture today. My heart has been in my throat this week, breaking only to travel to the pit of my stomach. Needles have helped before. I can never seem to shake the sorrow that I feel when I am expecting bad news. It's not that I am anxious: it's that in my mind I have prepared to grieve and I can already feel it with my entirety. I am always certain pe

b

b

b

It's only a week later and yet I've already forgotten your face. I can picture it only in one specific moment: I see you smiling after you kissed me goodbye at the airport. Otherwise, it's all in pieces. I see your laughlines. I remember your hands. I can feel your touch on my spine and on my wrist. I know the way you smell. I remember the way your hair looked during sex and I know the way it feels in my grasp. I remember your voice. I loved your voice. I've been so affected.
See all

An Open Letter to Lindsey Stirling

A

An Open Letter to Lindsey Stirling

Hey Lindsey- I have a bone to pick with you. Last week you came to Boston and I was fortunate enough to see you at the Blue Hills Pavilion. I have been listening to your music for the last few years and I have been hooked ever since the first song I heard. Your show was beautiful. Sharing your music with some of my closest friends and my very musically-inclined boyfriend satisfied me in a way that not much else can. But the truth is that you said some things that truly marred the evening for me and I haven’t yet let it go. Towards the end of your set you put down your violin for a heart to heart with the audience. You spoke of how yo

Tales from the Diner

T

Tales from the Diner

I have a secret. I have kept it for years. It is the kind of secret that you don’t dare tell, if not for fear of the possible consequences, for fear that no one will listen. Both outcomes are unwelcome and damaging in their own right. My friends and I have shared this secret and all its grisly details over eager sips of coffee after long overnight shifts, our voices heightened in our rage and our exhaustion. I had hurriedly whispered conversations with my coworkers during hasty smoke breaks and bathroom trips. These were girls with whom I had nothing in common – save our employment and our secret. Sometimes we exploded. Sometimes

Stop saying I shouldn't get raped...

S

Stop saying I shouldn't get raped...

When I was 18 years old I was sexually assaulted. In the warm summer months following my high school graduation I basked in the sunshine of my newfound adulthood. I had a car, a steady job, and the freedom to leave town for weeks at a time. I returned home infrequently, and these trips were almost always in the name of social calls. On one such occasion, I attended a party with one of my best friends. We drove along the winding dirt roads of Colrain, in search of our friend’s far-off farm where we would not be disrupted or caught drinking underage. The briskness of the night was a welcome break from the oppressive heat of the August d

Shedding Skin

S

Shedding Skin

I am no stranger to evolution. My life is one that has often left me with no option but to adapt quickly to rapidly changing circumstances. I have twisted, bent, stretched, and squeezed myself into scenarios, places, and people before I was ready or it was comfortable. And I have wiggled, climbed, and torn myself out of these same tight spots when the need grew strong. I learned early that there are many spaces in which I cannot fit. Again and again I watched people wait to ease into some sort of conformity.  I looked on in dismay as they prayed that their very selves would shrink so that they may require less room. I saw them hope that the k

Bad Body Days

B

Bad Body Days

The air has been beautiful lately. Even at my most tired, I have opted to walk to work in the early mornings and soak up the sun’s first rays peering through my neighborhood’s gold and crimson leaves. The air has also been biting on these occasions, but unable to give up the smell of the night’s rain on the pavement, I have pulled my scarves and sweatshirts from the back of my closet, and inhaled the changing seasons. This particular time of year is usually one I find difficult. This time around isn’t especially different, although I have been taking steps to avoid the annual hibernation and shutdown I have experience

Melancholy

M

Melancholy

Depression is a lonely thing. Even now, in a generation that is becoming more and more vocal about the issue, I find that I– and presumably others like me– still safeguard our ailment and rarely allude to the severity of our experiences. My best guess as to the reason for this, is that despite the barrage of awareness campaigns that have begun to sweep the internet, there is still an underlying attitude of discomfort– a recoiling– towards any type of mental illness. If someone is not suffering from some sort of trendy or movie-style horrifying and intrusive disorder like DID their ailment tends to be overlooked.  For

Ex-Boyfriend(/Franz Ferdinand)

E

Ex-Boyfriend(/Franz Ferdinand)

