Hello, and welcome to Shadow's Sunday Sweet Sixteen! First of all, I want to thank WeirdAndLovely
for helping me decide which skin to use and coming up with a title!
What was supposed to be a productive Sunday in catching up with everything in my inbox turned and trying to write a journal so you all could rest assured that I hadn't suddenly dropped off of the face of the Earth, turned out to be a fave-fest and an urge to feature literature pieces from amazing deviants. So, every Sunday I am going to attempt to update you all on my life as well as showcase literature. These will either be from my inbox or from what I find in the Undiscovered section of literature.
Summer has been good to me so far; I hope it's been good to you! Er, well, if you're in the other hemisphere, you're most likely experiencing winter.... Ah, well. Whichever season you're in, I hope you're enjoying it to the fullest!
As for me, it's been pretty spectacular. I've graduated from high school with my high school diploma and AA degree, and in less than a month I will be moving into my dorm with my friends and finishing up my major at a university! My family went on a vacation for the first time and had the most amazing experience! Such a relaxing week of sleeping, eating, swimming, and sight-seeing. And hanging out with friends has been amazing, especially after not seeing them for such a long time. It's been a wonderful few weeks of laughs and tears, but smiles nonetheless. And that's all we can ever ask for, right?
Ever since I came back from my family vacation, things have been pretty slow. I'm not writing as much, which is quite sad. Beating the block is incredibly hard when all you want to do is put out something.
But, some have been teaching me that forcing creativity doesn't do you any good, so that just gives me time to read through my inbox and catch up on the many novels on my reading list. I have maybe...thirty books to read and still counting. I'm still taking recommendations, so drop me a note on what books you love/hate so I can judge for myself!
Ugh, the thought of moving out and (somewhat) being on my own is scary. Eventually, I'll be drowning in my own tears, wiping my face with my notes, and calling my mom asking if she'll still love me even if I become a stripper.
The Sweet Sixteen
I hope you all enjoy these pieces as much as I did. They were a pleasure to read and I hope you end up adding all of these pieces to your collection and checking out the many artists within the literature community here on deviantArt. Happy reading!
a bleeding heart is a living heart.i lifted up my shirt this morning
to discover a warring civilization between
my ribcage and spine,
my heart the prize
and my sternum the dmz.
never before have i felt such
disillusion, such depression
at knowing even my insides
are taking damage from this
chthonic idea we call living.
i parted my ribs today
to try and let them finally fight it out.
it was the last fourth of july,
it was d day limited by my inhibitions,
spears in my vertebrae
and gunpowder in my esophagus;
dancing blue lights inside my body.
a hand twisted around my heart
and the prize was found,
my body a slave to this leviathan
that had been swallowed by the crowd.
i sighed, only once
thinking of how i should’ve tried to win,
of how i should’ve fought harder
and never allowed my kingdom to crumble.
my men and my women,
my children and my animals;
rebelling against my soul’s residence
just above my heart,
south of my clavicle,
tucked inside the lungfuls of lies
i told myself every day.
then a thought
cicada lullabies.you kissed my hand
to seal a promise
and i watched you
with stars in my eyes.
the fireflies danced in the trees,
beckoning us to make wishes
over the serene graveyard.
you would have been mine.
i am wasted with the thought
of your quiet fist against my window pane.
i am gone with the idea
of my lips on yours.
i can't settle down
when you look at me that way.
pull the string back;
let the arrow fly.
wordless they succumbAnd they fell -
just like that.
Just like the act of breathing;
soundless and inevitable.
Like an eager girl slipping
straps from her shoulders,
the soft crush of silk at her feet.
If stars were just starsAnd now we parry and joust
on this beach that is just a beach,
in the wind that is just the wind,
under these stars that are just stars.
But I have your tender fingers in mine
and this beach seizes to be just a beach.
And it warms my heart the way your hair gently dances in the wind
- a melody of passion.
And then you say not to look at you in that way,
and whisper a goodbye,
and it tears my heart to see these stars remain just stars.
