|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
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;
it's the pain we feeltears drip down my cheeks like
melting wax slides down candles;
burning my eyes until they are bloodshot,
they scream for the heart to stop feeling
the heartache that grows inside the chest.
a letter to her My darling sunshine,
I know that we're about 1000 miles apart, but my heart feels tied to yours and I can't seem to let you go. My heart tells me that you're my soul mate, that you're my other half, that you're supposed to be loved by me and I by you. Age is just a number. I know that. In your Valentine's Day card, you told me to believe in us, to believe that one day we'll be together forever. I can't wait until that day!
Recently, you suggested we take a break because our distance is too big for you... I told you that'd be okay, I told you that I could wait for 4 more years (seeing as that's how many years of school I have left). You still call me your lovely pet names for me: Babe, darling, deary, and my favorite - your shooting star. You still tell me that you love me, and I tell you that I love you more. I do believe in us, I do believe that some day soon, we'll be together forever.
You, my dear, are my best friend... And I'm yours, you told me so yourself. I won't let you g
happiness, to mehappiness is watching snowflakes fall from the sky,
knowing that each one is different and unique.
happiness is listening to a favorite song
and knowing every word of it by heart.
happiness is feeling someone else's love for you
despite all of your holey flaws.
happiness is having that one person
who has never given up on you
and has pushed you to be all that you can be.
happiness is cuddling under the warmest blanket
and not caring what is happening around you.
happiness is watching the fireworks on New Year's Eve,
knowing that you've made it through another year.
happiness is standing on the peak of a mountain,
looking down at the small city below,
seeing what you have accomplished.
happiness is going to the rock concert of your life
and feeling invincible with the rest of the audience.
happiness is like gravity;
what goes up,
eventually must come down.
don't let go - hold on tightfour months
until you're here
holding and caressing
kissing and hugging
loving and never letting
until we can talk
forming a family
as wives who
never let each other
mental ridelike a merry-go-ride,
my thoughts travel
around and around in my
mind with depressing
music playing in the
my head pulses with
every round it makes
and all the colors
one by one, fade and
peel off the rides
and my happiness.
Resting in Peacei.
a box of half used cigarettes
sits on a shelf in the garage
and will continue to be there
as long as your memory should
serve our family well.
six years ago,
you called me on my 14th birthday,
wishing me a happy and healthy year;
six years ago,
your cold got twisted with fate
and you didn't get better.
every time someone says "vodka"
i cringe and fight back tears;
it was your healer
it was your poison.
it isn't fair!
you got admitted to the hospital
on the 18th, they said you were
getting better on the 20th...
you passed on the 21st.
what happened to "he'll make it"?!
as a 14-year-old,
my memory was more developed
for this funeral: remembering
every tear shed, every fistful of
dirt dropped into your grave,
every warm hug given to me from
family and strangers.
i had to go back to school
the following week,
the hardest transition
from hysterically crying
to putting on a smile
in order to move on.
i visited your grave site yesterday
her wisdom Her lips were dry and parted, as father went to go tell the doctors that she wanted to be taken off the oxygen tank and any other medications that were being supplied to her. She told me to lean in real close and listen carefully, seeing as this could be her last breath. I tried my hardest to hide my tears, but I couldn’t help it; this could be the last time I would hear her soothing voice, the voice that sang lullabies to me at night, the voice that read the Bible every Sunday morning at exactly 9:45. Wiping my eyes, I curled up next to her cold body, and whispered, “Yes, grandmother?” I could tell that she, too, was nervous to meet Death.
With a deep breath, staggered words made their way out of her mouth, “I need you to remember… God made you special and therefore, you must love yourself even if no one else does. You must love your chocolate brown eyes, your lovely silk hair, your big heart that cares for everything and everyone
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
Keep in Touch!
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