|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
And play on she mustI am a little sister.
Im also a big sister.
Sister had been playing doll the hole time . . .
And she’s still is playing.
Because she’s alone, so play on she must
But who to play?
The young sweet sister?
or the over protective older sister?
But play on she must.
For she cannot stop
Not if she wants the pretty porcelain doll become broken, fake-plastic pieces.
For to break the doll is to break hers self
For she is the doll . . .
. . .
Because . . . I . . . am the doll . . .
. . .
And play on I must.
If not for me or others,
Then for my dear brothers.
I am - I do - I know1. I am afraid . . . but of what?
2. I am silently hated, but there not good at hiding it.
3. I am alone, even though there’s always people with me.
4. I do force laughter . . . every day.
5. I do have “friends” , but only a few that understand.
6. I do wear a mask, on the front is written in big red letters “fake”
7. I do fake smiles . . . I perfected it at the age of 5 . . .
8. I know im broken . . . no, . . . shattered.
9. I know im quiet . . . but im also loud.
10. I know I can sing well . . . but its only another way to send hints on who I
really am, but no one picks up on them.
11. I know people think im weak.
12. . . . I am strong.
My story of being bulliedMy story of being bullied
Well . . . I decided at yes 3:01 in the morning that I would kind-a vent.
So im going to tell you one of the moments I think affected me.
What started my “mask”
The making of my first layer if you will.
I was in kinder garden: I didn’t have any friends . . . not one.
I remember one of the boy’s in particular didn’t like me very much -or at all for that fact-
. . .
Well, in the middle of the school year I remember he started to be mean to me.
This was a little surprising to me; he didn’t like me -not that anyone did-But he just sent me glares from afar and hated me from distens.
He first started too verbally salt me, then it turned into throwing thing at me. Like sticks or little rocks.
But . . . one day I remember very clearly . . .
He punched me in the stomach . . . and he was a year and a half older then me.
He did this every day till the end of the year.
I remember when he used to come at me, I would keep walking awa
The Art BirdSome people don't think the arts are important . . . i will NEVER understand them.
If i could imagine the arts as a physical figure . . . it would be a bird, The bird who inspires poetry, books, the bird who sings for you, who inspires you to dance!
When people take away the arts . . . they've taken the bird, clipped it's wings and tossed it in a locked cage.
The artist mourn for the bird, knowing their unable to set it free . . . to let it inspire them . . .
All people . . . every person has an art bird, if you're in a place that never lets you see your art bird, the bird will be forever trapped in a dark part of you.
But, some people never put there bird in a cage . . . but wore them proudly on there sholder, carried it around for everyone to see,
those are the people who try to unlock the other art birds . . . to set them free.
so that they can walk in stride, . . . with their beautiful . . . art bird.
Love illusionsometimes, when I close my eyes, I think your just an illusion my mind made to fill the empty hole in my heart that is love.
But . . . when I open my eyes to you tenderly kissing away my tears . . . I can't help wonder why, why you love me so much.
and why . . . when I close my eyes my mind fluids with images of your smile, of you gently holding me . . . as if I was a flower, and you were scared that if you held me to titley . . . I would break.
And as you whisper sweet words of love to me while i fall asleep, my only fear is that when i wake up . . . i wont have somebody to love me as endlessly as i love them.
Blood Thorn roseI . . . I am a red bud.
Young, fragile, tainted in the blood of thee innocent.
I have caged my self in thorns.
Protecting . . . from those who could hurt this old soul.
I cage myself for fear of being hurt . . . I don't want her to be afraid.
When she cries . . . It pains me.
But no matter how much I want to protect her . . . I know I have to open the blood thorn cage to bloom.
But by opening the cage, I could crack . . . Break
But I don't want to burden her with something so hard to fix.
Because . . . I am only her HEART . . . In a cage.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
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
the certainty of imminencei.
tomorrow spills over
inevitability-rapt and enveloping,
as wakefulness startles,
i'm caught up in past-time
i forge(t) myself in oblivion
midnight so hollow,
we all stop
with the clocks.
nothing looks the way it did
and i guess it seems
i'm blinkered, brevity-bound
in century footsteps forever stumbling,
always being blindsided
by the passing
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
it makes me laugh
knowing that if you even LOOKED at the path of PAIN i've gone down
you would berst crying at the site.
whispers and lies behind me . . .
say it to my face . . .
try, i dare you
scared of lil ol me?
. . . pathetic
you think you could even TRY to hurt me ?
nothing you say could even reach me
throwing your words of hate ?
even if you threw them as hard as you can
they won't come close.
. . .
" i pity you "
. . .
how would you react to thes word of mine ?
. . . dosen't mater,
what you tell me hasns't matterd in a long time.
i actually want to thank you
your the reason i'm ME
. . .
to have to try to climb up by knocking others down?
well, like i said
pathetic . . . and pity
i thank you.
. . .
but, i promise you
try to knock me down again?
and i WILL FIGHT.
because i AM stronger than you.
. . .
and i always have been.
Keep in Touch!