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Scarecrow Green W. Body ImageSCARECROW
the trees are still green.
ive got a boy in each ear screaming in a strained falsetto, "find god, then fuck, rub war paint over your collar and choke those dreams of adolescent fancy!"
maybe not in that order.
i feel that those might be reasonable demands.
if not, ill stay a virgin forever and stop posting my barely lucid projections on cross walk buttons so the world can join me in confusion.
ive decided to marry myself to this moment, a rubber band ring on my finger and everything.
i cant tell if theyre asking for a fire or a union.
all i can hear is sex and murder, a whisper of masturbation.
the feral cry signifies a busted climax so maybe these boys are in love and the songs merely rut against each other.
its a valid enough theory.
a part of me hopes that they become beautiful monsters when the lights go out.
for them my heart goes.
today ive decided not to believe in love.
its a silly little thing, not suitable for children my age
"just jealous 'cause we're young and in love."
im jotting this down overlooking stairs to the concrete people playing evergreen games until the grass hits and feet sink against the movement.
my fear is the position to topple into bodily harm, she told me because my statements were laced, hardly contrary to the truth. and my knees are buckling, body sways forward and panic spray paints my senses 'til they're all bright yellow. i fall backwards on my ass, knees pressed tight to my chest so i can breathe normal again.
luckily no ones noticed that its happened for the third time tonight.
it might be a bit cliche to proclaim myself toeing the edges of our small existence 63 percent of the time.
eyes closed and learning how to meditate, recite the best poem ever written to the better half of my memory that sits in the dark until special moments when i wish to remember how to make decisions based on my mistakes.
this is different.
im listening to someone else's favorite song, strike to my ski
Sunglassesi look down and my hands are clasped, the light washing over them in broken stretches, intervals like broken clockwork. fingers interlocked atop the plaid fabric draped down and around my hips.
for the past hour or so ive been writing in my head.
about boys and girls.
those who i have, haven't, should've and desperately want to kiss. im 16, so honestly, theres nothing else for me to write about.
i wanted to start this with a sentence in my mental draft that would state, more or less, 'i tell him i love him but im not sure by what definition i hold it, perhaps whichever he feels it to be.'
something like that.
its about a boy who ive kissed despite knowing just how much i should not have. because my decision making skills are just about as flawed as my parents' are.
i guess i wouldve gotten all poetic about it too. about the songs hes sang to me and how hes just a stepping stone that i paused at, knowing it was merely 'til i truly get what i want (sniff, i say, 'what i had'), but no mat
Blackbirdthe sound of breathing over labored guitar chords.
he says 'rooftop', i think E minor, maybe binary code.
its just that simple.
with an arpeggio inhale and the positioning of awkward fingertips.
now hes humming something i cant discern and the song is supposed to be about lonliness, he says, a thin mouth tilted up in the corner.
'lovely melancholy' i say to myself.
but i hear moonlight and silver glinting off earlobes, hollowed in the dark.
dont believe theyre lonely, more but reaching out from the edges.
scribbles in the corner of papers with outstretched arms, to use figurative language.
a tendency to ask what i am writing, always thinking it be about himself (8th grade memories floating like notebook paper, i remember, small smile and bright eyes.)
right now the sound is repetition, shifting soft and to a feeling--green grass like comforters and arena seating.
and i can hear what this is asking for, a mirror imaged and a sideways glance through crowds.
to break his concentration, th
Counter Topi need to make that night seem more poetic when i write it down.
inject some sorry romanticism into those few moments.
felt like i had no face and even with the lilt of eyebrows, creases in the corners of my forced smile, the expression wouldnt have mattered anyway.
they dont explain it to you in those middle school classes.
the overwhelming sense of power found in sometimes hazel eyes, bright in dimly-lit rooms.
yet crippled in knowing how these things tend to mean nothing.
how my knees give out and quiver.
how in the minutes before, my lips mirrored the action, trying not to weep for the need of piteous decisions.
and voices are obsolete.
but breathing means everything.
i might actually call that my own, unless imagination runs wild and my skin goes blank for an open canvas---close your eyes and see anyone else you want to hold.
theres nothing at all beautiful to see when i let myself be picked apart for the sake of wanting someone i cant have, even when hes looping his perfect finge
Criss-Cross Designthe light has then adjusted
some twenty times since
weve been staring
with hair caught behind cold ears
and the irises expanding
for there is no way
to go blind in these rooms
with white-washed vision
blotting out dark figures
as they might rise slowly
in some distance
but you might switch these lines
to different angles
looking out windows
see the dull drone
of brown eyes
against brick walls
im writing your movement
as i stare at this pen
conjuring some demon
kill you dead
with the unrelenting desire
of this swirling madness
out the tip and over the page
so i could draw the distance
of just where you migh
be looking and write
those lines back to my eyes
and my mouth
because they are both open, staring
as you look anywhere but for me
Adenei've got a safety pin fastened through a collar and a name i dont know fit under the swollen rasp of my dry tongue.
