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PrintsAs long as the marks last
I may be healing but your marks last
the feeling still echoes in my mind
having you linger there is its own bruise
that itches down my spine
that wraps around my lungs
memories that pulse with a life of their own
steps in another direction
only help, act as practice
if you don't believe them
then time can show you
yes or no
with maybe in the present intervals
Out of LineI don't know whether its old pain
and snapping out, for power or anguish
or mere frustration for wanting you to
just take care of yourself
not about being a perfect cover girl
the fake the perfectionist
I want you to sleep, eat, grieve
breathe, move, enjoy
and I know the load of So Not My Job
but this snapping
that is something I can address
you seem to have a good sense of yourself
a good sense of how to handle yourself
I know the underbelly makes handling the rest
that much more difficult
part of me wants to pretend I know enough
to be allowed to preach or argue on this
I never had this sense that I could
control, maintain, handle, anything myself
and if I hadn't just gained an intuitive sense
I could've hated and hated and hated
I got lucky in so many ways to keep that from happening
now I hate that you hate yourself
because I think you are wrong about yourself
I love the person you are
I'm not asking for icing
I get truly scared, confused, angry
because you don't and seem t
good conscioustake the time to learn
to think and differentiate
to pull out of this tailspin
of months and weeks of slow realizations
and indecision and not knowing needs
or wants or what was missing or assumed
some speed has already come
no longer gaining speed losing altitude
but still identifying danger and obscurity
before I'm ready for being someone
who could do small to big things like
say I love you again
or say I miss you
because all that would do is rub dirt in the wound
and bring no answers for all the pain
and now is not the time for answers just yet
But of course, tu me manques
Forget MathI thought mathematically
one emotion can block out another
you had one person to block out me
I thought gravity would be on my side
give me more weight
that no one else could figure into the equation
and then the last person
set me off
before I knew, I realized I wanted to balance one to one
just yours, just mine
now I need to balance myself out from the hole I made and the one you left
What Makes a Good Personnot in terms of pure or impure
not in terms of perfect or imperfect
but something in the way I am
makes people think I am one of the most
person they know
sometimes I am wise and sometimes I am immature
sometimes I am oblivious or overly focused
on one outcome or thought or understanding
I have good intentions and look out for people
as a general principle
but lately I fear I have begun to slip
and become ordinary, because I can't just
always look out for other people
and that doesn't bother people
but it bothers me
however, I have to remember there are other factors
now I have something I need to deal with
or I will mar my present and future, possibly past
any recognition, any possibility of functioning
as a human being
and that is worth more, being a human for myself and others
than taking care of others or worrying too much
about what I should do
I wonder if this realization makes me more human
or simply more aware
I do not know
I am not giving up good intentions, but my fo
Confusionconfusion is one of those things
that comes from having a dirty filter
the mind has so many things to sort through
emotions, thoughts, wonderings, perspectives
mind altering manifestos, values, secrets
that when the natural organization
of the mind, somewhat like a tea filter
gets overwhelmed and bits of everything
get every which where
and some thoughts that should never
combine, compare, connect
somehow end up swirling around in your brain
and as the organization of the mind tries
to reorganize, separate ideas and wants
and nightmares back to where they were
the mind finds itself lost in its own system
unsure if the teapot used to sit on that shelf
or if the filter used to look so dark
and either some new system comes along or
we are left in the dark as to what to do
Scarsevery summer I would count my cuts and bruises and bites
see if any would unfurl into scars
every night I'd explore my constellation of stories
some of which I never knew
a nick from a blackberry, a hurried greeting to a table leg
blooming into a purple or iron mark
later fading or whitening into teeth on my skin
for all the things I did
I only have a few of these marks
waves of puberty breaking over thighs and hips
apparently growing gives stretch marks
scratches that seemed like they would fade
as their stories and memories did
from the crooks of my arms
a few pink flags from a knife
I only kept a few of these, my body knowing
which stories to keep, which to fade
the best example is the remains of my largest scar
three long streaks of Ionan barbed wire
thick white vines from a vault over a fence
one of which is the surviving scar
to keep me company when I miss the old island
the pink flags were little reminder notes
that yes I did this
where I had wished the black ink tightening my c
To be contentTo be full
To have an emptiness, a hunger
That can be filled
Sated and calm, blur edges
Perhaps to let go
Of tears and fears and woes
Or just to remember those close moments
Before getting too close
To feeling empty again
And want for nothing more than hunger
That can be sated and sent away
Why do You Stare?Poking peeping pressing eyes watching
As I pull at my skirt and wish the wind would die
(after wishing I could fly and soar seconds before)
I wish my tote bag toto would become fierce and horrible
And scare off all these eyes staring
At something I do not understand
I do not know why they look at me
So many many eyes
Is it my simplicity
Is it beauty or wildness
Is it my confidence
Is it my wariness and alert body
What could you be staring at?
I wish you wouldn’t
I already feel like an outsider
Like an alien or creature borne of nuclear waste
I am allowed
I have the right to feel comfortable in my skin
To feel beautiful
So why do you stare
Like I am all my worse fears?
Why can’t you talk to me
Feel at ease?
If I am all these good things
By this society and possibly many societies
Why do you stare at me?
You don’t even know the things that make me impressive
Or scary or pathetic or interesting
So what do you see?
Today is a regular day for other people
4/13 is just a regular Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday
However, for us
For us Homestuckers
It's not just only a day,
But it's a day that we are all know.
