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My StruggleSo many times Ive forgotten
that no one can see inside my mind
and see my true self
All that they can see
is my face
and my outerwardly appearance
Im judged by that alone,
before my mouth even opens
and that INFURIATES ME!!!
The Secret of Life - WIPlife isnt about waiting for the perfect conditions, the perfect day, the perfect moment, the perfect spouse, the perfect job or having the perfect life.
life is about seizing the opportunities as you see them, finding the good, the fun, and the exciting, inside of our everyday dreg through the mediocrity.
because at the end of your life, you only wish for one thing: more time
no one gets more time, its a cold, hard fact.
but the man who spent his life waiting, will probably have more regrets than the man who spent his life living
Strengthpeople that have the power to hurt me:
those i care about
those i respect
people that do not have the power to hurt me:
Favor ContractI, ______________________________________________ the undersigned first party, hereby enter into a "favor" contract with ______________________________________________, the undersigned second party.
A "favor" is described in this contract to be any deed done of goodwill without payment or compensation.
This contract states that by initating the first "favor" of the relationship between the two parties, the first party agrees to:
Return "favors" of equal value to the "favors" he or she receives from the undersigned second party. The value of the return "favor" is to be determined by the second party.
Once the initial debt has been paid back, this contract may be considered completed.
Both parties have the option to renew the contract, or amend the terms to include a timeline.
Breaking this contract will result in a dissolval of the relationship between the two signed parties.
By signing this contract, all parties agree to the above stated terms.
The Correlation Between Intelligence n DepressionIntelligent people are often sad because they will never live long enough to learn everything.
Human Virus - WIPnearly all species of plants and animal on Earth are merely organisms in a regulartory cycle in order for the Earth to be alive. Compare it to cells in our own bodies, tiny microscopic organisms living out entire lives with special purposes, each species unique, each race designed for a larger purpose, hugely important and yet completely unknown to them, specific roles necessary for the life and well being of some larger creature with its own purpose.
when these organisms gain self-awareness and go off-course, against nature's course, it causes problems for the larger organism. Compare it to cancer, one bad cell mutates, forgets it's place, then it spreads, creates more cancer cells, and just like a cancer, it doesnt need to infect the whole body to kill the larger organism, just a chunk of something vital.
Humans are a self-aware cancer of the earth, destroying her from the inside out for it's own personal gain and survival. Earth's own natural chemistry prevents the cancer from
The Tattoo - WIPi wish i could brandish your name across my heart for all time, so i could go forth barechested and shouting at the tops of my lungs to all who could hear me until there was not one person left in this world who hadnt heard of my deepest love for you. He confessed with all the passion he could muster. Taken slightly aback, she paused, she stared at him insensely, as if taking him in for the first time, then looked thoughtful for a moment, and asked "Do you really mean it?" YES! He ejaculated. I mean it with all of my heart, my imperfect human soul, every bone in my body and fiber of my being I love you. I love you more than the sunshine that lights my way, the air in my lungs, and the blood running through my veins because without you in my life I would have no use for any of these things. Life without love is no life at all. She smiled at him. A sharp burning sensation ran across his chest and he grasped at his heart abruptly and let out a surprised yelp of pain. He tore away at his g
Demon Slayer anime idea - WIPits been a long time since the barriers between this world and the demon world were cut down.. the beginning was really bad, a lot of humans died. the strongest became demon slayers, my ancestors. My family was particularly well known. My great great great great great grandfather Jigoku was legendary, its been said if it hadnt been for him, the entire human race wouldve been lost. He killed countless demons, hundreds of thousands, and his power grew so great his body was no longer completely human. A demon slayer grows stronger with every demon life he takes, a part of that demon power forever imprisoned in it's killer's body, aiding in the killing of more, stronger demons. an enternity of being insulted, the only real hell a demon can know.
lesser humans, unfortunately, become tainted by this evil power and it transforms them into some bastardized version of a demon, a human-demon hybrid, low class and unintelligent, only able to act on it's insatible urges for killing. only tho
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
Beyond LoveYou say 'beautiful' like a mistake -
like it slipped out unwarranted
from those dark parts of your mind
that you don't want me to go to,
you say it like that.
You caress like it's worship -
like if you pressed too hard
or took too much, you'd pay the price
and I love those urgent times when
you're willing to pay it.
You teach me love like I'll die without it -
like if you don't defrost me
and my frozen image of myself,
then I might stop breathing
and extinguish beneath my own icy damnation.
You kiss me like you have to -
like we're sharing an oxygen tank
in a toxic, broken-down universe
and you are trying not to breathe
to save me.
You kiss me like that.
You love me, like that -
how am I supposed to resist
a man who loves me beyond his own sense
and senses - beyond love ?
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
SafeI clasped my hand tight shut around my mothers.
I was a possessive oyster wrapped around pearly fingers
bitten white by the freshly whisked air.
We braced ourselves against the frozen metal frames
that, although unmovable by infantile hands,
were not a substantial enough barrier against a tempest.
The sea lashed out its limbs in a fury
and the sky’s face paled grey with worry
at what that grasping anger might achieve.
It rose to greet us, stood on mighty churning haunches
and collapsed heavily around our shoulders
with the dramatic violence of a dancer
crashing down upon a splintered Tibia.
It drenched us, filling mouths and ears with water.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine, comforting,
and as the sea drew back again,
preparing to strike out at us over and over
until its very exhaustion point – and over once more –
As it readied itself to slash our raincoats,
with the force of an evening spiralling into true darkness,
over and over –
for a moment the smell o
Stereotypical SuicideSuicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a family,
Nobody who lives for their care,
Nobody who wants them around,
Nobody who helps them through life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has friends,
Not a person there for a simple hug,
Not a person existing for a reassuring look,
Not a person around to leave the words,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a home,
No place to live and feel happy in so,
No place to live without leaving again,
No place to live to avoid the truth,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a love,
Nothing there to hold them in warm arms,
Nothing there for a kiss to remember,
Nothing there to be a greatness in life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a someone,
"Don't do it - for your family
They mean nothing to me anymore,
"Don't do it - for your friends"
Friends? What friends? They don't exist,
"Don't do it - what about home
Oxtails (Collab w/ TwilightPoetess)Somewhere between oxen and orchid,
where cattails and foxgloves wilt and weep
at the parting of another fleeing day
and stormed cloud-castles mutiny
against the weight of the rocksalt moon;
somewhere between flightless and fading,
where faery circles and dandelion crowns fall--
somewhere, beneath bark mosaiced with age,
you will siphon the remains of my heart--
churned smooth by false hope’s abuse--
into dehydrated dirt that groans for it.
I will clot the crumbling veins of anthills
with the iron debris that was once us,
until I become orchid or foxglove once more.
Beautifully BrokenA tidal wave crashes
Hard against the front of my skull,
Spewing fountains of hate into the air.
They are not beautiful.
A shot glass in one hand,
A pen in the other,
I drink alone in my room
As everything about me falls apart.
I can't heal mistakes.
The higher I am,
The prettier the fountains become,
But they really still look the same.
The world sees such strength,
A stoic warrior in a landscape of corruption,
But inside is a black, charred heart,
Shrouded in secrecy.
I am not beautiful,
Because hate is not beautiful.
InsomniaI lay in bed at night and day dream up a world where you and I are together and all of our problems magically disappear with our first kiss and we live happily ever after. And then, like the brat that you are, you burst my "happily ever after" like a bubble with harsh words and hateful actions, like refusing to speak to me, "I dont love you's," and so many seeds of jealousy planted it should be called a garden.
...and this is why I cant sleep.
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More