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crackedshe rests her head on her pillow as the tears begin to flow.
her body trembles and curls into itself.
she pulls the blanket up over her head and sobs even harder into it.
she feels like a lost cause, no hope is within her reach.
her heart has shattered one to many times and all she wants to do is fade away
like the clouds after a violent storm.
she doesn't want to hold onto this life anymore.
she wants to be free of this pain.
she wants to be happy,
but cruel fate has denied it more times than she can count.
no one can save her, not even him.
she won't let him
even though he is all she wants.
he is her everything and she doesn't want to lose him
but she believes she will never be good enough.
she believes she is too broken, too cracked
but she gives him her all and it seems to be good enough
though she still is afraid to believe it.
this girl, my dear reader, is me. i am too broken, too cracked, too faded to believe it.
simply methey call me an outcast
because i live my faith.
they call me odd
because i am myself.
they call me a drag
because i am broken.
they call me a bitch
because i don't put up with their shit.
they call me the worst
because it really is true.
i am me, take it or leave it.
i have very few that i love and very little give.
i want to give more but i simply don't have it.
i'm trying, though, to gain more confidence.
i'm trying to love a little more and regret a little less
despite the pain and demons that live inside me
i'm trying my best
and one day i promise
i will be better than this.
young lovefalling in love when you are young is so very difficult.
it's heart breaking
it's emotionally draining
it's soul breaking
but it's so very worth it in the end if you are willing to fight for it.
Tomboy She prefers pink,
I prefer navy blue.
She wears Uggs,
I wear Vans.
She wears tight, low cut sweaters,
I wear oversized hoodies.
She wears charm bracelets,
I wear paracord bands.
She curls her hair,
I straighten mine.
She hates Coldplay.
I'M A HARDCORE COLDPLAYER. HOW DO YOU NOT LOVE THEM?!
She hates skateboarding,
Dude, I board every day.
She's putting on an act,
I'm tryin' to be myself.
I'm comfortable with who I am.
She's a girly girl.
I'M A TOMBOY.
OverthinkingI get depressed so easily sometimes.
My mind just wants to relax, but I'm too busy overthinking.
Thats when the false hope and high expectations set in and all of the made up scenarios start playing in my head.
Then depression hits me like a ton bricks.
I hate feeling like this. It kills me every time.
All I want is to feel okay...is that really too much to ask?
move onmove on. move on. move on.
that's all i've ever been told.
get over it. he doesn't love you. move on.
you're torturing him by pursuing what you don't have.
he's gone, gone, gone. he will never love you. move on.
but the truth is i know i should, but i don't want to
i still love him so much...
but i need to move on, move on, move on.
PiecesNo one wants to read of a sad,
Lonely, broken-hearted girl
Who wishes nothing more that to see
The boy whom she loves smile again.
She can't put down what she feels on
Paper with the words the English language can offer.
Not a single adjective could describe the heart-break she feels
For the boy who never broke her heart, but mended the pieces of it
With his own.
So Close, Yet So FarWe're so close, yet so far.
We stand next to each other in the hallway and talk...
But I feel like we're so far away.
You avoid my gaze, but you speak nicely to me.
I take a step closer,
Just close enough to grab your hand.
But I resist the urge because we are too young still.
With every ounce of strength I have,
I try to keep from stumbling on my words,
But my heart beats too fast.
I try to keep as calm as you,
But I'm failing miserably in my head.
My voice is a shaky,
My whole body is trembling,
My heart says to tell him everything I'm holding in,
But my mind just barely keeps all of the words from escaping.
We're so close, yet so far.
And I don't know how long it will last,
Because I love him,
And would do anything to keep us from drifting apart.
I locked my heart in a mahogany box and threw away the key.
There was no one to care for - there was nothing left for me.
My heart had ceased beating long ago
after years of misery and pain.
Through countless highs and lecherous lows
I became immune to pounding rain.
I walked without even my shadow as a friend.
Numb to all emotions that surfaced to my skin.
Knowing I would be alone to the bitter end
suffering the consequences of sin.
I was shunned and shamed -
bruised and maimed.
No one cared - no one knew.
No one bothered to change my view.
My life was a silent movie
of a language no one spoke.
With plenty of plot holes for all to see
and an ending of mirrors and smoke.
