aggressive, you tell your therapist,
he's always been aggressive.
you detail the storms you weathered,
the verbal battering ram,
the hammer that kept falling until
the nail fell into place.
"he never hit me", you're quick to assure,
but you do speak, eventually,
about the threats, about the way he towered
over you, above you, through you,
the ways he threatened to hurt you &
the time you watched her fly into a wall.
but, but, but, but, but
you don't want to be unfair to him.
his demons are sharper-clawed,
bigger, scarier, more sadistic.
yours are a children'
please don't take my sunshine away by LionessAmaya, literature
Literature
please don't take my sunshine away
A quick list of lies to tell yourself while the sun is out:
1. You are always this happy. Days spent frolicking in the sunlight count back to birth and stretch forwards into eternity. Joy is all you have ever known and all you ever will know.
2. The heat is caressing you, not smothering you. It ripples over your skin like a lover’s fingers, gentle and pleasant. There is no sweat on your forehead or shortness to your breath. You sip the lemonade because it’s pleasant and refreshing, not because your throat is parched and dry.
3. You lie still because you want to, not because you can’t get up.
4. There is no
failure is a monster under my skin,
kept in check by constant vigilance.
i cannot afford the moment of relaxation
that will allow it to rip me to shreds.
it lives inside my chest,
and i learn to take shallow breaths.
there's a place inside me where the words used to be
deep & dark & alive
today, it houses only failure
and to crack it open is to risk everything
i once fancied myself brave.
They will tell you that your words don’t matter.
You can tell them that if they could only listen,
They would hear everything you are in your voice.
When you tell a story, and you talk with your hands,
And the words rush out of your mouth like a river,
Your whole soul hides in the beats between syllables.
You are beautiful when you forget yourself,
When you talk too loud and too fast for too long,
And forget to breathe until your tale is done.
What they call rambling we call abstract;
It may mean nothing at all to them,
But don’t ever let them tell you it’s worthless.
life is full of broken possibilities
abandoned promises
&half-finished hopes
so open the word file
type the last stanza
get
over
yourself
when you hit save
you'll feel it in your bones
Our teacher, who worshipped Shakespeare as a God,
and had a whole stack of tragic bibles to choose from,
she scrawled our grades from I to X at the top of our work,
forever stuck in the past.
Our class of low-achievers looked at combinations of Is and Vs;
they cheered or grumbled, moaned or smiled, and stared comparing.
I never learned my roman numerals, but it didn’t matter;
there isn’t one for zero.
Our teacher, who bowed down to crumbling skeletons,
with her brain stuffed full of useless knowledge,
she drew an O Julius Caesar would have t’sked at, and this:
“Plagiarism will not be tolerated.”
And I, who spe
what passes for spontaneity in your world is this:
a rain-drenched walk,
down familiar roads,
with the well-known spark of fury
under your soaking wet jacket.
you are not random. you are not special.
you need routine the way other people need adventure.
a warm house.
a good friend.
the same argument in the same language,
the same tears pouring down your face,
self-righteousness on your tongue.
one day you’ll travel. one day you’ll climb a mountain,
fall in love, write that novel, take a dance class,
get your heart broken and move to new york city to starve.
you’re sixteen.
you’re already giving up on that ch
the future is terrifying.
for now, as long as I know
the easy rhythm of numbers
and electrons and essays,
life slips by with minimal
effort. days are marked by bells
and criteria. there is little
more comforting to a person
such as me, to whom structure
means sanity. high school
is a little bubble of safety,
with few choices and fewer
consequences. I don’t know
what comes after this,
but I suspect it won’t slip
by in a haze of good teachers
and bad teachers, lunch hours
and late bells, giggling and gossip,
all of it insipid and meaningless.
I think I would be happy,
if this was it. if all I needed
was carefully memorized math
fo
aggressive, you tell your therapist,
he's always been aggressive.
you detail the storms you weathered,
the verbal battering ram,
the hammer that kept falling until
the nail fell into place.
"he never hit me", you're quick to assure,
but you do speak, eventually,
about the threats, about the way he towered
over you, above you, through you,
the ways he threatened to hurt you &
the time you watched her fly into a wall.
but, but, but, but, but
you don't want to be unfair to him.
his demons are sharper-clawed,
bigger, scarier, more sadistic.
yours are a children'
please don't take my sunshine away by LionessAmaya, literature
Literature
please don't take my sunshine away
A quick list of lies to tell yourself while the sun is out:
1. You are always this happy. Days spent frolicking in the sunlight count back to birth and stretch forwards into eternity. Joy is all you have ever known and all you ever will know.
