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The Real MonstersWe always believed as kids
that pulling the blanket
over our heads
would protect us from
evil, from the creatures
that go bump in the night.
We pulled the wool over
our eyes, and cowered in
youthful ignorance, hoping
with every ounce of our being
that our problems would go away.
I'll tell you something, kid,
something the world will teach
you anyway - oh please listen
to each and every word I say
the monsters under the bed
have been in the mirror all along
you are your own worst nightmare.
We hold onto dreams without pursuit,
simply willing them to be without
wanting to put in the blood, sweat
and tears - in a way, succumbing
to those same childhood fears,
even after all of these exhausting years.
There's just one thing we forgot
to take into account, over all of this
voracious self doubt, that there
are other ways to make your voice heard
than to just scream and shout.
Even when the whole world is against you
show them they're wrong,
through word and song.
I'll tell you
In Spite Of FaithThis is the way we live our life. Our hands in our pockets,
our heads to the skies. Tell me again my way of thinking
is wrong, oh the inherent nature of your judgement, contradicting
to the core. I'll forget about the naysayers and continue my sins,
living my life in spite of promise, not awaiting it's reward. Oh
the good inside of a man, with the vision of paradise at the end,
how the hell can you tell us we are bound for nine circles?
I await the tide, with my feet in the sand and the sun on my skin.
All of that time wasted hoping for something better, we fail
to make the status quo something we can be happy with. So desperate
to replace our misery with Elysian fields, we'll abandon our
brother if it means stepping foot past the gates. Well the only
pearly whites I need are the teeth behind my smile, and a kiss
every once in a while. The only promise I long for is the promise
of love, not the promise of forever. I am at home, I am comfortable
with the end, because I didn't sit around
Tell Me Which Way To GoAt times I feel this world is all too much,
and it's in these lowest of lows
that I need your hand just to pull me up
before I sink to the bottom, the bottom again.
I need a welcoming voice, an ear to listen,
the simple warm embrace of a friend, fuck --
Where has my confidence gone? Oh how I used
to long for something better than this,
for something to take me far away from here.
And now all I can do is scream at the
top of my lungs. How can I do this alone?
Well grip my hand and make sure you hold on tight,
we're in for a wild ride, and every low will be
followed with exciting highs, as we raise our arms,
youthful eyes closed as we reach for the skies.
I know, oh believe me I know, that this moment
of weakness is not all that I'm meant to be,
I know that these doubts won't get the best of me,
because the world has yet to see the rest of me.
If These Words Were My LastMy calamitous calling, a cringe beneath this crippling
crisis of conscience - always tugging, gnawing
right beneath the surface. A dull throbbing, becoming a
quaking yearning, a voracious desire to find an outlet
for these fleeting thoughts. All of these trapped
strings of flowery language, words circling and dancing
in the depths of my creativity, locked far away
from my access. How I wish I could purge myself of
all of the things I need so desperately to voice, if only
I had a voice to do so. My abilities escape me, and my
insecurities berate me, at times sedate me, when all I
want is for the world to praise me. You'll never be good enough.
And that may be the absolute truth, but as the time
ticks away and life passes me by, I am consumed with
the need to raise my voice and at times my fist in
firm opposition to the crows circling above - I'll
slip into delusion or come out of it some day and make
a great feast for the conflux before me, the horde will take
me, and I'll rot kn
I've Got A Story To TellFriction, it's my most sincerest depiction,
of the obstacles draining my conviction. There's
just something in the way, even though it
was never supposed to be this way. Every ounce
of me has something to say, yet my desire goes astray,
and tends to stray away from the point or the meaning
in what it is I'm trying to say, like all of the seams
binding it together are beginning to fray. And it seems
as if these dreams are no longer attainable, like my
nightmares are starting to work in teams, the smallest
layers of darkness are enveloping the largest of beams.
