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Literature
Not Your Perfect Doll
I promise I'll be pretty soon.
I'll cut my hair, wear different clothes.
I'll lose some weight so I look like a model.
I'll paint my face and call you baby,
Like those whores you pay so handsomely for.
I'll change my name and change myself
To give you the satisfaction of knowing
What was once a human being
Lays parched and yellowing inside these words.
You think I like this makeup on my face.
But in truth the only makeup I like are the lies I tell you.
You think these curls and curves are natural.
But frankly I am too naturally shy to say otherwise.
You come after me in the night,
But I know that if I weighed a little more,
Talked a little more,
Kept my face and my feelings bare,
You wouldn't lay a finger on me.
I would be just another girl
And not your perfect doll.
So close your eyes and just pretend.
Don't worry...
I promise I'll be pretty soon.
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Literature
Under Pressure
They sat down for supper with only the vaguest air of familiarity.  It always started out awkward these days.  As he’d grown older he knew he had also grown farther apart from his little daddy’s girl, who used to seek him out for help of any kind and now only called on birthdays and holidays.
Up until their orders all the conversation had been stalled icebreakers meant for strangers, not family.
“How’s the weather up north?” he asked her.
She sat there, unmoving from her crossed arms, casually replying, “Cold, windy.”  And that was all the talking they did until their food arrived.
Their first few bites were in continued silence.  He bit into his sandwich and watched her pick at hers.
“So I’m thinking of selling my violin.”
He stopped in mid-bite.  For a moment the surprise stunned him.
“What do you mean sell it?” he spat out, suddenly furious.
All his favorite memories involved her playing
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Literature
The Cataloged Panic Attack
Is it how I justify my self-esteem?  When I was physically neglected it was a sign that I had let the other person down and they were punishing me for not fulfilling their expectations, and that is all I think about is letting down other people.  This is not just something “Don’t worry about it” will fix.  Am I depressed?  There is nothing to be sad about.  Am I anxious? YES.  I can’t even sleep without asking permission or questions or needing some kind of affirmation that my actions are justified, even if I know they won’t affect him in any way.  I even feel obligated to tell him what I’m doing even though I hate small talk.  I feel trapped by myself and don’t know how to get out of it.  Everything feels like my fault even though logically I am 100% aware that is NOT the case.  The slightest ‘no no’ makes me feel awful, but why?  Am I not allowed to make mistakes?  Appare
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Literature
Always Known
After all the years and all the failures in between, his fearful heart caved in and let the world know the one he had always craved, always followed but never had the guts to spill the truth.  
She was more than some passing phase, more than a glimpse of beauty in a lifetime of want.  
She was the smile that was contagious from just one glance, the scent of lavender that permeated more than just his thoughts but also his long and unforgiving dreams.  
He found his body responding to all the ways she sounded; her laughter made his heart sing and her whisper made him tremble.  
He just couldn’t seem to let her go.  
That had never changed, and yet somehow it grew to take over his life as the two of them got older.
He had always known.
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Literature
Seasons
I still remember…throughout the day, I recalled every last memory of him that I could…memories from the past.
During the summer, when he held me as I fell, and pretended I was his fair lady whom he had saved, where he proclaimed that he never wanted to let go of me ever again.  
During the winter, when we wrapped ourselves in each others arms, brushed our hands together under a blanket away from wandering eyes.
During the autumn, when I would receive the sweetest gestures known to man; a kiss or five up the arm in a Persian goodbye, a quick shoulder massage, a pick-me-up hug…
And the spring…it’s where we started out…It was where we had our first kiss.  
What he’d given me not only felt like a blessing.  It felt like a healing, like something rejuvenating making you glow from the inside out.
I’ll never know exactly what I meant to him…but for me, he was enough to break my soul and mend it all at once.
It felt so wrong
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Literature
Volume
So here I am, sitting on my bed with the covers below me, breathing in and out the air of this world I do not recognize nor remember ever enjoying.
My guard has been let down, once again, for this nightly routine.  As it jumps into action, I have the beat-up tissue box nearby, headphones plugged in and music set to low.