the name like peril, little girls in sunday dresses, celestial in the songs they sing.
as if i knew that definition.
maybe stringing descriptions along branches and stuck with metal points, rusting red through the sides.
spelling out letters with stick tips in teh dirt and memorizing lines on her knees, with her hands upon the ground.
with hair threaded through like loops about her fingertips, passed through pink tinged lips and breathin in her air through filters, left there speechless.
reflecting the sun and leaving their sketches on tree trunks.
the countours gold, eyes closed and blind to the moment.
spit at her feet and found mud squished through toes, causing dissension among the ranks.
and she speaks quietly to the pins in her shoulders that whatever youre seeing, its not happening.
i say Adene, you draw a picture and the lines overlap.
running like water.
We Can See Thisive found out that these lives are like movies and the voices set are scripted pieces of beauty.
my gaze, taciturn, green grass in graveyards.
lifting his chin with the tips of my fingers.
as if holding the pose, fighting breath under water.
and walking away, found an exit through hanging branches of willows wilting in the heat of some lost summer.
the glances then fashioned are disguised 'round my fingers in trying to remember why i could not look away as he tread over flowers, skipping over their stories held in the words chipped into cold stone.
unless laying on the park bench and closing my eyes, finding letters encrypted in the stones thrown at my feet.
if set to the chorus of the soundtracks so celluloid, you could find our names up in the lights of grocery store tabloids.
because we are stars.
pretending out way through the moment of fake love, shielding faces from sunlight in late afternoons.
Hair Clip in Those Bedroomsdarling
i can hear the quirk in your voice
so i know its not okay
and im not gonna tell you i approve
but hes gone on an ego trip
and it extends beyond the hours of jet lag
that pulls you into his arms
from whence he might throw you upon the ground
to hear his drunken hero stories
the fatigue breathes alcohol into his thoughts
and theres that girl that we know
the one that i love more than the world
who whispers two names into everyones ear
and plays off the repercussions as her innocence
so lets all nod and call this okay
i remember the summer
when we smiled
as they played out the night in the comfort of bedrooms
it was okay wasnt it
the dialogue of deception
and hes lining your ears with it
its not the soar of piano concertos
and sonnets spoken with the bow of stringed instruments
if he looks you in the eyes with sunflowers in your vision
know to stare away
because is it not preconceived in the hours that he travels back in time
back to you
to whisper that hes not sure of what you ar
just another adolescent love poemlet’s get this straight right now:
there are people i can only talk to
at four o’clock in the morning, when
the line between decency and secrecy
becomes just as blurred as the one between
night and day.
you’re not one of them.
i’m not ashamed of you.
or scared. and don’t try to tell me that’s not
a miracle because i still check under the bed
for monsters and behind the shower curtain
for serial killers. i know it’s all in my head
but things like that make me terrified;
i mean, i still hold my breath crossing by a cemetery
and someone else is always going to have to kill the spiders.
i’m hoping that someone will be you.
which i’m also hoping i’ll never accidentally tell you
because it’s like i lose all cognitive reasoning
around you, even when we’re fighting.
you split me down the middle, half of me wanting
to tear out your femur and beat some sense into you
and the other half wanting to give anything,
even the foun
Cold Hands, Warm HeartYou spent the day telling me
That I'm hot when I'm cold,
That I look pretty with my hair wet,
That I'm fast in water,
That I'm your little fishy,
As I sped through the river's current.
You cuddled me, hugged me,
I'm finally sure you love me,
And yet I manage to push you away.
You know my hands are freezing cold,
Did I warn you that my heart's the same?
Cold hands, warm heart, I've been told,
I guess for me, it's not the same.
I didn't believe in angels until I met you,
I know you're one.
But not the kind with wings or halos.
Your aura is woven with beams from the sun,
Yet I'm a dark creature, dwelling in shadows.
I'm sorry I got mad at you for a stupid little thing,
And I know my words sting.
I know my hands are freezing, and my heart's the same.
But I love you with a passion, and in my heart is a flame.
you tasted like mintI remember the way you stared into my eyes
in the front seat of your car.
Our favorite song was playing on the radio
and you were driving me home in the rain
because I didn't have anyone else who could give me a ride.
You parked your car in my drive way
and we watched the rain drops race down the windshield.
You had kissed me goodbye before I got out
and I waved as you drove away.