But if there's one thing I know, it's that I've still got
a story to tell. But a writer without inspiration is like
a salesmen with no product to sell, in the way that every
demon in my life was once an angel who fell, like when the
worst of sinners can account for the bad and avoid hell,
I hope that despite my trials I can figure out another way
to accomplish something in the realm of a fairy tale.
My whole being is consumed by t
It's All but LostI've been contemplating for some time now
the idea of leaving it all behind,
from the bursting cannon fire in the
pit of my stomach, to the aching of my spine,
with feelings of yellow fear and green envy
consuming my ability to rationalize an end-
I'll hang onto sobriety as a last attempt,
but creativity has long escaped me.
I dared to try, dared to dream, and now
I can't even muster up the courage to piece
anything together, words and phrases, prose
and poetry, it all is lost on me now- once
coming so easily, so naturally, so rhythmically,
I've orchestrated my end so masterfully. I peaked
long ago, and I feel now that I'm facing an
uphill battle, trying to reach such incredible
heights as I once could compose with ease.
Clearly, it's self imposed, and maybe
my means have not suffered, but my confidence instead,
but either way it's got to stop -
All of these doubts and insecurities,
I'll line them up one by one and
take them in my sights, in hopes of
never missing again.
Give Me An AnswerOh, that stream of conscious. How I've yearned to return
to a time where inspiration poured out of me, and there
weren't enough outlets in this vast world to fill all of the
things I had to say. That need, ardent and voracious all at
the same time, no longer surfaces. Buried deep beneath a
shell of a sleep deprived anxious hull. I ache for the
ability I once had - the ability to just create. To
put words together, to string along the melodies of
my heart and soul, into poetic and prose fashion. To
just empty all of the pint up emotions, or put together
completely new ones. That ability to be the voice of others,
to put into words what they would never be able to,
having never even experienced their trials on my own.
Where has my inspiration gone? Where do I begin to search?
I can only keep reaching and hope my grasp is near,
for I fear the end draws neigh and without a kick start
I'm headed for a collision.
Bohemian GardensDeep, deeper than any murky depths below storm battered surfaces, beyond cavernous openings to what one could confuse for the gates of the inferno itself, lies a compound. A collection of society’s outcasts, dregs and saints, recovering or sinking further into delusion, the hopeless and those still strong enough to hold onto grace. The whispering of wind, bellowing from tree trunks to tree tops, drifting across huts and tents, an orchestration of utter desperation, melodically playing the symphony of the end. The trumpets sound, almost to announce the ending of an era, that all expected to never arrive. To the outside looker, prying into the shanty, it appears as hell. For the inhabitants, this place is nothing short of paradise, the answer to their bohemian calling, a miraculous sprouting of freedom and acceptance. Regardless of the stage in their transformation, every individual in the populace calls this place home.
Rows of trees hug the humble abodes, wrapping limb and leaf a
Insomnia's CraveEvery last ounce of me wants me to stop. The beckoning
does not come unannounced, and even the Devil on my shoulder
tells me to turn back from this. Confronted by the monkey
on my back, even the Angel has a hard time seeing the light.
The temptation comes from every angle, the craving deep within,
I won't say this is an addiction, an extent to which a far cry
would be an understatement. This is a longing, a hunger ever
voracious - distracting and taunting, clawing and gnawing,
forcing it's way to the surface by any means necessary. I grasp
onto every second spent behind closed lids, longing for
those few moments of silence, a quiet enveloping my being,
something we all take so easily for granted- rest and relaxation,
no, beyond that. Sleep. Every white pestilent pill doesn't get
me higher, it doesn't fill cravings, my body still is weak.
It allows me access, entry into the dreamworld, if only for a second.
No line or bump, or injection or hit, could ever amount to this -
my escape is n
She's a WriterShe sits at her desk
Her headphones in,
The world shut out.
She bleeds for others
As words fly from
Her mind to her fingertips.
She stares at the screen,
At every little comment,
The good and the painful.
She forms her emotions
Into books and poems
To throw away the hurt.
