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The Places You Found LoveEveryone, but you especially as a woman, is biologically programmed to find babies cute. It's an evolutionary imperative, because the rational thing to do when you've got a screaming, shitting dependant taking up your food, is to kill it, and we need something to stop us doing that. It's also why people are generally attracted to big eyes and smooth skin - because they're characteristics of children.
And I'm not saying this to detract from the beauty of parenthood, or to make you sad, I'm saying it to point out that this fact doesn't make a baby's laugh any less wonderful. And I don't think the source of anything can make it less so.
This is why I can point out that any form of love isn't God or fate or destiny, it's that if two people have a strong emotional attachment, their children are more likely to survive.
Atomic bombs are beautiful.
So I will say that the me I am now, will and always has been feeling what I feel, but that sentence doesn't even make sense until we consider that
The Reasons We DieWhat I meant to say was that sometimes I just stare at the cigarette in my hands and beg for it to stop messing around and just kill me already.
But I figured you don't want to hear that.
The Shifting Nature of RealityYou asked me, "In these dreams, what does it look like?" I told you it looks different every time. Sometimes it's like a million feathers falling, sometimes it's like snow, sometimes it's like little stones, sometimes like ash, sometimes like a fine sand blowing across the hills. It's always silent. It falls around me but it never touches me. It never sticks. I told you sometimes I see dim figures walking in the distance through all the falling white. I told you I wish one would turn around and come to me. I wish one had your face. I wish the pink of your cheeks and blue of your eyes would appear to me unveiled from out of the drift. But the sad small figures don't turn around. They walk on, shoulders low, and disappear. I just watch them. You said, "I'm here now," and touched my hand. "I'm here now."
The Time Gone ByTick tock. All day. Every day is tick tocking by. There is no clock in your office that ticks or tocks, but you can hear the tick tock in your head. Tick. That's another second of your life gone, you think. Tock. That's one more second waiting for the man to tell you what to do. Tick. I'm a thinker, you think. Tock. Time to be a doer. Tick. You walk into your boss' office. Tock. I quit.
The clock stops.
The NuancePlay it one more time please, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure that its the only sound in my head. Play it again for me, I want to hear it once more. I want to make sure the only sound is correct. I don't want to hear that stare again. I don't want to see those words. I'll play the part again, I need to play it again. I need to make sure that every note is right. Give me a second to rehearse that part once more, I haven't been playing it right this entire time. I know it might sound right to you, but it doesn't sound right to me. I can't hear those words anymore. I never want to see that stare again. I have to keep playing. I never want to hear that again.
The Silence Goes On For YearsIn case of emergency, break glass. Throw plates. Cave to the insecurities you've harbored all along. Scream. Curse. Panic. Accuse her of never loving you, even though you know she did and still does. Tell her you never loved her. Tell yourself. Feel the world crumbling around you. Rip the rest of it down. Ignore her pleas. Her tears. Your regrets. Watch yourself leave, unable to stop your own feet. Slam the door. Keep walking. Realize, too late, that you didn't mean it.
The Art of Finding FlawsMaybe that's all it means, to grow up; to watch your heroes become human, right before your eyes.
the Millennia LaterDesolation has its own stark beauty. It's in the limbs of dead trees twisting up, pleading at the grey sky. It's in the air, cold with a faint hint of smoke and the barest breeze that stirs up the dust at your feet. The white-grey ash falls like snowflakes, dusting your hair, your coat, your mask. You catch one of the flakes and it crumbles between your gloved fingers. The ground is packed as hard as concrete under your boots as you turn your back on this cold, still world. You look up; the moon is barely visible. You will carry that memory with you as you go back underground. Mankind no longer has use for the stars.
Because Writing Keeps Me Human Just because it is burning my mind, and it holds a grenade that blasts everything I have into remnants of his musky scent; because I feel like I'm gagging, except that I'm coughing poems and vomiting metaphors; because words can be a crumpled piece of paper drowned in tears, and every poem written can be blended into fiction; and because my limbs feel like they had been devoured by the lava in the words and the music notes I play sink deep between the piano keys, and apparently banging the keys does not help silencing the empty screams at night.
Because the clock seems to slow down whenever I am planting your name in ink and paper; and because nobody ever listens to me the way poetry do; because poetry sees the "warning: fragile, handle with care" sign on me and knows that I break easily; because I can sculpt him into dreams and heavens and he will never know he exists in poems
Deviant Art ModelShe wore her breasts like two large diamonds
exposing them for all to see.
She'd strip down to nothing and pose for a picture,
she would smile for the attention she'd seek.
A bra and panties were what she called clothing,
striking immodest poses.
And despite those she offended with her vulgarity,
She'd claimed her photo's were 'resources'.
She was the girl who got all the attention,
for her body that she so disrespected,
she sold her images to public,
But when they called it 'porn', she grew offended.
One after one she'd block the users,
the artists who had enough,
She'd bend over again with a high quality camera,
she'd snap a picture of her butt.
