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Waiting With StrangersYou know what blows my mind? Strangers. Well, not just strangers, but the contrast between strangers and friends. I notice it a lot more when I'm forced to be around strangers for extended periods of time. It happens hundreds of times every day. Bus stops, elevators, restaurants, waiting rooms. I start to wonder about these people, these strangers. I'm not too great at reading faces, but I still try. Its hard not to wonder about them. Why are they here? Where did they come from? What are they really like? In a certain way you start to know them. You begin to recognize bits and pieces of emotion in their faces, emotion that you go through each and every day. A grimace, a half-grin, eyes that stare listlessly at the ground, their owner clearly lost in thought. Its the kind of stuff you hide from anyone that you consider a friend. No one wants to be friends with someone like that. Someone who lets their pain shine through, someone "troubled", someone "depressed". Someone who has the intel
Milo Milo stood perfectly still. It seemed almost a crime to upset the silence of the landscape that surrounded him, a landscape that seemed to listen closely for even the slightest disturbance. Standing at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere and and trying to decide which direction to head, the trees to either side seemed to close in around him, muffling even the normal sounds of nature. Milo looked up to the dark gray sky above him, just as the first drops of rain began to fall. He reflected on the long journey that each drop rushed to complete, only to shatter to a million pieces upon reaching its destination. Suddenly his own journey seemed much less urgent.
Slowly, he turned right and began to walk along the road. Shortly the road became smaller and eventually it turned into a dirt path through the woods. Today marked the fifth day since Milo had left his familys farm. His father had
Clotho's Danceand the song
as the stars
all fell in time
as intended to fall
and so we danced on
in crowded dancehall
new dancers appeared
and old ones departed
the dance stole partners
with whom we had started
and some times the beat
was decidedly off and
Rooftop SestinaOne day as atop my roof I sat
Upon the street below I looked
And beheld the people as they went
From atop my private perch
How small these people seemed
All in haste about their tasks
All caught up in fleeting tasks
Not one beheld me where I sat
Too engrossed in life they seemed
To see from whence I looked
They spied not my favored perch
And as quickly came as went
Wondering where the time went
They rushed to their silly tasks
And I laughed from atop my perch
Almost falling from where I sat
Like a swirling sea the ground looked
Higher had I gone, or so it seemed
Ever so small this ground seemed
That quickly fear came and went
How unreal the ground looked
And the people about their tasks
I was tempted to leap from where I sat
Just to prove the truth of my perch
I stood halfway off my perch
And halfway upon air that seemed
Real as the roof on which Id sat
And down below the people went
They and I content with our tasks
I closed my eyes as no one looked
Ground grew close and up I lo
Making Lonely Little StainsI spilled wine on the camera
And it got drunk with me
It took pictures of a time
That I have yet to see
So unlike my memories
Are these photographs
They look just like my book
Filled with foreign autographs
I spilled wine on the banister
And it got angry with me
It let me tumble away
Because revenge is easy
It left me sore and crumpled
At the bottom of the floor
All on behalf of spilled wine
And I just wanted more
I spilled wine upon the floor
But not from within my cup
And no longer could I stand
Nor tell which way was up
And as I lay there wondering
Just who would come and save me
I came to a realization
That continues to amaze me
I spill wine between my lips
To make my world worth taking
And I have lived for many years
Content with inebriation
And as I lay upon the ground
I feared not being forgot
I was renowned within the city
I excelled in the dark
I spilled wine on the camera
And it got drunk and shot me
And someone followed suit
Their face too dark to see
And out of deafening da
Spring, RebornThe wintry ash disappears from the ground
And a phoenix is born in the east
Its less mythic kin are all northern bound
Their internment down south having ceased
Their voices call out in harmonious song
No voice out of tune in the least
And the beautiful song reaches very far down
And awakens the slumbering beast
The beasts and the birds have all come around
To sing and to dance and to feast
In warm springtime air their voices resound
"Til the phoenix once more is deceased
HolesHoles in my clothing
And holes in my mind
And holes in the ceiling
That raindrops will find
They fall from the heavens
And slip through the holes
Right through the ceiling;
My mind; My clothes
The liquid, it pools
Collects in my mind
It coats every crevasse
Or cracks it can find
But my mind works better
When something's not right
Raindrops won't break it
Or decrease its sight
And my clothes fit better
Once they've been drenched
They cling to my arms
Like fists tightly clenched
Little fists with little holes
Their knuckles dark and bruised
Beaten and broken and beaten again
From years of heartfelt abuse
Rain continues to fall
Through the holes in my ceiling
It slowly pools on the floor
The linoleum is peeling
But a house that's gone to waste
Seems just about right for me
It seems to match my person
Or who I've been lately
Yes, holes in the ceiling
Are really right for me
These holes are like theatres
And this show is for free
At night I just look on up
When the stars all shine on throug
Words UnspokenWords are stronger than blows
But silence is stronger still
So throw your blows at me
Like we both know you will
And I'll maintain my silence
As you maintain your pride
But you're throwing away your dignity
When I don't dodge or hide
But in a way you save me
With every punch you throw
Pain at least makes sense to me
In fact its all I know
So set me free from this debris
That was me once upon a time
And show me how to know me
When to be me is a crime
Its no blunder to make some thunder;
Break asunder my outer shell
There's got to be some truth to me
Underneath this wretched hell
And words are stronger than your blows
And my silence is stronger still
So throw your fists, throw your life away
Like we both know you will
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
By the LakeSat beneath a Christmas tree in late-March.
The ground is damp but pliant, it pretends to accept me
and then sneaks its cold fingers through my clothes
to dampen my spirits further with its chilly undertones.
I stare at the river, plump with soon-to-be April showers.
It does roly-polys over the smallest of obstacles and goes on.
It reminds me of what I should be able to do.
It runs as I grind to a full stop, and consider my life sentence.
The sky is blue; not like me, but bright and crisped;
Its been blurred by an amateur around the edges with cloud
But they don’t threaten me with rain just yet so, for now, we are friends.
The sun is missing. No one knows where she is.
She could be dead, by now. At the bottom of the lake.
Could have slunk there in a midday sunset.
She could of drowned her sorrows in the ricocheting tides
of a man made dam and its loosened throat. She could be.
She is not, she is hiding.
The sun hides from the world but leaves a blue sheen behind
to let everyone k
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
The SeaLife is the sea that never ceases to smash to pieces the person that I claim myself to be
The absolute essence of me, laid out for all to see
Left out to dry by this so-called sea.
Friends are the waves that come and go, ebb and flow,
Carrying themselves ever farther from me
They dare not be seen with one so unclean,
Impure by unanimous decree
With but a word they could save, but instead gossip and rave.
No more do they crave, these things called waves.
Enemies are the water that tries to drown me, it surrounds me
Acting in ways meant to confound me
To take a drink means death I know, but I crave that cold drink so
I dare not drink I think
To welcome this water is to welcome relief
To give in to grief for one last reprieve.
But while how I got here is hard to perceive, I know that this water is not how I leave.
Because you are the air that gives me life, erases strife,
Cuts though this sea that I call life
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More