2. The heat is caressing you, not smothering you. It ripples over your skin like a lover’s fingers, gentle and pleasant. There is no sweat on your forehead or shortness to your breath. You sip the lemonade because it’s pleasant and refreshing, not because your throat is parched and dry.
3. You lie still because you want to, not because you can’t get up.
4. There is no
failure is a monster under my skin,
kept in check by constant vigilance.
i cannot afford the moment of relaxation
that will allow it to rip me to shreds.
it lives inside my chest,
and i learn to take shallow breaths.
there's a place inside me where the words used to be
deep & dark & alive
today, it houses only failure
and to crack it open is to risk everything
i once fancied myself brave.
They will tell you that your words don’t matter.
You can tell them that if they could only listen,
They would hear everything you are in your voice.
When you tell a story, and you talk with your hands,
And the words rush out of your mouth like a river,
Your whole soul hides in the beats between syllables.
You are beautiful when you forget yourself,
When you talk too loud and too fast for too long,
And forget to breathe until your tale is done.
What they call rambling we call abstract;
It may mean nothing at all to them,
But don’t ever let them tell you it’s worthless.
Writer's block is a frustrating thing,
One that holds you captive with soft chains.
You could rant, trash, and scream yourself hoarse,
But it's an awful lot of effort,
And your captor is so civilized.
It's easy to forget you're jailed,
When life is easier for it.
Sometimes you don't even notice,
Manacles appearing in your sleep.
When you put your pen to paper,
You realize they've been there all along,
And can't bring yourself to fight.
Instead, you cooperate quietly,
Until they rust away on their own.
One day, they'll stay firmly in place,
And maybe then you'll learn to struggle.
It's a grand romantic gesture, like something from TV,
An expression of your deep love for everyone to see.
Your passion is unrestrained as you pull him to you,
And everyone seems to vanish except for you two.
Little cartoon hearts dance above you, heralding your love,
But everyone else just wants to give you a good shove.
Too often we see couples eating each other's faces,
Anywhere and everywhere, except for private places.
To us, it's just saliva and hands where they shouldn't be,
And when it's in front of your locker, you can't even flee.
We have no particular desire to see tongues roaming wild;
It makes us feel desperately ill,
These reruns are growing tedious
Girl meets girl, tumbles and blushes
Couldn't subtle her way out of a paper bag
Longing from a safe distance
Chance left undisturbed
In favour of certainty and monotony
A yearning poem or two
Easier said than done
And then, a new pretty face
The same episode again
Sons of Anarchy, Torchwood, Breaking Bad, Project Runway, Heroes, Glee, Queer as Folk
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Rise Against, Ke$ha, Adam Lambert, Three Days Grace, Lady GaGa, Johnny Cash, Queen, Rob Zombie, etc. etc. etc.
so i'm here. kind of. off and on. i don't really write anymore, but i'll probably check up a couple times a month.
thank you to everyone who validated my 14 year old self, i needed it.
1. For each of the 10 first people commenting this journal, I will put their avatar and the 3 deviations I like most from their gallery on the list!
2. If you comment, you have to do the same in your journal, putting the tagger on the first place. The idea of this is not to get a free feature, it is to spread art around for everyone!
I) !KMforward (https://www.deviantart.com/kmforward) (couldn't pick three)
:thumb360204086:
:thumb340407312:
:thumb333300003:
:thumb327080803:
II) :icona-would-be-king:
:thumb363405407:
:thumb341869388:
:thumb357561003:
trigger warning suicide
I am drowning—
water in my lungs,
a scream on my lips,
and death looming
in the blue-green depths.
it's easy to forget why
this is the solution,
when my feet keep kicking.
I tell them to stop,
but they don't want to die.
it seems pathetic,
that I want to be saved,
rescued from suicide.
I am drowning,
and it is taking too long.
I've thought about this,
for months in fact,
and it took all of three minutes
for my mind to flip-flop
back to a future.
death is smirking, unkind,
not the friend I pictured.
I should have gone with the pills,
or perhaps the gun. but, instead—
blue-green-grey-black.
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