Charm you and tell you Of the boys I hate All the girls I hate All the words I hate All the clothes I hate How I’ll never be anything I hate You smile, mention something that you like How you’d have a happy life If you did the things you like I listened to Franz Ferdinand’s, “Dark of the Matinee,” yesterday for the first time in something like five years. It brings me back to a lot of closing shifts on warm summer nights in Shelburne Falls. I remember mopping and laughing with old friends while this album played in the background. At that point in my life, I was still posting lyrics that suited my mood t

Homesick

H

Homesick

I cannot remember a single time that I have felt legitimate homesickness. Not in my entire life. I recently was told (numerous times) that I am cold and unfeeling. These traits are news to me. But maybe my inability to feel strongly about a place I call my home is a result of my alleged coldness. Or at lease an illustration of it. I’m not so quick to buy this. I have felt a deep and heartfelt longing for places that I have not yet been able to call home. Maybe this is my real crime. Sometimes I feel as though it is my aspirations that have damned me.  My family has condemned me again and again for reaching farther than they ever have,

Acupuncture

A

Acupuncture

Something is wrong. For days I have felt weak. My sleep has been heavy and dull; my waking hours filled with vague melancholy and sharp spikes of id. I have not upset my routine: at 6am I still know your decaf, your milk on the side. My mouth is a wide grin. My eyes are glass. I went to acupuncture today. My heart has been in my throat this week, breaking only to travel to the pit of my stomach. Needles have helped before. I can never seem to shake the sorrow that I feel when I am expecting bad news. It's not that I am anxious: it's that in my mind I have prepared to grieve and I can already feel it with my entirety. I am always certain pe

b

b

b

It's only a week later and yet I've already forgotten your face. I can picture it only in one specific moment: I see you smiling after you kissed me goodbye at the airport. Otherwise, it's all in pieces. I see your laughlines. I remember your hands. I can feel your touch on my spine and on my wrist. I know the way you smell. I remember the way your hair looked during sex and I know the way it feels in my grasp. I remember your voice. I loved your voice. I've been so affected.

Spotlight

Road to Agua Verde

6Comments
  • United States
  • Deviant for 17 years
  • She / Her
Badges
Super Llama: Llamas are awesome! (15)
My Bio
I wish I still made art. When I was younger I dabbled in emo poetry. Then I dabbled in mediocre photography. Now the only thing I create is food. I feel ok with that.

Favourite Visual Artist
Bechtle, Renoir, Warhol, and no, i DON'T like Van Gogh
Favourite Movies
Eternal Sunshine..., The Butterfly Effect, V for Vendetta
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
APC. Tool, Modest Mouse, the White Stripes
Favourite Writers
Jean-Paul Sartre, Camus, Ayn Rand, DeLillo, Vonnegut, Morrison
Tools of the Trade
My camera, my eyes, and my brain.
Other Interests
art, in all forms, music, literature, people, life, LANGUAGE

Important - please read

Important - please read

Hi guys- I learned earlier this week that my father has suffered a very severe head injury, and he's been unconscious for almost an entire week at this point. The doctors are beginning to limit his treatment, so I am trying hard to scrape together the money I need to race home before he passes. Please read and share this link: http://www.gofundme.com/c4uoss

Hey bitches, I'm alive!

Hey bitches, I'm alive!

I wish very much that I had some art to post. I wish I wrote. I wish I could draw. I wish I had a better camera and some inspiration. At this time in my life I am busy working and thinking about food. I am dodging disappointment from my adoptive family and ducking from the chaos of my biological family. It's a rough time. I'm thinking of starting a small homemade jam business. I'm not gonna tell you the name because it is simply so badass I am not going to risk anybody taking it and then getting their shit together faster than me. I'm serious. Also, I want to pick up a bit more modelling and I'm planning on making a separate devART account

New projects

New projects

Well, I don't really write crappy poetry anymore. Like, ever. I don't really write anything for school. I don't write essays, articles, or anything like that. I don't draw. I don't do any photography. So what do I do? I'm an adult. I work. I pay my bills from time to time. I owe the department of education thousands of dollars and I dont have a degree. I cook a whole lot. I'm starting a blog: http://lustyglutton.wordpress.com Check it out. I model from time to time too. Also: I made my sister a devART account. She's basically just me 9 years ago. check her out too. michelleroselikespie (https://www.deviantart.com/michelleroselikespie) :)

Comments 374

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Thank you. I'm glad you liked the embossed filtered photo:)
Thanks for watching! :eager:
no problem. It's well-deserved.
quite late, but thank you for the fave :3
thanks for the fave! :)