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poems. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shops like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every clichés like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic
O |We bleed amongst those who seem to drain us of all integrity, yet we bleed amongst those who seem to need our essence the most. It's utterly remarkable how much this blood is able to supply and be brought forth of many surrogates, before it is thinned out and truly ran dry. A way to embark on the journey we all master at some point. To be able to give and not let go, yet have the ability to forget what is given and never hold on to the love that is cherished within it.
what love is not.it was a s l o p p y first kiss where
my drunk lips fumbled against yours.
the dull thwack of my heart,
locked behind curved ribs
cleared my groggy brain,
clouded with lustful premonitions.
it was an e l e c t r i f y i n g first kiss where
you entwined your hands in my hair.
your mouth encompassed mine and
my breath became lost in the steady
of your chest.
it was a s h y first kiss where
i pulled away before you could explore.
your tongue grazed my teeth,
searching for a way past the ivory gates.
i dug my finger into the stubble along your jaw,
my nail lulling your carnal desires.
it was my first kiss with you.
one night standInspiration kicked me out
of bed, threw my
said, I'll call you-
and moved on
to the next.
shallow by designshe's a bare distraction,
echo falling from her lips
over and over in revolutions
that do little more
she's caught in a curtsey
that's half seduction,
and half a mannequin movement
poised just how you like her.
they carefully planned her
from blueprint bruises,
the puppeteers dripping vice
down her strings like virtue
in saccharine whispers;
a lewd command-cum-question
leaking slick into moments
that were supposed
to be dulcet.
and you can't help but pity
the porcelain fleshling,
for she's only
Four EverSugar coated, and devoted
To the bright side of life.
Optimistic, and artistic
With a blessed soul and mind.
May God bless you, for breaking through
The darkest side of death.
Keep your smile clear, my precious dear
For it brightens the sky.
the world catches its breath
between traffic lights’ red and green,
the gutter sips yesterday’s rain
like five am coffee and cream,
the smog curls its tail round
it is quiet on spring street.
a woman drinks a syrah
on the fire escape,
her lipstick lingering
on the styrofoam cup.
a man across town
wakes to find her lace
tangled in his sheets.
he wishes she was too.
it is quiet on spring street.
victory falls: xvi.And in similar fires,
brought forth Regin
a fine edge - blind-stricken
and cracked upon the anvil.
So hilt and blade,
now divorced, returned
to Hell interminable:
all evil must be forged
by infernal flames, and devils
defeated only by betrayal.
Let bloody hands be bathed
by sinister kiss; no sword
would do but that of history's making:
the Fates walk hand in hand
with breath-filled lungs.
So the murder-hand,
winged and feathered, imitation
of foe and fire,
sealed its wounds (lustful
scars of Phoenix blood)
and took flight,
weightless, thought and memory
cowered in fear
and Earth herself split open
to its will.
163the girl's lungs have swelled and sighed for nine
trips around the sun and four cycles of the little hand,
and for a quarter of her life she has wished for these heartbeats.
here she stands, her fingers trembling, her nose glowing red
with the cold city air, and suddenly sparks fly as
she forgets how to breathe even though she seems
to finally be sucking in the same oxygen as the star
who soared over her head and straight into her heart.
(i wrote you a letter. you don't even remember me. you'll never remember.)
alas, she is too young to paint every millisecond of
this moment onto the canvas of her ever-spinning
mind, but she doesn't think anything of it - she can't,
because the cold wind slashes at her face and numbs her
mind to everything but the fact that she
needs her heart to stop beating (hush, stop beating,
it will be alright, i promise). broadway dances in front
of her very own eyes, pulsing to its own beat,
and as she stares into the lens, beaming as bright as the neon lights,
Shards Of RealityShards Of Reality
there are days when words drift by him,
and like leaves floating on a still day,
like migratory birds that aren't supposed
to be in this town 'til september;
there's something wrong about it all,
something he can't quite pin down.
so he puts his pen down,
and rushes out of his room.
because he refuses
to be pinned down to any space.
he'd rather unplug from this outlet
that traps him inside,
and turn on whatever this tip off is,
that escapes him,
as it skims his skin.
he'd rather suffocate
than to put his collector's pin
into the socket.
a breath of fresh air
always did him good,
so he stepped out on bladed grass,
not expecting the lacerations
to hurt so much
and he didn't know if it was the lawn
or his skull that framed his sod;
the tender soil under graminoids
that made him lose
his grip on his terrain.
but he was losing his territory,
the way dew dissipates in the heat.
like crops dying in a famine.