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Waiting OutsideThey say that when a door closes
another one comes ajar
Well, I've been waiting and waiting
Doors slam in my face
Doors are quietly closed, while
Someone on the other side
Doors are barricaded
Doors are boarded
Doors are deleted from existence
I'm in a hallway
So many doors
But they won't let me in
I'm not pretty enough to go into the fancy ones
The ones with gold knobs
and posh voices coming from the other side
If I were strong and brave
I'd force some doors open
Or bang on them
Until someone heard me exist
But if implies the alternative
And I'm not strong and brave
And I choose corners when there's a choice
Blend in with the wall
And hover around the doors
That seem nicer
But they close
And I'm still outside
I'm always outside
Watching doors close
And waiting for another one to open
But it hasn't so far.
Hello, Dear MeDear me,
remember our early promises
so heartfelt and true
about the beautiful future,
well, I haven't made them true yet,
but I can swear that they guide me.
I didn't love me much in the past -
words spoken to hurt seemed so real
and loving something not perfect felt like a sin.
I choose to love me now:
love my mind,
love the way I think and the way I understand,
love how my hair looks in the sun,
love the color of my eyes,
the books I choose to keep close,
how my fingers move over the piano,
the decisions made
and the first uncertain steps
That will take me where I want to go.
Where I have always wanted to go.
For being me.
Not That Different: Windows and DoorsSometimes I fall silent.
Facing the whiteness of what is yet not,
Of the nothing that must be made something,
Must be made beauty by me.
My weapon of choice - words.
The bulding blocks of a new reality.
I paint a picture in black and white
So that others may see a world of magic.
But facing the white,
I fall silent sometimes
And words fail me
And I fail them.
I watched others come face to face with the nothing.
But they used colors to chase it away.
Brandishing delicate lines
And confident strokes.
I watched windows be opened,
Windows to new worlds
Frozen in a moment of beauty.
And I saw stories hidden
Behind every swirl of a line.
I have no skill in my fingers
To open windows with charcoal and oil.
I'd like to think I open doors
For others to come through
And settle in peace
Just for a while.
I saw us work in similar patterns.
Breaking down walls in between dimensions
So others can see what is hidden in our minds.
We face the same blank space
Time after time.
And turn nothing into som
Fear the FutureWhat I need is a map for the future,
Where every treasure is an X and every pitfall has a warning.
I want thick green lines that tell me the shortcuts
And thin red ones that mark the wrong ways.
But the road is long
And nobody knows its turns and twists.
I wish for a map,
For I look into the future
And the future is fog and darkness.
Heart of mine, give me hope.
I have to choose a path at the crossroads,
But the roads are a thousand.
And one goes into a forest of wolves.
And one goes into a desert without end.
And one goes up a grey mountain.
And one goes into the cold sea.
My feet are bleeding already
And my compass is broken
And each road is a thousand miles long.
Heart of mine, give me guidance.
I wish for a companion in my travels
To make a joke and sooth my fears
But I walk alone, for my path can fit nobody else.
I wish for a horse to ride,
To ease my feet and carry my burdens
But the road is narrow and my pockets are empty.
I wish for a fire ahead
That would guide my steps throug
Instructions for Being a Good GirlKeep a smile handy, along with your lipstick.
Squeeze your heart to fit in a top.
Walk on needles and don’t dare to trip.
Taste is a luxury, calories are unforgivable.
Those are the basic rules, got them all down?
Pick a face now.
You’re lucky, girls come in two models -
Vixen or virgin.
The measures are fixed, customize the colors,
But not too much.
No warranty, no exchange.
Remember, all women are witches.
It’s still a fact, even if a letter is changed.
The modern witch needs nothing but glamours.
These come prepackaged - beauty in a capsule, youth in a tube.
Running out? Sorry, thanks for playing,
Glamours are the currency for all your trades.
Witches come in two models - sexy or hag.
Let’s see, what am I forgetting?
Be helpful, “no” is the worst insult a person can hear.
Nod. Wave. Laugh at unfunny jokes.
Let others enjoy you.
And didn’t I tell you to smile already?
Princess - KorolevnaЕе прозвали Соколом и это имя ей шло. Гибкая и тонкая как лук, Инге сражалась как прирожденная хищница, неважно ли в кабацкой драке или на поле битвы. Неплохая спутница дл&
Tsuren's SonnetКак лист увядший падает на душу
Тень прошлой жизни, выкинутой в море.
Теперь с собой я в непосильной ссоре:
Я утонул, хотя вернусь на сушу.
На прежнем берегу — мечи и серост
More Than a SumI am more than the sum of my parts,
More than the sum of my roles.
