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The ArtistsHe told himself not to touch the wet paint.
But it's too late,
it's dried to his fingertips.
It's tracked its way to under his eyes,
turquoise and yellowy-brown tears.
She told herself she'd keep it clean.
But it's too late,
there's graphite on the side of her hand.
Eraser shavings under her nails,
ink stain shadows under her eyes.
They're smeary gray, purple-flecked
crying colors and rimmed in feelings.
They told themselves they'd keep it hidden,
present the same blank sheet as all the others.
But it's too late,
they were artwork before they knew any better.
Lies"Everything is okay. Everything is fine. I'm fine."
I watch the reflection of my lips move in the mirror, studying the tiny flinches and wobbles, the cracks and fissures in the surface where the skin has been peeled. Just minutes ago they were bleeding, but I recover quickly. I'm strong, aren't I?
My lips have stopped now, shaking, and my breath clouds the glass.
"I'm fine…" I whimper. I stop, rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving their reflections "…If only I could believe it was true."
"Try harder, then," my reflection spits back at me. She raises her hand as though to strike me, and I take a deep breath.
I go back to memorizing my lines.
the world can hear you breathe.
Your heart is racing.
Close those eyes,
the world can feel you see.
The ceiling watches you,
lie down flat,
feel your breath upon the floor.
Quiet, be still,
don't be here anymore.
ReminiscentI remember when poetry
was cheap, knock-off feelings
in ninth-grade spiral bound notebooks.
Where the depressing ones
gave bragging rights,
and the same thoughts written at least twice.
Words tamped into the paper,
worn out by the pen.
A collection, show-offy.
My classmates passing notebooks,
and collecting the same cheap sympathy.
I wouldn't do it,
but time has passed, those girls have grown
from poetry to scarred wrists to denial,
torn-out pages, (they never happened, right?)
And here I am,
scribbling in spiral notebooks,
wearing out my pen.
SpeakMy memories have congealed,
syrupy and sickly-sweet,
but the movements of my thoughts
are a river of broken eggshells
and the trampled sobbing of
I wander between snowbanks
but it's just as cold inside
as anywhere else.
I talk with my hands now,
I'm a signer,
because I can't make my voice heard.
It's soft, it's trapped in the weight of my breath,
But my hands are strong
and so very loud.
I want to be listened to,
but I'm so scared of being heard.
So I unscrew the jars of my thoughts,
attempting to pour them out,
let them free.
But it's too late,
and they drip, viscous,
to the cold, waiting floor.
Baby's lullabyall of the children went to their beds,
a soft starry light guarding their heads;
hush now baby, don't you weep,
silence is just music put to sleep.
Lolli's Desu and Helpful List of PLZ's:iconiloveitplz: :iconiloveitmoreplz: :iconretardiloveitplz: :iconiheartitplz: :iconilovekrissiplz: :iconikilleditplz: :iconinomitplz: :iconirapeitplz: :iconilikeitplz: :iconilickitplz: :iconidislikeitplz: :iconihateitplz: :iconiwantitplz: :iconicantbelieveitplz: :iconiderpitplz: :iconikissitplz: :iconidontloveitplz:
:iconcutiesmileplz: :iconcutederpplz: :iconsashawinkplz: :iconnightsmirkplz: :icontsukinosmirkplz: :icongoldilockswinkplz: :icontakuyastareplz: :iconabyssstareplz: :iconrosestareplz: :iconcuterrhplz: :iconmashirosmirkplz: :iconrawrblushplz: :icontiktokblushplz: :iconsmilederpplz: :iconderppfftplz:
:iconshyblushplz: :iconcrazyblushplz: :iconblushingmadplz: :iconmassiveblushplz: :icondizzyblushplz: :iconsweetblushplz:
:iconholygoodnessplz: :iconhappytearplz: :iconwrahplz: :iconyeeshplz: :iconhappyderpplz: :iconsnivelplz:
:iconimseriousplz: :iconimveryseriousplz: :iconimrealyseriousplz: :iconimultraseriousplz: :iconimepicseriousplz: :iconimultimateseriousplz: :iconiminfi
Together, in snacky happiness
Together, in snack-y happiness
in snack-y happiness
In my galaxy there is a special treat
For chocolate cake it surely does beat
It sparkles and shines in cosmic noise
"Share with me!" she said, in such a sweet voice
As we eat them, together, in snack-y happiness
They fall from the sky from angels above
When I eat just one I fly like a dove!
