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Loneliness is only your heart trying to say...So... here is the second -blog- that I feel like writing:
Being lonely... is a problem that can creep on you without you ever knowing what it is. Sometimes you just feel so saddened and like everything just really sucks! It's a terrible feeling and it's even worse some times when you finally realize it's just loneliness and you can't do anything about it, or so you think.
Some people think surrounding themselves with people or work or television will make them feel less out of place in the world. Sure it may work for a while... but what about when you lay your head to rest at night? It's such a heavy burden on your heart to feel like you have no one around to love or appreciate you. I know, cause I've felt this sadness... It was a large part of my childhood.
It still is a part of my life sometimes and I feel like I'm beating myself up because I stay in and seem to have no life but a virtual one. Could I change that? Ya, easily. But you know... I don't really want to right now. My soul
Life's Purpose and how much of a pain it is...So I've decided... keeping up with a blog would just be waaay too annoying so instead of that anytime I have some message to share I'm going to -blog- it on DeviantArt. I figured you can't go too wrong there and plus DA advertises it for you! Blogs are far too annoying for me. But warning you... I tend to ramble so keep reading if you really want to get what I have to say. I'm terrible at forming my words!
So... my message for any who may stumble upon it:
One's life purpose has always been the most difficult thing for humankind. We struggle to find our mission in life and what meaning our lives have! Why do we struggle with all of our pain and why does Creator seem to hate some of us and make our lives miserable???
I have been through a lot... in this life and a few lives before. I've been through pain and hell and terrible emotional turmoil. Yes, feisty, friendly, protective, loyal little me even wanted to kill myself when I was younger. My father was the worst person in my life, my p
QuestionableUp all night,
tossing and turning.
Unable to know the reason why.
It's all right though,
my yearning and burning,
because it will all get better in time.
Dreams quite probable,
everything not quite as it should be.
There's something here,
that can't quite focus.
I feel very near,
of the answers I seek,
but I'm just out of reach.
What am I doing?It has to be a mistake,
this feeling inside.
These things aren't right,
please show me how to hide!
I can't seem to get away,
it's just not right.
Every time we meet,
my heart feels so tight.
Never felt like this before,
I can't help but crave more.
Despite everything I've known,
I feel like my heart can soar.
My stomach twists in knots,
my every breath stops.
My words come out freely,
it's trust to the tops.
This can't be right,
every doubt screaming in my head.
Still somehow it's there,
even as I lay in my bed.
Like fire through my veins,
this impossible feeling.
Every day we speak it grows stronger,
it's like my scars, they're healing.
Every wall I have up,
seems to come crumbling down.
My idea of love,
was always so profound.
Lately I've found,
I'm rethinking myself.
Everything I knew,
no longer can my knowing be up on that shelf.
No one else knows,
how could they understand?
As I turn around,
and deny who I said I am.
Things are getting so difficult,
and I just can't stop it.
A Broken Memory -Part 2-She felt as if she were weighed down by a thousand ton weights. She couldn't move, like her body was numb, she couldn't even wiggle her toes or twitch her fingers but still she felt everything. It was like she was in some kind of conscious coma. She could hear all around her, the beeping of a hospital life line, the air rushing through vents, the muffled breaths of men behind a wall. She couldn't believe it, how heightened her senses seemed to be. She could hear everything; feel everything from the binds around her limbs and torso to the cold table beneath her.
The loudest sound however was the quick labored breathing of someone. The breath sounded smaller than a human's but still large. She heard a shift, the breather moving, claws scraping against another table, a familiar whimper.
Kujo! Nothing came out, just her thoughts and the rush of her breath. Her mouth wouldn't open, her vocal cord wouldn't work. She couldn't even open her eyes, gaze dashing back and forth in darkness. She wa
A Broken Memory -Part 1-The day was moving into dusk, the sun barely visible over the tops of the shortest buildings. The streets were wet with the evening rain, puddles being kicked up by the occasional passing car. All was quiet except the scuff of boots and the slight click-click of four paws on the concrete.
The street lights flickered on as the last rays of light disappeared behind the horizon; the artificial light illuminating a pale young girl and a large brindle Dane.
