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TalkTalk talk talk
That's what people do
Talk talk talk
So why can't I?
Talk talk talk
I wish I could
Talk talk talk
But who would talk to me anyways?
Halloween Twas Halloween morning, the air filled with the scent of rising evil, the atmosphere preparing itself for what was to come. The trees started to lose their leaves in fear and the plants withered. The wind blew stronger naively believing that it could simply blow away it away. The temperature dropped like an anvil from a cliff. The once long happy long summer days transitioned into the short, cold miserable days. As the evil continued to terrorize nature, it decided to start the real battle; against nature’s inhabitants. Some slept, deciding to have it just be a bad dream.
”Halloween,” The woman murmured, “The night when things happen, strange things. Tis the night of my birth, the night of my death, and the night of my rise,” She continued to look down upon the world as she slowly woke from her slumber. She commanded her army with an iron fist. Moth
A MonsterA monster
You turn away
You look back
You're forever lost
Haven't decided a nameI used to dream.
I used to dream my prince would come,
he would save me from myself, my twisted, depressed, ugly self
But he never came
I used to dream
I used to dream I'd grow up,
I'd become a doctor
I'd help people, make them better
But now I won't
I used to dream that
I used to dream that I'd be able to dance
I'd dance & dance flawlessly across the floor
But that'll never happen
But now those dreams are gone
Contest entryI'm deleting entries from my journal. So I decided to put this as a deviation instead
For :iconpurple-pony-of-choas:'s contest
A heart of a pig
I loved her
She tossed them
Saying I was a fool to think she would ever even consider a single step with me.
Why must a heart of a pig be what she have?
of being portrayed as a fool
of her rudeness
So I cut her heart out, to make it mine.
And replaced it
Something...Journals / Personal
I remember it all.
Laying in the meadow, thinking of what fate had in store.
in summer's golden sun.
When a princess became 16,
Happily ever after in other words.
And there I lay thinking that would happen to me
But I was wrong.
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
My Name and StoryYou might know my name
For it is occasionally said
But you don't know my story
You might have heard someone else's version
But what do they know about me?
I feel like a mystery,
Waiting to be solved
A closed book
Waiting for someone to open me
Because I'm sitting on the shelf collecting dust
With nothing to do but wait
My story is mine and mine alone
It is both tragic and joyous
But with a twist
I could tell it to you
But would you understand?
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