With the tears falling fast and my heart feeling the pang of emptiness, I fold my arms over my knees, your face whirling through my memories, and I want my world to vanish, just make it me and the black of night as company.  The ghost of your touch suddenly brushes against my cold shaking arm.  
Your invisible stare pierces my tear-stained eyes, taking a peek at my bleeding soul.  
Those feelings, those emotions and old thoughts, seep into me and as your touch vanishes I cry a little harder.
Every tear is a drop of my blood, each one counting as an essential life necessity.  I can feel my hands shaking again.  Am I angry or scared this time
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Literature
Hate Vs. Love
When you love what you hate, how do you cope?
Do you deprive yourself of that thing you can’t stand to love?
No.
Iinstead, you wrap your heart and soul around that thing, hoping the exposure will let your love dull over time.
But time never stops…and it never waits.
And neither does a passion.
The more time you are with them, the more you find yourself staring at them.
With pity, love or anger, you do not know.
Yet, somehow, you cannot stop yourself.
You love them more than you despise them.
It’s not their fault you feel this way about them.
You could take the time to decide if you truly love, or truly hate.
But no matter what, they will always be with you.
And not even they can stop that.
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Literature
The Argument
“You’re upset.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.  Don’t lie to me.”
“Okay, so I’m upset.”
“Why?”
“The little things.  I’m angry!”
“Tell me.”
“But you never listen.”
“I am now.”
“You won’t care about the stuff I’d say.”
“Maybe I would if you opened up…”
“Maybe I’d open up if you actually showed interest!”
“I would care if they were valid reasons for anger.”
“If you would just put yourself in someone else’s shoes…preferably mine…”
“I could…if you’d let me.”
“…I need to know you trust me enough to talk.”
“I DO, though.”
“PROVE IT!”
“…”
“…I’m angry because you forgot me.”
“I’m sorry, it was stupid.”
“No, you’re
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Literature
First Movement
I spent the last day of summer with Anya at her house, lounging while watching some movies, which we mostly ignored because we were too busy talking.
We were in a moment of silence when she expression on her face went from a calm smile to a contemplative frown.
“What’s up?” I asked, immediately cautious.  She just blinked, then looked down at her stomach, which was really starting to show, and let go of my hand to lay hers on the small bump.
“Hey!” I persisted.  Finally she glanced up at me.  Now she was in slight awe.
“I think…” Anya took in a deep breath and looked down again.
“I think I can feel it moving.”
“…oh.”  Likewise I stared at where her hand rested.
“What’s it feel like?” I questioned.
She shrugged, lips pursed as she thought it over.
“I guess it’s like this bubble rolling around that doesn’t pop but eventually goes away.”
She blinked a
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Literature
The Words that are Shut Away
I can’t say I don’t care, or that I don’t love
But I long to scream every day with your hug
I can’t say you don’t matter, that life’s all in order
But the wait to be yours will always be torture
I can’t say we’re all right, that we’re both in a balance
But every time that I see you, staying sane is a challenge
I can’t say I don’t cry, that right now I’m all right
But the thoughts of old love keep me up every night
I can’t say I don’t miss you, that my heart doesn’t ache
But when we talk, another piece of me you take
I can’t say I’m not wounded, that my mind is intact
But every day is an effort to keep up the act
I can’t say I’m not sad, that it’s life I enjoy
But sometimes I just feel like I’m used as a toy
I can’t say I’m restrained, ‘cause I’m boiling with anger
But when you stay silent I remember old hunger
I can’t say that I
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Literature
Fear
My house smells like alcohol, gasoline, and the satisfying stench of nicotine. Smells like nights spent waking up to pains, spent in the bathroom, spent smelling blood.
My house sounds like something primal, dancing shadows of angry people along the walls while screaming horrible things, 'get out get out you don't belong', 'you aren't worth the space you take up', 'fuck you what about the kids'. It sounds like tears and broken dishes, violent screams from something forbidden and pervasive, screaming for a difference, a life change.
My house feels like sudden chills, feeling like something will happen at any moment, feels like waiting for the worst, feels like late nights with the floors rumbling with the bent up rage.
It feels like hatred and self-loathing and self doubt, and the FEAR.
Fear for what may or may not come, fear for what happened and what you only imagined but never came to pass.