And for a while, it seemed like I couldn't get the taste
of your minty lips out of my mouth.
Sorry Only Says So MuchThere is a particular tension in the halls of a high school.
The eyes of two young souls meet-
Two lost souls.
One was broken beyond repair, with scars that would make the eyes of the strongest man drool.
One was the one who made that feet.
Two rotten souls.
When they see each other,
They both- at the very least the culprit-one- contort their chests.
They avert there eyes and their hearts drop.
It's like they want to cry from the pain,
But also from the joy of the past all over again.
Now the evil one,
The one who gave the other so much pain,
Stays up at night, torturing herself,
Clinging to torn pictures and rotten petals,
Listening to old songs and reading through old messages,
Regretting the past.
She knows she can't change what she's done.
She knows there won't be a reset this time.
It's just the most painful thought in her mind.
She wonders if the other ever thinks the same.
She wonders if the other ever utters her name.
There isn't much else she can do now to begin a friendship,
jawlinesher name was Jules-short-for-Julianne and she tasted of the grape gum that comes in packs of eight, the kind tucked away on the shelf at the Grocery & Gifts on 21st and Hawthorne,
and I didn’t know I was supposed to close my eyes.
she traced my spine with her teeth (I figure now she was trying to crack it open, let my marrow spill over her lips)
the stars leaning in when we kissed looked like rice, honest, not wishes or dreams or satellites,
two girls collided on a sidewalk, boots drenched in gasoline puddles that glistened scarlet aquamarine gold, trying to find something with their tongues
but we fooled nobody.
Ever Contemplating I have so many options,
but at the same time,
I have none.
As much as I wanna leave,
I think I might have to stay
right where I am.
someday it will happen:
we'll be on our own
you just have to wait.
I have to finish some things
before we can start:
before we can disappear
and live in our little shack
by the beach in paradise
with just enough to get by.
Playing music on the street
to get something to eat;
just to stay alive.
Although the melodies
keep our hearts beating
and the breaths we take going.
Screaming out our lungs
trying to bring back grunge,
with all our clothes
covered in studs.
Kaoru x Chubby reader: You're not fat.
You were hanging with at the Hitachiin mansion with the rest of the Host club members on a Friday night hanging out after a very long day at school.You were bullied at school but for a peculiar reason.You were a bit chubby.You weren't skinny,but you weren't fat either.Although,you do feel fat most of the time.Most girls at the school were- wait let me rephrase that,EVERY girl at the school was skinny except for you.You had trouble losing weight in the past.You had a strict diet and excercised daily.It was a very slow process but the pounds were skimming off....just not fast enough.Because of being chubby and being self consious you didn't have much friends.However,Kaoru Hitchiin was the first person to become your friend when you came to Ouran.You met the host club after that and became great friends.Haruhi and Kouya are the only ones who knew that you're being bullied by your weight but neither you or them really mentioned it much.You smiled lightl
send me letters instead of text messagesi.
hold me close to your heart;
make me laugh when i'm upset
and protect me when i feel scared.
make me feel like i'm
important to you.
send me letters in the mail
that contain poems that you wrote just for me
and tell me about how you go to
the bookstore every other weekend, hoping that
you can find something for me to read.
tell me about how you want to
go to college after we graduate
and study chemistry like you said you would,
and rant about how much you love science
even if i'm not interested in science,
because i love that you're so passionate about something
and i just love listening to your voice
when you're happy.
One of These DaysOne of these days
I’m going to walk up to you
And know exactly what to say.
The things is though,
You take my breath away
And I’m not good at conversation anyway.
One of these days
I’m going to walk up to you
And tell you exactly how I feel.
I’ll walk up to you
And have my words make you feel loved
Just like you do for me.
One of these days
I’m going to tell you
How happy you’ve made me
And what a difference you’ve made in my life
If only I could speak in poetry
Then I might be able to communicate better.
But I can’t
So I’ll just have to find a way to keep my words
When they aren’t on paper.
But I will
I’ll tell you
I’ll find a way to talk to you
One of these days.
Treat Her Kindlystorybook
bright blue eyes
and stuttered glances
long blonde hair
laying on the floor
they know where the water ends
press of lips
everyones supposed to know
when the door walks in
the clock dripping
its a painting on the wall
in a circle
word of mouth
nothing makes more sense
than the things that people hide
one day well live together
hes says life will be better
and thats the way love goes
for one or two
three or four
and they give
because thats what lovers do
outstretch a hand
with the world
theyll be vindicated
who exactly knows what from
everything from everyone
but theyre still singing spinning dying
her blue eyes are crying
and the world stops to a still
lies make more sense
finger there to a cheek
and the stars are falling
with a word
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More