Even if there is an infinity of them -
There is an infinity of roles I have
And some more that I want:
I stand at the intersection of words
That designate a function.
But still, they don't designate me.
We are made of the same elements
And the molecule on the tip of an eyelash
May have danced around a campfire
We are made of water and salt, like the sea.
The sea washes my eyes when I'm sad.
We are made of earth, dust and ash
But those who say we return to dust are not right -
We return to everything that lives, too.
But I am more than the sum of sea and earth.
I am more than the sum of molecules.
Because they are only for loan
In this thing called a body.
The element of spirit refuses classification.
I might give it shape in metaphore,
But too many words have been said already.
Let's just i
The Princess of SorrowOnce upon a time, there was a kingdom. A peaceful, contented, sleepy sort of kingdom - with white towers and green forests, with apple trees and blueberry patches, with small ponds and red-roofed houses. It was a prosperous land where life was ever the same.
Of course, this kingdom had a king and the king had a palace, built out of gold and ivory. In the palace, the ruler lived with his family - his wife, a prince and a princess. The royal family also looked like they were made of gold and ivory - they had pale skin, and they had curls, delicate like golden threads. The king loved his family very much and admired their beauty, especially the little princess', who had the sky in her eyes.
In that peaceful kingdom, they lived for a long time, for the fields were fertile and hardly any work was necessary. There were no worries in the kingdom, until one day a storm came to ravage the land.
For many days, the storm screamed and raged, until there was no more food and no more rest for the
Remarks on October Festivities‘Twas the day before Halloween, when all through the school,
Not a student was present, not a seat was full.
The pumpkins and skeletons were taped to the walls with care
In preparation for the children that would soon be there.
The buses pulled up and the parking spots filled.
Students in costume straggled through the autumn chill.
And Sister with her pumpkin spice coffee, and I with my scarf
Had just stepped out of our car to see a classmate’s hair looking like candy corn barf.
I looked at my sister and she looked at me,
Her eyes gleaming with a festive glee.
“It’s the transfer student,” was all she could master.
I nodded. “Yes, his hair’s a disaster.”
The orange dye bled into the yellow—
Well, blonde—it didn’t look right on such a pale fellow.
And what with my wandering eyes did I see,
But the transfer student coming towards me.
He grinned and waved, dressed mostly in black,
While I took a surreptitious step back.
The Phoenician Sailor's TestimonyI was thirteen when I touched the water first
Barely having reached the age of reason,
But filled with this unquenchable thirst –
The denial of which would be self-treason.
A thirst had I, O Lord my God, parched
By the budding truth that I would die –
Would die, and in some ways wanted to.
Wanted to die, yes, but not for you;
I wanted to die for the sake of my arched
Brows, knit with my own confused cry
Of Kyrie, Kyrie, for I do not believe –
I want to want – but I want to leave.
The sanctuary walls kept the danger within
So I sat in the lobby where I was free of sin.
And even at that age I was applauded for this –
Freedom from God is a freedom from stress –
The stress of sin that taints our brief bliss
While a perfect Other Being warns: Unless, Unless.
Unless you behave and deny all you are,
Unless you die to your old, former self,
Unless you find yourself broken on a rock
Unless you bend the knee and wish on that star
Unless you give it all
Als ein Schatten an der Wand
Sich mit Ruß und Träumen paarte -
Über schwacher Glut verharrte
Von ‚Vielleicht‘ zum ‚Ist‘ gespannt -
Schälte sich aus dieser Szene
Eine schlangendünne Sehne.
Jene Sehne zog Verstand,
Aus den halb versäumten Träumen -
Aus den alten, kalten Räumen
In der sie sich wiederfand,
Zog es sie hinaus ins weite,
Wo es weiße Wunder schneite.
Kaum berührte sie das Weiß,
Spürte sie mit einem Male,
Kälte bricht die zarte Schale
Ihrer Haut wie dünnes Eis.
Durch die eisig wunde Blöße,
Wuchs sie zur zehnfachen Größe.
Nur im Innern blieb sie klein,
Und sie suchte wachsend Wärme
Länder ohne Flockenschwärme,
Oder einen heißen Stein
Auf den sie sich schlängeln könnte…
Der ihr eine Zuflucht gönnte.
Als es Nacht geworden war,
Sah sie über tausend Sonnen,
Die der Schuppenschmied gesponnen
ParisklageUnd hinter ihm die Trümmerstadt,
Ist er es, der sie verwüstet hat?
Er rennt nicht, geht ganz ruhig daher,
Trümmerstadt, du sahst ihn nimmer mehr.
Sein Schatten fällt auf See hinab,
Fort treibt's ihn von der Trümmerstadt,
Oh sag mir, Meer, oh sag mir Strom,
Hast du ihn gesehen, den Königssohn?