Fear you will become the place you came from without breaking the imaginary mold you've constr
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Literature
Lover Realized: Preview #4
“V, what happened?”
“She’s dying.”
“What?!  That’s impossible!”
“I saw it in her eyes.  She knows she doesn’t have long, and she’s not sure why.”
“Do what you have to, V.  We need to know how the fuck a perfectly healthy 24-year-old is suddenly sick.
“Wrath, my brother…”
“What?”
“…nothing.  Jane and I’ll take care of her.”
“Good.  I’ll deal with Rhain and Rhage.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Hell to the fuckin’ yes.”
As V hung up on the king, he glanced down at Aurora on the gurney.  
Her skin was naturally pale, but not even the IV could flood her with color.  If before she seemed lesser pale, now she was ghostly white.  Her dark lashes contrasted drastically against her snowy pallor, and when she opened her eyes he felt a rush of her sorrow wash over him.  He had to
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Literature
The Beach
In my head all I see is a thick rolling beach.  It goes on for eons, kites in th sky, sandcastles on the ground, the smell of the sea in the air.  It is perfection, and it is all I have ever wanted.
I feel hands grasp mine, and bring up my eyes to the face I’ve been in love with for the past few years.  
He stares at me, and I stare back, and we both smile as the man below the arch starts, “We are gathered here today…”
Later that night it is just he and I on the beach.
The sun has turned blood red across the belt of the sea, cascading to indigo darkness and a peppering of the stars.
We try to talk.  But questions fail us.  Affectionate words flee.  We instead stand side by side in a natural trust so profound we are content in our silence.
When the sky is engulfed in moonlight we grab the lamp on the side, light the wick, and hold onto it for a few moments.  The flames flicker in his eyes, and with the light in our hands we rea
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Literature
Dear Future Husband
Dear Future Husband,
I hope this gets to you, and I know we may not know each other yet, but just so you know that I'm thinking of you I want to say a few things about our life together.
My dream is to be married on the beach with the family and friends we love most, and those friends may or may not be dressed up like various superheroes, and my family might get loud and uproarious. Don't worry, you'll understand why when you meet me.
If you know how I like my coffee (one third of the mug has creamer) then I will know how to make your favorite dish. It won't be better than your mom's, but that's not a guarantee that it isn't.
If you leave me to my word search puzzles, story writing and intense thinking sessions I promise to leave you be when you play your video games, or work on your car, or do your favorite hobby requiring concentration. I will drop in for a kiss every now and then, though.
After we get married the world could take us anywhere. I want to live in the country, but you w
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Literature
Gaming Night
“How should we tell them?”
“…I’ll take care of it.”
“No, wait-!”
“What?”
“I want to be the one to tell Don.”
“…okay, whatever you say.”
“I love you, Dylan.”
“I love you, too, Anya.  Everything’s going to be okay.”
~~~
It was a brisk Saturday evening.  Don was leaving his friend’s house after they’d celebrated the end of spring break with a game party, and, keys in his hand, he approached his car with his thoughts somewhere far away.
Anya, his ex-girlfriend, had looked troubled all evening.  She’d hardly touched the food, something practically unheard of as she always dug into the sugary lay-out their parties harbored.  In fact, if he caught her looking at the plates at all her face seemed to go a little green around the gills.
Maybe she’s just got a stomach bug, he thought, unlocking his car and getting in.
“Hey, Don
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Literature
The Winter Fight
One day in early November, my family and I were playing Rockband when a few sharp knocks came from the front door.
Dan, who wasn’t doing anything, jumped from the couch and said, “I’ll get it.”
As my guitar solo hit and my dad started headbanging to the song I laughed, turning to play the solo without looking at the screen.
Dan stood in the doorway, staring at me intently.  He had that look on his face, the one he got when he didn’t know what to do.
“Eh…Dylan, it’s…for you.”
My laughter died.  Something was wrong, and I had a bad feeling about whatever it may be.
“You guys keep going,” I said, passing my brother and whispering my thanks.
As I saw who stood outside I felt my heart plummet.
It was snowing lightly, the late afternoon sun dropping quickly and causing the night to arrive early.  