A day when our fandom started
When it ran for a person's mind,
And jump on the Internet and stayed in our hearts
A day a certain boy and a certain girl was born
Which they became iconic
And kick start our random filled adventure
A day where we, Homestuckers,
Remember 4 kids, 4 guardians,
12 trolls and their similar counterparts
A day when we have parties,
Meet up, cosplay as our favorite characters
And join together as this special day goes by
And just because this fandom happen,
And another fandom blossom;
Which is only about fandoms
Is not just a regular day
This day is special
It was our first day as a fandom
And it maybe our last
However, we will show our respect
We will survive as long as the ever-lasting sun
We will go on and on
Today is not a regular day...
WickedMorgana, in the cowering darkened city; neon is dead. Theatres all play the same movie, over and over again. No one watches; they’re all in their basements or ancient fallout shelters. Morgana’s heels clack pavement, and the echo goes on forever.
Feast on your tins of peanut butter and crackers; Morgana feasts on minds. Minds like yours, soft like veal. Everyone said this night would come, but no one believed it would be now. How could it be, when just yesterday the playgrounds were filled with sunlight and laughter?
Lightning cracks sky and illumes devastation, wretchedness, emptiness. Lions have escaped the zoos, and roam the streets hungry and fierce. The wind howls your name as you sit in the darkness wearing your foil hat. Morgana laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
And the echo goes on forever; like carnival music at a funeral, like a grave robber’s laugh, like handbills flying down an alley for a play that was never produced; like a child lost in the crowds, like t
the atlantic ocean is big enough to hide secretsin that twilight period of summer turning to fall-
in that bend in the road from september to october-
i couldn't explain it but i so desperately wanted to send a piece of myself to you
so you would have something to look forward to
i said, if there's a force to change the tides and turn the earth
and people think it's the most essential force in this world,
then i know they've never met you.
'who me? little old me?'
yes you, little old you,
you have enough resonance in the beats of your heart
to make armies march,
you have enough light in your smile
to make a blind man see,
you have enough magnitude in everything you do
to cause earthquakes to destroy the world,
or maybe just me:
i would die in your hands if you would only let me.
the beginning of october is stunning when the colours
are like fire engines and fireflies and fireworks.
bright flashes of everything that is beautiful and nothing that is hurt.
but after an immense burst of light;
The Story of a Boy. [An Original Poem-thing]
The Story of a Boy.
This is the story of a boy.
Who had lost his mother.
He had a father.
Who did not a care.
The poor little boy.
He never had friends.
All alone in a town.
Which was almost a barren land.
At the age of seven.
Something new happened.
A family moved in.
Into the barren town.
They had a little girl.
With her lovely dark curls.
And new friends they became.
The lonely boy and the bonny gal.
But the boy, he wasn’t.
What he seemed to be.
In his head there were demons.
Demons, waiting to be unleashed.
When the day arrived.
And the boy lost his mind.
He tortured the young girl
to her death.
Oh, it was such an evil crime.
The girl she returned
in her reincarnated form.
She was only four,
while the boy was eleven.
Shocked at her resemblance
with the girl he once met.
He tricked her yet again,
and again, she was killed.
Again she returned,
as her soul never rests.
her mind doesn’t remember
but her spirit deman
An Infectious DiseaseSome will say hope is a killer; an infectious disease that plants shitty pipe dreams in the mind, but hope is a good thing, sometimes the only thing that keeps us going. And it comes not from the pipes that won't play or the dreamer's gaze, but from the inside. All you have to do, is find it.
Mr. FrostThe cellar, is far more suitable than the attic, but if they prefer the attic, let them have it. It makes no difference to me. Even when they come rattling down the staircase after dark, running dried chalky fingertips, along split cracked walls, or standing motionless behind closed doors with only blackness in their eyes. As if salvation lay on the other side. How amusing they are in the beginning, but their echoes become fewer and fewer as the days grow long. Until they no longer speak the name, Mr. Frost and I know, it's time to kill again.
A Priceless FutureA Priceless Future.
Pretty soon we'll need to make payments
Just to be able to walk the pavement.
This added to the taxes on our bank statements.
Proves that any sort of personal attainment,
Will be shared with the government agents.
It’s blatant, we‘re a part of a money laundering arrangement.
Of which there is an infinite number of replacements.
Who are praying and waiting for your disengagement.
Longing for the day that you will become complacent.
Because a filled position in this day in age will always be vacant.
I call this, the reincarnation of enslavement.
Ragtime StreetsCrowded city streets
breezes turn to wind
winds to storms
and all that I can see
are strangely foreing faces
falling upon my lips
in misty shadowed eclipse
like drops of acid rain
and all that I can hear
are echoes of their voices
vibrating within me
like eyes of the hurricane
Crowded city streets
unkind ruthless walls of concrete
drapes of gray and halls of steel
no shapes, no trees, no air, no feel
only those strange foreign faces
ghosts of smiles from faraway places
I´ll never see
vibrating within me
Crowded city streets
and light is just a rare wishful dream
and night is just a trick
of neon quiver and toxic plasma gleam
only strange unfamiliar faces
of ghosts from distant forbidden places
blurred in the void
in emptiness of crowd
Crowded city streets
there is no reason for me
to stay to walk
to pray to talk
no place for me
in this crowds of colour and gaze
in this void of awed and amaz
whole holesLet's dance baby
Your little hands, your little shape
So beautiful, so wonderful
Eyes so wrong, but beautiful
I can't trade them with mine
Because then you'd see me
With my eyes and not understand
While I see you and not understand
Why? What happened? Who did this?
So perfect for me, you are mine
I am yours, perfect halves
You're shy when we dance
You watch my face, then away
In case you did something wrong
In case I see something that hurts
In case you aren't perfect to me
You watch the pattern with music,
Feet, body, hands, rhythm
You relax in, and it's like a whole
A hole in my heart fills the hole in yours
I wish you saw the way I do
There is nothing wrong with you
There is no perfection to everyone
Just to two people that fit perfectly
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.
Keep in Touch!
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