It was getting hard to catch my breath.
Surely death would be oh so sweet.
Addicted to the thought like Crystal Meth,
it skipped through my head like an erratic beat.
She stumbled upon a key that washed up on the shore.
Wondering what it could unlock.
Determined to solve the riddle and explor
RoseThe greatest romance
Lies in your deep crimson color
Your many petals
Softer than skin
Your sharp thorns
Cause me to bleed
My love for you is infinite
The pain you cause me
Is a pleasure
You may be just a flower
But your beauty
Knows no rival
You AreI am the moon,
And you are the sun,
I pale in comparison to you.
I am a student,
And you are a professor.
I cant keep up with you.
I am a snowflake,
And you are a blizzard,
I will never be like you.
I am a tree,
And you are a fire,
You can destroy me easily.
I am a star,
And you are the universe.
You are simply my everything.
I shrug into Harry's shirt
underneath my autumn scarf--
cologne on the cuffs bringing
color as I close my eyes,
the brown of his hair,
laughter, pine green.
Fingers on marbled buttons
smooth as the cream
he puts in his chai.
I think of him like rain on a Sunday,
a slow breath uttered in calm,
eyes shut to listen,
he is peace,
stability in grayer moments.
He is the space in my empty bed
I ache for him the way
I crave prayer and
the feel of a rosary.
Locks of LoveI haven't cut my hair
Since just before
I walked across the stage
Sixteen months ago.
I grew it out
Because, last summer, you loved
To run your fingers
Through its coppery threads.
That always made me feel
When you left for school again in August,
I couldn't bring myself
To get a haircut.
What if you came back,
And this time, my heart was ready for you?
Mid-semester, you told me that,
While you and your friends
Built your school's bonfire,
It was customary
That no one cut his hair
Or even shaved
Until the structure was finished.
I don't think I told you
That I let mine continue to grow
In your honor, except
I didn't cut it on Burn Day.
When we kissed on Christmas Eve,
You weaved your fingers
Through my silken locks
And made me feel beautiful once more.
I still didn't cut my hair,
Even after you left in March,
Save for the split ends
I trimmed in May,
Hoping to eradicate negative energy
But not wanting to let go of you.
Now it's September.
If I Were A Love PoetFor my Laban. For my love.
Sometimes, often enough
when my thoughts are consumed
with you- I find myself wishing
that I was a love poet.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful
to piece words together so artistically
that I could make people understand
what it’s like to miss hands
that have never held me?
Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing,
if I could make a stranger
know how it feels to kiss you?
Sweetly, passionately, softly
Hesitantly- and yet all at once?
Even though their lips have never met yours,
Even though our lips have never met.
How lovely would it be
to sanely, yet romantically
explain to my parents what it’s like
to fall asleep with you?
We could tell them how you giggle when I beg you
to be the big spoon- because I feel like it’s to much responsibility.
We could tell them about the sleepy kisses you give me
at 3 a.m when you find me searching for
thuggish loverno more on love. tell me
instead of the hearts you've
beaten, and the way
they kept on
lukedon't leave me again;
the seasons flutter by with
the blink of spider web eyelashes
twirled around the pieces of
my decaying heart, molded
and renewed with the dawn
of your spring palms.
my senses spark in a
drunken flood of desire;
i refuse to wash away
our finger-painted memories
into the grasping swallow of
an atlantic undertow, but
the stale taste of vodka
sleeps under my palette.
you don't arc your silver
tongue to sip my salted
gums or latch your fists
into bird's nest tangled curls
--anymore, and the shivers
of shadows spin down my
splintered spine, the snap
of a twig between your
i'm alone; your cosmic dreams
and galactic eroticism treads
underneath another damsel's
breast, an arrow to her heart.
I wallow, naked and discarded,
drinking and drowning in the
alcoholic buzz of your sweat
on my tongue, all along knowing
you and i will never love again.
FallFall has heavily come upon the woods.
The trees are bare, and the air is crisp and cool.
The floor of the woods is crunchy to the step, and the feel of concealment is scarce.
The winds makes the trees sound as though they are whispering to one another.
Deep, dark secrets only the trees know.
I've come to love it here, it's somewhere I can be free for a few hours.
Time disappears, and all of my
Worries float away on the creek.
There is no nicer place to live then here.
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More