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Too NiceI'm too nice.
Really, I am.
If you don't believe me, then let me tell you some stories.
I had a boyfriend for three years. When I needed his support, he knocked me over. I stayed his. When I cried, he made me cry harder. I stayed his. Finally, when he started sexually harassing me, I thought about leaving him. It took me two months to decide to do it, and another couple of weeks before I did.
You know what? I felt guilty.
A had a friend last year. She roughhoused with my other friends, and they didn't like it. I stood up for her. She made fun of them. I stood up for her. When I needed her support, she didn't give it to me. I still stayed by her side. Only when she started harassing me for cracking under stress did I tell her off.
You know what? I STILL feel guilty.
I feel guilty about both of them. I know, it's what I needed to do to continue my life in a healthy way. But I still feel pity and guilt for them. Why? I'm too nice.
Now, I'm in a similar situation. She's been my best friend
is the scalding breath of winter.
the piss-thin streaks of dandruff snow,
is a kid afraid to be standing
in that corner because of that madman
with that coarse, red face and
but now he's sleeping
under a ragged coat,
so it might be safe? no, no,
this is the wrong memory,
this is not
how he would like
to have him etched...
standing alert and smoking
brand of cigarettes
and twirling that sad stub with
long frost-tinged fingers
back when he would respond
to his feeble
"what are you waiting for?.."
for a bark.
nothing else to wait for!.."
"the steel ship."
a pocket full of posies;
we all fall down...
what exactly awaits us
when our mind and body
simply shut down forever?
will we be remembered by
the things we did or the
people whose hearts we
that's part of life,
all things eventually wilt,
death - an inevitable event.
a girl bullied for who she is
was found (almost) dead in her
own room, her life
hanging on by a thread
while her body
hung on a noose
that was tightly knotted
with hate and self-pity;
why must the bullying continue
after all this time?
she liked girls,
death crawls up walls,
waiting at every turn.
death sings a taunting
lullaby, hoping to lure
its victims into a pit.
death doesn't care
whether your pain was
self-inflicted or caused
death craves your soul,
not your body.
life gives you one chance
use it wisely.
always remember that
everyone has a different
story than you;
your diet coke will only make you hungrier(just some wolf with big blue eyes)
I don't know when I stopped using capitals in my writing
Or when I stopped talking as much
I dyed my hair because I was trying to show you
That I didn't have to show you anything
I told myself to stop writing poems about you
As if the days I spend locked in your ice cold glare
Was something I could escape
My mother still screams at night
She has the worst nightmares I've ever heard
And I think I might be going down the same route
I keep telling myself to breathe
That it is okay, and I will be okay
We were never okay
and despite myself, i've noticed it
you don't look at me anymore
Moriah JeanShe was soft and warm.
She was stone-cold.
I watched her, the strength in her
spine, the height in her shoulders,
the wave of ebony silk cascading over her
back - there was an unmistakable air.
But that skin, tight and smooth,
pulled over round hips, curved along
the concave of her stomach, crested
over her breast- a desert landscape.
She was sharp and round in all the
Formed from lightning and sand-
a burst of energy, a birth of
Untouchable, but for that treasured
moment of welcome, that break in
tension, that upturning of lips, pink
The knowing glance, the wanting look,
the low eyes, so dark, framed by sharp
lines and light- they placed her on a
pedestal, but she bent down with out-
She was not a goddess. She was polished
and coy, she was music - a symphony,
and sometimes, the cymbals crashed;
But she knew she was beautiful, and
she knew her strength was in the way
she let the music
remember melightning steps
haunt the cargo hold
where they let them
doze off... drunken bastards...
lightning steps -
sharpshooter stab marks (neck,)
a stern mother
the glare... bewitched
to the portholes. memento mei,
as written on the daughter's amulet;
she clutches it unknowingly in her sleep.
(will she burn too?) the night is
young but she isn't
anymore; she doesn't
know it yet.
Someone ElseWhat's the point of talking if no one will listen?
Of walking if there's no where to go?
Of singing to an empty room?
Of dancing alone?
Of writing what no one will read?
Of having feelings no one will care about?
You have the hope, that one day, one person might
Listen to you
Walk with you
Hear your soul
Dance with you
Read what is important to you
Care about the feelings you do have
And one day I hope
To do the same
For someone else
A Sirens Song.A slight breeze ruffled plumes attached onto an appendage.
We have searched so far...
Irritation could be seen within smiles.
For so long…
Six eyes watched as the flare from the Sun snuffed itself,
Cursed with feathers…
beyond the horizon.
Adorned to bone…
A breath of lethargy was passed through the group.
Our bodies grow tired…
Heaviness hung in the air.
Too weary to fly…
Darkness was descending.
Enduring days upon rocks…
Anticipation was setting in.
On a tiny isle…
There, within the distance, a slight dot.
A distinct vessel, traveling at a fast speed.
The winds carried to them the shouts of some...
Licking lips in excitement of the approaching storm.
Liners catch reefs, steering it towards their archipelago…
Three heads look towards the sky.
Lives are lo
I am everywhere
I am everything
I am your world
I am your voice
I speak in your blood
I sing in your tar
I am your lungs
I breathe your suffering
I contract your tears
I am your past
I recollect your misery
I predict your end
I am your friend
I embrace you with sickness
I deliver you from happiness
I am your everything
I am your only love
You. Need. Me
You. Can. Never. Escape. Me
CrossroadsI feel like I've been here before.
At this same crossroad, where the signs are missing.
Both roads are covered in thorn bushes and poison ivy,
But one is shorter,
And at the end of the shorter road there is someone waiting for me
To take my hand and hold me;
To heal my cuts and bruises from the thorns I walk through.
But do both roads hold the same destination?
Or will one road bring me into a circle,
And back to where I am now
Like it did last time?
I still have the scars from then,
They taught me not to hesitate.
But still I do hesitate.
Is this really déjà vu?
He certainly thinks so.
Has it really come to the point
Where She does more bad than good,
And is no longer worth holding onto?
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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