Which made me wonder what Anya was doing standing on my porch with her head bowed and her hands shoved into
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Activity


It is only six o' clock at night, and yet somehow with all that has happened I feel as though it may be twenty years in the future rather than the here and now I am trying to cope with.
September 10th, 2014: my grandfather on my father's side passes away from a heart attack in the middle of the night unexpectedly.  He was only 71.  Not too old, but if he had taken better care of himself maybe ten more years could've been under his belt.  We had never experienced death before, and so when I got the call saying he had died a little part of me wanted to scream and cry and react, yet I was held back by not knowing what to do or even how to do it properly.  What was it like to grieve?  Isn't it supposed to feel worse than this?  I am hopelessly numb to the news, crying out of instinct rather than feeling, and it is only after the funeral and staying strong for my brother and sister that I finally immerse myself in the emotion of the death.  Not even seeing the open casket had made me shed a tear, only the tears of others who had not known what was coming and had hoped it was all a lie.

October 23rd, 2014: my grandmother on my father's side dies peacefully in her home after over a year of struggling to make it by.  The past few months I knew had been the worst of it.  Her hair, always so perfectly done by the salon, had fallen out from the advanced rounds of chemo, and her weight was siphoning off quickly.  Twinges of pain became sharper and more often, and soon enough she was given a constant flow of morphine to stem the suffering.  In her last week she fell, suffered an intestinal blockage, and was unable to communicate save for shaking her hands and raising her eyebrows with a few facial expressions here and there, slack jawed and lying in a hospital bed in the middle of her living room.  She claimed to see Grandpa, and when I received the news she had a week to live it seemed more of a relief than anything else.  She had stopped eating at that point, and my aunt, who frequented the house to check up on my grandma, asked if Grandma wanted to see me or my sister or if she had anything we needed to know.  Her last words before losing her consciousness was something along the lines of "I have said everything I needed to say, just tell them I love them."  

If I had to describe grief...I would say it is very slow.  Numbing, at first, then escalating to something more vivid and undeniable.  The world around you hardly changes, but you perceive it in such a different light that you don't know what's different and what just feels wrong.  
I think if I could say anything to Grandma before she passed, it would be that I was always grateful.  Grateful she kept the family together for holidays with the worlds best Thanksgiving dinner, and the jolliest Christmas celebrations you could ever ask for.  Grateful she spent time with my sister and I as kids, taking up to the State Fair every summer until she became too weak to withstand the Sun.  And grateful that she always believed in me.  She used to say my stories gave her chills, and for some reason I will always remember that.

I almost wish I were more upset, but to be honest at this point I am so happy she does not have to suffer the pain anymore.  I imagine she is with Grandpa somewhere warm and tropical and beautiful, just being together and not having a care in the world.  In the end, I think that's something we all want.
  • Listening to: My heartbeat
  • Reading: Between the lines
  • Watching: A scary movie

deviantID

kellosa
Mary
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
There is no definition of normal. There is, however, an average, and while that best describes my ways I find it to be somewhat tedious to call myself average. No one should be average. We are all unique, whether it be for our baggage or disabilities or strong points or whatever stands out about you. I myself am a very baggage-laden person, something I'm not exactly proud to say. I am, however, proud to say I am a person with high hopes for humanity, something many have lost faith in over the course of their life.
My life has been nothing simple. It has made me stronger, though, and from that I learn.
I channel myself through writing. Since childhood I've been getting better and better, channeling things that have happened throughout life and making them into stories and tales for others to read on.
I hope you enjoy what I've written, because I know I have.
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2015  Professional Writer
Thanks very much for faving my work. I greatly appreciate it.
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kellosa Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Of course, always glad to show support =)
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KariLiimatainen Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
 
:thanks: for the support ..!! :rose:
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Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Oct 31, 2014  Professional Writer
A big thank-you for faving my work!
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Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks for faving my work.
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kellosa Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Always love it! :3
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Pajunen Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2013
Thank you for the :+fav:
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DizzyEmbrace Featured By Owner Oct 18, 2013
Thanks for the fav :-)
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serenaburroughs Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2013  Professional Photographer
Thank you so much for the watch, dear! :hug: Much appreciated!! :happybounce:
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LT-Arts Featured By Owner Jun 24, 2013   Digital Artist
Thank you for the :+fav::la:
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