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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
Page 248Miss Mallory was in the library as usual
The ghostly silence of the library was musical
Again and again she searched for a new book
A black tattered novel was what Mallory took
"I don't recall reading this one" she said
There was no title, but a red symbol instead
As she opened it, dust exploded in her face
And the black book landed on a random page
Page 248 was blank, not a single word to be seen
"What's this? How odd. Whatever does it mean?"
She placed her palm onto page 248, very curious
In Mallory went as the book snapped shut, victorious
Falling, falling, and falling, into some unknown void
Her mind was losing it, her precious memories, destroyed
Swiftly and silently, poor Mallory disappeared in a wink
And onto page 248 was her life, written out with black ink
The black book flew back to its dusty home, the top shelf
Where one day, a curious soul would grab to read for oneself
An advice for the readers: "Beware of page 248! You ought to!"
"Don't be hungry for a book, for this book
PortalThe birds are about
The clouds are out
So let's go and find
Some sort of mind
That does not care
But to where we want to go
And golden sunshine
Paint the way for us
Let's see where it takes us
To a faerie field
Full of daytime wheels
We can spin to wherever
Acrid blossom bells
Wave goodbye our cells
So let's not disappoint
And in their bright wave join
As our minds overflow with chance
Our feet are lively
Our smiles are wide
Do not hesitate
But to smell and taste
Like children's memories
Cruel mares can slumber
With all the other
But far aflutter
That picks at our aspirations
Storm fronts behind
Their intent unkind
So let's keep running
And never stop shunning
The past for all its pain
Our purpose so delayed
Become battle calls
To challenge in our midst
The devil's wrist
Nipping at our heels
To try and peel
The veil from our pictured
Suddenly SPIDER!Big hairy scary spider just ran at my naked feet.
I screamed and lifted my toes and now it's under my seat!
And now I'm scared to move
And now I'm scared to stay
Where did that hairy scary
Emerge from anyway?
Memory LossMemories... my soulful melody
Intertwined within a grand symphony
Though the experiences remained ever-lasting
I neglected to reflect upon their meaning
As I continued on, living in irony.
Nonchalantly, I continue the journey
Unaware of the terrifying reality
Truth begets hate, then understanding
Abolished of my stupidity
I will come to terms with my destiny
Clinging not to fear of dying
Yet regretting what I am becoming
Something fading into obscurity...
The Nonlinear Steps of GriefHer legs kicked up on the arm of the couch
Swaying feet in neon socks dance to a tune
That no one else hears
As I watch over my book across the room
Pretending to read this dusty old tome
For a history class chronicling the fall of Rome
While she reads a novel by David Mitchell
And dreams of a world far from home.
The sunlight in her hair, the moonlight on her toes
As she gently sighs and snuggles up close
She’s a tactile creature – speaking by touch
When the use of words is too much.
I hate this timeline – I really do –
This timeline where the sunlight’s crooked slant
Only serves to remind me of all that I can’t
Hope to achieve here – the choices few
Leave me here all askew.
And all the while I still search for you
This timeline won’t do – it’s just not for me
There has to be one where we can still be
And not just be but thrive happily
The tree of time with branches all scrambled
With this one twiste
A Message to HeavenDear Great Grandpa, I wonder how you are
How is heaven, do you remember me?
No matter how many stamps, you are too far
But at least my letter is for God to see
Its been years since you went away
But maybe you will read this somehow
Because it is too late for what I want to say
But back then I knew less than I do now
Dear Great Grandpa, I have to ask you
Because you never seemed to talk much
And I guess I was the same too
I want to know about your life and such
They say in November your first breath was took
How was it growing up in the changing past?
For that world is just black text in my school textbook
And I only know of the eight years that were your last
Is forever lost wealth depressing as the name?
Was it like an apocalypse when the whole world fought?
What joy you had when the chains wore out their fame?
Did the future fantasies come faster than thought?
How did it feel to live in new land?
Or when the colors splashed on the screen?
Were the sparkles and fashion beyond understa
Mister FoxA gentleman, Reynard, they say,
Is quiet where he walks,
His silent smile will change your day,
That’s why he’s “Mister Fox.”
And should you listen for his pace,
His quiet, sooty socks,
Are soundless, still, or in his race,
The feet of Mister Fox.
Coming to the wedding door,
With timid glee, he knocks.
Who hasn’t invited him before,
That charming Mister Fox?
A cunning lad, always so mellow,
I know to knave who mocks,
The kind and somewhat silly fellow
They know as Mister Fox
Some afternoons with tea and bread,
He sits down at the docks.
Admirable, his coat of red,
And red is Mister Fox.
He has no need for petty things,
Like gold or diamonds or stocks.
More precious are the songs he sings,
The sociable Mister Fox.
After your feet slips off the stirrup,
And you fall on the rocks,
What friend comes by to help you up?
Who else but Mister Fox?
Sometimes his wolfish claws aren’t neat,
Or his grin has teeth of crocs;
But no-one’s words are soft and sw
Romance del MalqueridoEra por el tres de mayo,
y apenas amanecía
era por el tres de mayo
cuando esto acaecía.
"¡Antonio, abre la puerta,
Antonio, córrela abrir
pudiese ser tu padre
el correo o la Guardia Civil!"
"Que no es correo, mi madre
Ni es mi padre querido
Es la imagen terrible
de tu yerno, el Malquerido"
"Calla, Antonio cállate
Cállate que no vá contigo
Retírate a tu habitación
Bien dices que soy malquerido
Me malquiso esa tu hermana
Mirándome con desprecio
Me quiso muy mal tu hermana
Que para mi no tenía precio.
Ahora deja que pase
Que he de teñir estas telas
Teñirlas de carmin profundo
Con la sangre de Manuela"
"Mira que dices, Felipe
que a mi no me lo dirías
Cura que dices Felipe
que tu foso te cavarías"
"Yo me cavaría mi pozo
Tal como estoy, con gran gozo
Mas te dejaría, Felipe
Tal como eres, envidioso"
Diciendo esto el Antonio
echó mano a la navaja
y de un golpe certero
hasta el corazón le taja
CrossroadsIf you came to a crossroad without signs, which one would you follow?
Would you walk to the left, where there are pretty flowers decorating the roadside,
To the right where you can glimpse little traces of glimmering gold in the cracks,
Or would you walk straight ahead on the dusty path full of pebbles and holes?
If I told you that things aren't always what they seem to be at first glance,
Would you think me superstitious, shrug if off and walk the path you like,
Pick the path that seems to be the most pleasant and entertaining to you,
Or would you stop and consider what I might be trying to tell you.
If I told you that a guide informed me of the roads you stand before,
Would you believe me if i said those pretty flowers on the first path are poisonous,
And the gold in the cracks will poke into your soles and tear up your feet,
Or would you believe if I said that the rocky road is not hard to walk on?
If you came to a crossroad without signs, which one would you follow?
Would you belie
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.
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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