For these are the star bits I share with you
I hope you will be in happiness too
Hungry Luma's will eat star bits all day
So Mario can fly far, far away
Rosalina will gladly send you s
shattered reflection kevin
kevin cross time shattered reflection (kevin ,gwevin, cross time)
chap 1....... the other me (beyond the looking glass)
ua/af 17 year old kevin accidentally cross time traveling into the ken 10 universe/world meting the stuffy adult ben 10k that af ben and af gwen had met as kids and also meting Devlin and of course the adult Gwendolyn (thinking she is hot ) and kevin has to convince them that he is a good person unlike evil kevin 11000 so that they will help him get back to his own time and world and there will be some gwevin and some cute dev kev thing in this too
for simplicity im going to refer to the characters accordingly
adult ken 10 gwen = Gwendolyn
adult ken 10 ben = ben 10k
adult ken 10 kevin = kevin 11000
af/ua 17 year old kevin = kevin
af/ua 16 year old gwen = gwen
af/ua 16 year old ben = ben
****************************** ********************* ********************
(( alien force/ultimate alien world ))
kevin Levin: 17 year old
gwen, sunny & ben: 16
Blue and OrangeA flash of orange,
A flash of blue.
A portal for me,
A portal for you.
The cake is a lie,
Don't be a noob.
Get ready to catch,
The Companion Cube!
Knock down the turret,
"Are you still there?"
Quick, send it soaring,
Up high in the air!
Well here we are,
Get your gun ready.
Launch a rocket at GLaDOS,
Keep your hand steady!
The game is over,
"You know what? You win!"
Playing Portal is fun,
You'll leave with a grin.
A Pony PoemTwilight is the smartest; Fluttershy is the sweetest.
Pinkie Pie is funny; Rarity is the neatest.
Applejack is strong, but Rainbow Dash's speed
Can't be matched by anypony, she's always in the lead.
A bunny for your troubles, a Gummy for your do,
an owl for your pedestal, a tortoise just for you,
as Opal bats your face and Winona flocks your sheep,
and Spike writes up your letter before he falls asleep.
The ponies and their friendship, they're coming just for you.
They'll rob you of your dignity and sweeten what you do.
You'll fight and bite and shout, refusing to give in,
till Fluttershy sings her lullaby and gently tucks you in.
Join the herd today.
If I were a teddy bearIf I were a teddy bear, I want to be the dullest colour in life
It's not the brightest that get attention, it would be the price
All I want is a master, not any more plaster
My body is already filled with cuts, as I don't need any more haircuts
My heart has not stopped, it's not the cold
It's just on hold, to admire the spot
As I be picked, my heart will be clicked
Why do I cry in your arms, when I'm filled with joy over your charms
One day I will be the one to soak up your tears, as I be here for years
Little Red's StarsLittle Red scrubbed until her knuckles bled,
her knees grew raw and her cheeks turned red.
"Day in and day out," by the Stars she was told,
"Work hard, and you will soon be worth your weight in gold."
So she did: she worked day in and day out,
in fog, in water, in rain and in drought,
her lips the only part of her that did not move
for she knew the Stars would disapprove.
The villagers always stopped to ask her when she bled:
"Why do you not speak at all, Little Red?
Move me like you move the ground, wade the waters,
so we may leave an example to all our daughters."
She was born with a voice, you see:
one that could give even fire a spark, they would decree--
part the sea, make the earth drum under her taught feet--
yet, they could not figure out why she would not speak.
She only looked down and returned to her work, no doubt,
for everyday they knew she worked day in and day out--
from five in the morning to five in the evening,
to when her hands and knees would have no feeling.
Some Nights I'm Afraid of ThingsSome nights I’m afraid of things
of being sick, of taking a bad fall
of big, fanged bats with leathery wings
the fights I hear through my bedroom wall.
By day my fears might go away,
and then I am happily free,
but at night they might come back to play,
I’m afraid of things, they’re real to me.
I tell my mother, she says ‘don’t worry!’
My father says there’s nothing to fear.
They don’t see, they’re in a hurry,
but to me the dangers are all too clear.
Some say my worries have no ground,
that of fear I know nothing yet.
But what if I lose homework, and it’s never found,
or something happens to my favorite pet?
My teacher laughs, she says I’m funny,
she doesn’t know this gives me pain.
She tells me to make each day sunny,
she doesn’t know it sometimes rains
Bugs crawl into my ears at night
big mean dogs, a bad story-elf,
and at morning the bugs take flight
but through the night I’m by myself.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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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