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C Chronicles, Pt Ii'm not sure if i can remember how to write, but i want to relearn, just for you. i want to have the freshest and happiest time of my life documented in some way, i want to write about you. i need to learn how to write something cheerful instead of all the depressed and heartbroken crap i used to slap onto the page. i want to capture your scent in words, your laugh in paragraphs. i want you to be pressed not only between my pages, but between my sheets, between my arms, my legs, even. i want your warmth to come through in my tone and your shy eyes, which have faded from a deep brown to a lighter hazel, to brighten up my words. i want to be daring for you, to go do crazy stuff and laugh the whole way through. i want you to see me as you never have before: silly, drunk, strong, motivated, outgoing, intimidating, naked. i want you to turn your head back for a double-take every time i walk by with my chin held high. you should be giddy
It makes me ill3rd grade, 4th grade:
A sickening drop in my stomach,
My head is in the lowest gear.
I know that they live such different lives,
And yet we are connected by blood.
I can hear my pulse stop from the beat of their music,
I can feel my abdomen shrink into my spine as they yell at their mother,
I can see my hands shake even though we have the same blue eyes and same round cheeks.
I am terrified of their reality.
8th grade, 9th grade:
Strangers produce this physiological change in me:
Those with dark eyes, dark hair-
Those who are obviously different from me.
I am scared of realities I know aren't mine.
12th grade, 13th grade:
The reality I came to love is what frightens me the most.
The 4th grader within me is trembling in my palms,
She is crying in my ears,
Trying to cover up the sounds of your hiccups,
Trying to cover up the feeling of your tremors in my arms.
I trust you with my life,
But I don't trust you with your own.
I am frightened of a reality that I cannot protect.
14th grade, 15
'you can tell me anything, you know that'what i have to say is
"i'm feeling pretty sad right now"
but it can be illegal to let
negativity sprout in the crevices
of support structures and tear ducts.
what i want to tell you is
"i miss what i left behind with him"
but it is not well looked upon
to tell of misfortunes with old loves
to those who could be new.
what i wish i could say is
"the healthier i get, the more i want
to go back in time"
but those words would fall upon
full hearts, heightened expectations,
and lost connections.
i set ablaze every bridge
i came across, and there is no way
to travel back now,
and there would be not a single soul
waiting there for me.
what i do say is
"my shoulders are burning today,
my back feels broken this evening,
my eyes are dull tonight"
because physical ailments
are tangible and have permission
to exist, but, indeed,
they are the easiest pains
to cause myself.
flaws in composure are flaws in armorrepetitive two- or three- word phrases
are the outer limit of my vocabulary
when all i can hear is
my pulse in my throat and
my hands and legs rattling
against the floorboards.
my back is spiraling into itself,
searching for my stomach, for my lungs,
searching for a reason for this
suffocating pain and imminent death.
my eyes can't settle on any single object,
because everything is fragile
and i'm afraid to watch anything break-
maybe it's because i watched you break,
i watched my words break your trust,
i watched my actions wreck your beliefs.
a few minutes later, when the attack passes
and i'm alone on my bedroom floor,
i detach my arms from around my knees,
shove myself up with whatever strength i can muster,
and scrub yesterday's makeup
from the bags under my eyes.
someday i'll look back on this
and i'll see that i was a warrior.
a warrior with holes in my armor.
a paladin without a proper breastplate,
lacking the internal systems
that offer refuge during something as simple
as a p
looking for danger at 3 amcracking you open,
right there on the street,
would give me the satisfaction
that i've never asked for.
you offered me your wrist for me
for weeks, for months, for years,
wishing i'd hurt you just so your tears
could be "justified".
don't you know?
you didn't get the memo?
none of us have the justification
that we feel gives us permission
to destroy or be destroyed.
we're all wandering the alleys at night
that someone will stab us in the gut,
just because we wouldn't flinch
and wouldn't give up our wallet.
kidalmost every damn day
i halt words that are about to spill from my throat,
i hiccup over sentences that i can't bear to speak.
three letter words can serve as a trigger
that launches a full fledged attack on my nerves,
which in turn launches me out into the street.
and every time my heel hits the pavement
all i can hear is "get out. get out. get out."
all i know is that i need to get out.
and i need to get out fast.
but almost every damn day
i spit out terms of endearment
for all of those who
i hold so dangerously high.
i almost collapse under their weight
when that short, seemingly insignificant word
almost sneaks past my lips.
the soles of my sneakers
can barely hold me aloft
when i run with such panicked purpose,
hearing nothing but
"how could i almost- how could i almost-
how could i almost say-"
and knowing that
indeed, i almost said it.
and almost every damn day
i lash out at the memories
that i've cut into jigsaw pieces,
trying to throttle the
panic-prone girl i've grown from
it's true - i'm leaving youconvincing a child that someone is now
from their life is a matter of
saying goodbye, wiping up tears,
and never seeing a trace of them
as an eighteen year old,
i would have appreciated the child's version
of this ritual of persuasion.
instead, i got two-month intervals of
delay and lingering,
times of remaining identical
to the stale soul i had become.
i could count the intervals
exactly to the day -
two months was the longest
anyone could go before shattering
into insignificant shards.
as a twenty year old,
i have become skeptical
of the idea that someone could
leave at all.
i might not speak to them,
i might not see them,
i might not notice things around me
that used to define my vision of them,
but the absence of habits
gives absolutely no validity
to the claim that they are
forever gone from my world.
i have spent four point zero two percent
of my life with dulled senses.
for ten months
my vision was blurry,
my hearing was garbled,
my sense of smell was pract
you wonder how you ended up herewhat am i doing to myself?