Den Göttern gleich sein Antlitz war,
Gemüt, wie Feuer, doch ehrlich war,
Nie trat er falsch, nie bracht' er leid,
Was geschah mit ihm, dass ihn verleit'?
Oh, Trümmerstadt, du weißt es nicht,
Niemand kann es dir je sagen, denn
Der Königssohn verschwand von Land,
Und auch im Meer, ich ihn nie fand.
404I tend to work under a layer
Of symbolism and metaphor
Which might seem esoteric –
Unreachable to the uninitiated.
If this is the case with you, talk to me
For a minute – or maybe more –
And you’ll find that the arcane references
Are but a fragile mask
Hiding a void –
Signifying nothing –
Except for the one I thought might see –
Might have me pegged without having to ask
With this one I thought there was a prayer
To get out from under this shell
Of sideways glances and glancing blows
Beyond to something more that might tell
Something about myself and the way I am.
With her it was always simple things –
Nothing grand and nothing great –
But something real nonetheless.
With him it was always bless and be blessed
Seeking nothing but the will of fate
To lead his life down a path of purest offerings.
With me it was always a matter of that which is seen
And that which is not, but is like the backdrop of a dream –
Felt, but not real
A Calm SongThey look at you with their evil eyes
Born again, I think calm is more wise
Knowing some people are just spies
Filled with nothing, just sad envy and lies.
Season's ChangeSeason stands at her closet
Perusing the hangers with care
Tapping her chin with her finger
Wondering what she should wear
Fresh shades of green and a sun hat?
An apple-red sweater of wool?
A pair of slick rubber rain boots
With a parka to keep out the cool?
Conflicted, she pauses and ponders
Then decides to give up her quest
She'll leave the choice up to her mother
After all, Mother Nature knows best.
I am what you make me.
You decide how I should look,
Will I be classy or plain?
Human or a creature from another world,
Wicked or innocent; twisted or coy?
Some claim that I have a soul,
But I don't have one, not really,
Because I am only what you make me.
From the essence of my plastic bones,
My hair and color of my skin;
To the clothes I wear and what I do,
Where and who I am with-
My life depends on your every whim.
And sometimes I may assume other roles…
But mostly I'm just a pretty face,
A body to replay your fantasies,
Like a high class courtesan
Passing hands and changes faces.
Yet some of you like to pretend to be me.
TrojaParis ward er einst genannt,
Des Priamos' jüng'rer Sohn,
Regier'n sollt' er nie das Land,
Auch erben nicht den Thron.
So wusst' der junge Prinz oft nicht,
Was mit ihm einst passieren sollt',
Doch leider war sein Herz rein nicht,
Seinem Bruder er stets grollt.
Hektor war der gold'ne Sohn,
Der Erbe, stolzer Recke,
Der sich dereinst auf dem Thron
Hinter keinem mehr verstecke.
Er zog aus, so oft es ging,
Gefahren immer zu entgegen,
Und manch ein seltsames Geding,
Begab sich auf seinen Wegen.
Der Jüng're doch zuletzt besann,
Sich auf den Vorteil, den er hat,
Denn wo Hektor eckte an,
War Paris wunderbar, und glatt.
Verlor sein Herz, sammelte mehr,
So viele Frauen liebten ihn,
Dass er die Liebe schätzt' nicht sehr,
Ihm doch zuzufliegen schien.
Bis zuletzt der Bruderzwist,
Auf die Höhe wart getrieben,
Denn wo Helena kam mit List,
War Hektor nicht untätig geblieben.
Raubte er dem Bruder dann,
Den einen, der ihm wichtig war,
Den einen, den geliebten Mann,
Damit hielt er
El LlamadoTrajo el viento una canción enredada en su pelo,
Que sonaba con voz de sirena, con susurros de mar.
Le escuche pasar y tire una flor por anzuelo.
Y con la canción en brazos al norte me heche a andar.
Pasé por montañas altivas; en rios bañé mis ropas.
Entre hierbas que hablan misterios sólo soñé con tu voz.
Con tristes fuegos fatuos compartí unas copas
Y para no perder tiempo, monté una tormenta feroz.
A la orilla del mundo construí un blanco navío
Con nubes, para darle alas, con velas de fino papel.
Zarpé hacia el norte, para evitar extravío,
A la canción que me puso en camino, siéndole siempre fiel.
Un dia volví a casa, como vuelven también las aves.
Abrí la ventana para que el viento pudiera entrar.
Dejé la canción ir flotando sobre corrientes suaves
Para que a otro viajero al mundo pudiera llamar.
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
Keep in Touch!
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