|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.
My mind deals with
Overcomes my judgement
Today it's no different
I can't take it anymore
Observing my image but
Nothing is revealed
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
To the person who holds my best friend's heart...I know that is is kind of weird
But I felt that I should write this down.
I need to tell you what I feel
And tell you what he means to me.
He's my best friend and he's a good man.
Please, give him the love and respect he deserves.
He may seem goofy but he's very sweet.
I know this because he was always there for me when I was sad.
Now, I know that you're not bad
Cause he would never choose someone who's mean.
But I still want to tell you just in case you forget in the future;
Please don't break his heart.
He's been through so much
And he doesn't deserve something like that.
He is the kind of person who smiles even when he's hurt by others
And would take any pain for the people he loves.
I know, I've witnessed it.
I know he may seem kind of childish sometimes
But don't let it get to you.
It's just his way of expressing himself.
He's very caring and I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy.
He doesn't look like it but he's very kind and thoughtful.
He'll put your needs before h
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
1:33 amto the angry young
hungry ocean eyes:
i do not wish to know
what crawled inside
your ribs to
i just wish you would
let it leave.
Can you look deeper?You see that girl you just bullied?
The one you harassed over her choice of art?
The art of a man beating a woman to death?
She saw her father kill her mother when she was five.
You know that man who likes to photograph himself in dresses?
The one you called a homo because of his choice of clothing?
Well, his parents wanted him to be a girl instead of a boy.
So they made him dress like that everyday to pretend he was a girl.
You know that woman who writes stories about child rape?
The one you bullied until she didn’t know how to cope with life anymore
Her uncle has been in jail for the past eleven years.
He raped her daily for seven years of her life.
What about that guy who favored abstract artwork?
Do you remember him he liked to use the colors red and black a lot.
He was nearly beaten to death when he was fourteen.
He only knows nightmares because he remembers seeing his blood on the wall.
What about me? Do you remember me? Even just a teensy little bit?
You bullied me because
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!
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