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she didn't believe in anything but cigarettesmy mother tells me not
to cry over spilled milk
but it makes it so much
easier to forget about
the bloody bird laying
dead on the bathroom tile
NotI want to pluck off every one of her petals
and leave behind the shell of a flower.
He loves me.
I want to rip out every piece of his hair
and make him ugly,
so she won't call him beautiful anymore.
He loves me not.
hide and seekeveryone looks to the stars
but maybe if we focused more
on the grains of sand
beneath our feet we might
just find something a little
SonnetMy world has gone ahead and left me here
To keep myself awake through lonely nights.
I cannot help but wonder, wait, and fear;
And fight between the weights of wrong and right.
Warmth has left, and in it's place --a shiver
Now keeps me from the realm of blessed sleep.
You were once my strength, but now I quiver,
For when you left you took with you my peace.
So my heart will try to beat --but faintly.
I'll sit in patience 'waiting your return.
The life I felt before --a distant mem'ry.
With every breath I take I feel the burn.
I made the choice to love and set you free --
Embracing hope, I wish you back to me.
i was never good at starting these things
did you know some flowers
only open at night?
they must not be very afraid
of the dark
i wish i could say the same
i can't light my candle anymore,
maybe it's telling me
that i should stop trying
i didn't really like that blister
on my thumb anyways
i noticed that my veins
were the same color as the ocean
and i made myself bleed
my veins lied and blood is red, not blue
i guess i just thought i was different
i wish you could read these
i don't know how to write anymore
and i always knew this would happen sometime.
but god why now?
i still haven't figured out what i wanted to say
this will be my last letter to you
and i thought i'd let you know
that i will never know what i wanted to say
i was never really good at ending these either
Cracked LipsI cut my own tongue
on it's razor sharp edges.
Lacerated words arise
from hidden places.
The sweet salt drips
down my cracked lips
and onto my
What have I done?
a little more
(or maybe we'd just go broke).
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More