She's a writer,
And her best weapons
Are her mind and her pen.
BetrayedI won't swallow your lies anymore
I can't stand your presence
You used to be my friend
But you're nothing to me now
And soon you'll be
Another bad memory
I won't be able to forget
Do you know what it feels like...To be lonely?
To be bullied?
To be called ugly?
To be unattractive?
To be compared to other women?
To be considered unnormal?
To be unloved even though you give love to others?
To face issues that you don't in reality know how to fix?
To think that your goal you're reaching for, is unattainable?
To feel like the cause of many people's problems?
To be held up on a high pedistal that you can't get down off of?
To realize that people don't like you based on your personailty?
To at no avail, keep up your happy and upbeatness for others?
To look at happy couples and wish that you had someone to be happy with?
To stop fighting for anything anymore?
flower petalsi know that when we touch
that my energy is yours
that we are like flowers
because at our roots
we need water and love,
we reach tall as we can
to get to the sun
and stretch our leaves
to welcome it all;
and when we touch
i know that our skin isn’t skin
too soft for this world
when it grows rough with gravel
so i invite you back to our bed,
soft with the earth
where we can lie gently
and sleep until it is time
You AgainOh, it's you again. I must admit,
The crooning has
The lies have been
And mine are like swords
It's just you and me
In this sick game
I can tell
You're pulling me in,
And I don't have
To pull you down
Sometimes, I've had
And all I see is
Then it became
I don't know
How to escape
Dark to see.
And all I can
Wonder at every
Turn I make
When can it be
SightStars in the night sky
I see beyond that and through
Greatness into darkness, I can fly
Here above the earth I can see the truth
There is an angel that will love me until I die
jackal grinMy orange peel
lips split: the beams
a deck of cards
nana’s worn porch,
and fingers weaving
through grass blades
when the light is
soft and warm.
(have you f
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
I Don't Come with the Edgesi.
It cries the way dragonflies leave ripples
in the rain. On days I swallow
whirlpools for breakfast and
drown with libraries for fun,
I can almost allow myself to forget
And it doesn’t want to make
me kneel on my shoulders
or pluck the weeds
from my scars;
I can see it try so hard
to be my friend.
But if I could choose
polka dots over tail lights
and sun screen over
I wouldn’t think thrice
or even once
not to blow the candles
on my grave.
That’s why I keep
the colons of analog clocks
under my tongue;
so I could keep the
figures eight of cliché’s
as keepsakes for old age.
I like to think infinities
have loopholes; tree rings
that dissolve into each other
with exhales for a caress.
And just when the tones
of lyrics would enter the
eutony of names, only then
would I drift into love.
When I wouldn’t be holding
my blood in my temples-
when all I am is a thought.
The running footsteps
we’ve come to cla
Pestilent PrincessEvery compressed oval or circle,
down to each obscure ingestion
I knew you'd never let me down.
Those gorgeous porcelain eyes staring
back up at me until the very last moment.
Tell me your final words, your dying wishes,
and I will grant them all, for you
provide the nirvana I so desperately crave.
My pestilent princess, I will slay
every dragon it takes to get to you
even if it means chasing it for eternity.
Hath No FearGiving yourself completely up to fear is kinda like falling in love: You can't pin point exactly when it started and by the time you realize that you are surrounded by that sensation it's already game over. Just like the image of the person you are in love with starts creeping out from every unexpected corner, fear never leaves your side when you give it a welcome stay. After a restless sleep, it starts beating anxiously in your heart the moment you wake up in the morning and commands all your thoughts and actions throughout the day. It is nothing short of a prison, except you are the only inmate and the warden never takes a break. Ever.
I do not exactly remember when I let fear occupy my being but I remember the exact moment when I realized I was ruled by it. It was late in the afternoon, everybody was out there 'getting busy living' and I had locked myself inside my bed half awake, not particularly finding any valid reason to get out of it. Then I was awakened from a nightmare by my
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More