Smiling at her success, she would laugh so casually,
as her work made the front page,
She didn't care that she was selling porn,
That some users were underage.
She claimed she was a model a beautiful girl,
on the outside that was true,
But on the inside she was quite shallow and empty,
A hallow girl quite anyone could see through.
Aquella chica...Siempre es la misma historia, se repite una y otra vez sin poder evitarlo, y seguramente no solo es mi caso, si no el de millones de personas.
Aunque por desgracia el mio es un poco mas doloroso, ya que no importa cuanto te esfuerces, cuanto procures, cuanto tiempo le dediques, al final tendrá el mismo doloroso resultado...
Esa chica, esa hermosa chica que es dueña de tu alma y corazón, con cual cometiste el terrible error de hacerla tu mejor amiga para estar siempre a su lado, aquella chica que de repente se convierte en tu razón de existir en este mundo, aquella que te impulsa a que abras tus ojos cada mañana solo para verla de nuevo, que tus pulmones sigan respirando para poder apreciar ese delicioso aroma que te vuelve loco al momento de tocarla, y que tu corazón siga latiendo para poder sentir aquel hermoso sentimiento que invade tu cuerpo...
Esa chica... puede también ser tu peor perdición en tu vid
How To Be BeautifulHow To Be Beautiful!
Step 1: Look in the mirror.
Step 2: Realize you've always been beautiful.
You are who you are. You're beautiful. Weight doesn't define beauty. Beauty comes in many shapes, sizes, and colors.
Don't let anyone fool you into thinking you aren't beautiful.
Don't change for anyone. Don't wish to be like anyone else.
PillsPills are capsules.
They aren't made to heal
a disease that comes from the heart.
They mask the pain,
allow you a temporary feel.
But in the end,
Fight it with your heart,
your courage and your will.
Ignore the lies,
that reside in those pills.
You are stronger than those demons inside,
The ones that tell you to kill yourself,
the ones that tell you to die.
Listen to your heart,
it has your true strength,
throw the pills away,
before the pain suffices,
before it is simply too late.
My life as a readerYou hear about the stories. You ignore it. You see them on the web, so you decide to read them. They’re great. The environment and descriptions make you smile, the dialogue makes you laugh. The adventures send chills down your spine and the plot makes your heart flutter. Even better, you find yourself fascinated with the characters.
You like one particular character. Heck, maybe even a group of characters. You wish they existed. You wish the stories, the adventures existed, too. You think real life is bland. It can be cruel sometimes, too. People aren’t like they are in stories, so you like fictional ones better.
You want to create your own. You want your own characters, you even want to borrow characters. You want your own plots, your own adventures. You want to substitute your life for another, even if it’s only temporary. You want to get lost in the world of imagination and creativity.
You pick up the pencil, or you open your writing programs. You make your own. Yo
AbyssNote: so thoughts and feelings at the mo, needed to write something just to feel a bit connected. Sorry its a bit depressing.
I’ve been here so many times before and yet I’ve never learnt. The abyss which draws me ever so close with promises of peace is more like a curse. The abyss it calls me with words so sweet, yet the comfort for which I yearn is hiding a secret longing; its desire to rend apart my being.
I’ve listened to its lies and been wooed by its call pushing aside all thoughts of logic and hope. I’m desperate now to feel at peace that I’ll listen to its sirens call. I know what will await me, the consuming pain that it will cause and yet I’m stepping closer stupidly not ignoring its voice.
Hidden in its darkness like in the shadows of my thoughts are fangs so sharp they’ll tear apart my already fragile mind. The abyss it salivates at the desire to consume me but still I’m standing here.
Escape from this place is possible
My BeautifulWhy are your eyes so blind? Why can’t they see the only thing keeping me alive living inside you? I wish to have an answer; I wish to kiss you in the dark, where our bodies fade out and the souls eternally embrace each other; for now, my happiness lives in a nice dream. You don’t know what I feel, but you have read the verses that a hopeless heart writes for you, a muse.
Before the light. My life was sleeping surrounded by endless loneliness, where the doubts were leading the march to my own self-destruction. In those very forgettable days, you were my only escape, one of the few reasons of my smile to shine, even when grey clouds were crying over this empty existence. The happiest afternoons of that time were with your beauty by my side, after a busy day of school. The road to home wasn’t lonely anymore, my dear.
Now the summer possesses the earth. Giving us a break to breathe peacefully the air; I think about every day, I dream of you every night; your heavenly voic
And Tonight My Prayer Was XAnd tonight my prayer was:
So today the brightest green of new buds met the clearest blue of the sky. And the blue met the yellow of a freshly picked daisy, which brought with it the clearest white of newly fallen snow. With them travelled the soft pink of a child's cheek, blended with the black of a starless night and the orange of this summer's brightest midday sun. On the road the purple of heather ran alongside as dog to his master. And as they moved on together, they left our world the bleakest grey.
Only then did we notice we'd chased all the colours away.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More