that surge of panic
a heart-stuttering, mouth-opening, clenching-of-the-jaw
the realization that my hands are to blame
for the strength of my bones
for the confidence in my eyes
for the smile that comes so naturally now-
how do i take this back?
how could i be such a stranger to myself
how could i let my dreams fall away
how could i pack it all into a single shoe box
how could i leave her behind,
after all she's done for me?
this line is much too thin to walk
and my bathophobia is making me stumble
one side of the fence houses
fruit, sweat, strength, genuine laughter, newness of life
and enough self-worth to inspire
the other contains
blood, tears, collapse and destruction, a lack of sleep
and enough regret to drown everyone i've ever loved
and yet, in my eyes, it is comfort
how do i choose between health and safety?
why am i making myself destroy one life to start an
you will never feel quite cleanempty bottle resembles empty heart
and empty head,
and empty bed
every song is a punch to the gut
reminding her that she must
be better, be stronger, be confident
and yet relapse is on the road
to the imaginary land of recovery
she develops an intense relationship
with her lonesome bed
blanets reach out to keep her pinned
-with tear-stained cheeks, chewed up nails,
swollen shoulder blades
her mattress is desperate for the kisses and sighs
she gives it night after night
your smile used to be bright. | kaneki ken
Why̴ ͢įs ̡t͠h̵e ͠wo̴r͘ld͡ ̨so̢ ̨c͞r͞uel?
"Are you worried about him?" He — Banjou, if you remember his name correctly — asks as he rests a hand on your right shoulder. You decide not to respond to him and continued to stay silent. Of course, you were worried about him. You were just about worried as everyone here in the cafe. "There's no need to be worried, though. Kaneki is a strong guy. I'm sure he'll make it. We'll save him, too. I promise." He says, trying his best to reassure you with a smile.
"Is it a promise you can keep?" You questioned, your voice mellow. "Promises are meant to be broken, you know."
"I don't break my promises." He says.
"Okay." You're not sure if you trusted him or not — because once you give someone your utmost trust, they'll betray you and throw you away. You'll be forgotten, and you'll be all alone again. Giving your trust to someone else is difficult and pa
Meal: Six (6) Maine red lobster tails
One (1) bowl of black caviar
One (1) glass of Chardonnay
One (1) scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, topped with dark chocolate ganache and a Maraschino cherry.
Comments: Garbage. I always knew rich people were full of shit.
Meal: One (1) pepperoni pizza from Little Caesar’s.
One (1) waffle cone, chocolate
Meal: One (1) bottle of Clear American, Fuji Apple flavor
Two (2) Payday candy bars.
Meal: Two (2) fried chicken legs
One (1) bowl of mashed potatoes, brown gravy
One (1) bowl of creamed corn
One (1) glass of milk
One (1) slice of peach pie
Comments: Just like Mom used to make.
Meal: One (1) bowl of tomato soup
One (1) grilled cheese
One (1) serving of spaghetti squash
One (1) Jello vanilla pudding
Meal: One (1) bowl of spaghetti
Two (2) Olive Garden breadsticks
One (1) bag of buttered popcorn, dusted with
Hetalia x reader Prologue
The schoolbell rang throught the hallways of your school and all the doors flew open. That means one thing: A schoolday was finally over. As the doors opened everyone walked outside. Some were running happily and some were taking it slowly, including you. You walked out with your schoolbag around your shoulder and sighed in relief. You were glad that it was finally, because for you it was really boring and you couldn't wait to read some Hetalia fanfiction on your laptop. You waved your best friend goodbye with a smile and walked away with a tired smile.
You walked inside with tired (e/c) eyes and a frown on your face. You leaned against the door, looked down at the floor and sighed. You never felt so tired after school.
"Are you okay, honey?" A voice said. You looked up and saw your mom in front of you with worried (e/c) eyes. She walked over to you and put a hand on your forehead. "Hmm. No fever. But you really don't look good." she said
You didn't even perform an autopsyYou placed me in the bed of a sarcophagus.
I asked, "Isn't this where you put dead people?"
"Then why am I here?"
"You're dead, of course."
breathing the deepPapa isn't coming home again tonight.
He said to me over the telephone that the road is too long, and that it takes too much time for him to get from his office to mommy's place.
Last week he'd said that the streets are too dark, and that there are some things that even grown-ups are scared of.
The week before that, he'd promised me and said that he was coming, yes, definitely, but then he never showed up at all.
But maybe next week he'll come.
Yes, next week.
Julia, you really should be going to sleep.
I know, mommy. I think I'll wait by the window for a little longer.
Just in case.
amorei picked my heart up off the floor
times before giving in to shattered-glass arteries and a fragile state of mind.
nothing went right
until constellations rained from heavens and made angels with their teeth. their goddess stepped forward until i could taste her on my tongue. she leaned into me and whispered
"you are loved"
then fell into my mouth like raindrops off of leaves and melted into me.
heart in hands,
i cradle myself for the eighth time...
through kaleidoscope eyes,
i can tell that she will be my last.
all of itall i know is that my body is trembling from how angry i am, and i refuse to
cry. my body is bruising, and i love it. my fists are twitching with how
much i want to punch you in the face. i want blood. i want blood on my
all you do is lie to me. it doesn't matter if it's something important or
something insignificant, you lie regardless. you lie about yourself, you lie
about me, you lie about others. you're just a liar.
all people do is take advantage of me. you did, he did. everybody does. you
say you love me, you try to keep me from falling to pieces. all you're really
doing is fucking me and holding me in your tight grip so that i can't be loved
by anyone else. i'm sick of this.
all i've been thinking for the past year is that i need to take a break,
figure my life out. my life will never be figured out, and any time i think
i've got i
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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