Dark brown-red hair peaked from beneath the girl's hood, her face aptly hidden by a thin black hood from her jacket. She walked casually, seeming in no hurry at all with a hand in her pocket, a hand on the leash. Her feet scooted along, barely coming off the ground, weighed down by heavy black combat boots. Every now and then a small rock would be found in her path, soon sent off flying into the street by the thick cover on her toe.
The dog suddenly froze, ears perking atop his head, looking down an alley across the street. He sni
To you who writes until you bleed and cry and diei. You aren't the ruins of Greece.
You don't combust into fascination when the black
rose you planted years ago finally bloom and poison
your veins and stop your heart beat in black splotches
and dirty grenade. The Earth won't mould trees or
ocean or clouds into your image when rust seeps into
your wrist, turning you into a sculpture of grey hands
and silver blood. You won't smile knowing a spider is
creeping up your throat, spider webbing your tongue and robbing your voice away.
ii. You can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails.
You don't have to get why your wounds rot like
the speed of a full-on hail storm and why others
have bowstring smile and pretty eyes all the
damn time. You don't have to know why your
musical box blasts in gunfires and thunderbolts
while other have rose tattoos exploding in fierce
fireworks and adrenaline-rushing stage fire. You
can't tame a wild boar with tombstone nails and
scraped metallic heart. You can't love yourse
The Female SuicideTwenty years of nursing
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.
the cultivation of neophiliai.
give in to it:
the insatiable restlessness
that haunts, heavy
in a familiar corner
of your eyeline.
drive toward the night.
halt only when you
can no longer
trace paths of neon
from streetlight to fingertip;
never quite reach the
eventually, stop trying.
look over the paper city
resting fragile below;
tear it to shreds
with vicious intent
forget that you have
loved and hoped and
for a moment
there is only you,
the night, and the need
desire like you've
never wanted anything,
search for the novel,
for the fantastical
and the faintest hint
of something new
in the sky-glow.
stand so high atop
wonder how they do not
under the weight
of all this empty
A Ball Of CherriesImagine life
like a ball of cherries.
You can't eat many,
Don't rush to eat them!
Some are soft,
Don't go too slow, you'll lose the taste.
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
broken bones and broken birdsdragonflies buzz between
your tangled fingers
seeking nectar under
your chewed nails,
but the bitter burn
of almond acid will
clip their mosaic wings.
you're centered at
nature's core, a
centrifugal force of gravity,
grasping and dragging
lives to your unforgiving
you strangled the wild
whistling hare underneath
the billowing willow, and
your tongue tripped into
compulsive lies and disbelief.
i mean c'mon, clearly,
it was an accident.
if that's the case
the blue-eyed raven
that crashed to earth
after striking a third
degree burn, should
have survived, but you
plucked feathers from its
wings and drowned it.
you have a way with
decaying everything you
touch, your soul, my
heart, a puppy in a
cardboard box, yet
we all keep coming
back to you.
i think we all know
that even though you
bend and break and
bully the world, you
are the most broken
of all, and i just want
to fix you.
San FranciscoGood lord, how long I've slept this time!
And from what undiluted dream
full of free space and meadows,
brickless and feral,
lost in terrible infant whims,
streaking from trees to the hazel in the dusk,
have I come creaking to this ancient face?
If I ever find le sens de la vie
writhing underleaf in a crooked line of ants
or rippling in a koan made of cigarettes butts
then I’ll go back to San Francisco
and look her beggars in their pupils
and talk to her gypsy witch doctors,
listen to uningestible trumpet masters,
commiserate with the legless street congress,
revisit the subterranean shrine to urine
that sifts through the walkers at 2nd and Market,
and make love to some lost pearl of the Orient.
I’ll interrupt her philosopher queens as they serenade their oracles,
crawl in wretched street machines, carousel coins in rusty slots
that screech down to the wharf of the seal paparazzi
communing with dead architects of gleaming concrete miracles
Who are we to make these assumptions?
Who are we to doubt what is true?
They said humans would never fly,
they said the Titanic would never sink,
they said that Earth could not touch the stars,
and still we landed on the moon.
They said cars were unrealistic,
and now everywhere we look we see them.
They said we'd never win World War I,
and yet here we are after World War II.
So many things done that were said to never be,
so many things won that were lost in the sea.
So many treasures retrieved from places untold,
so many things learned and so many things to unfold.
With all that we know,
and all that we've seen,
think next time,
before you judge what is:
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
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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