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day 17she dreams of the pink swing set under a canopy
of leaves, shoes brushing colours of autumn
of mud slicked steps, rusted spoons and clear
plastic forks turned opaque from grimy hands
of lard-filled jars and broken glass,
glittering teeth hidden beneath tree shadows
of scratchy hay poking ankles and, below, sharp
metal just peeking through faded itchy yellow:
day 3you said: there is just
something about myths.
i thought there's just
something about your lips.
tell me the myths of
your sleepy hometown
and the truths of hands
held proud in public.
i'd like to learn the
stories of your skin,
the loud silence of
heartbeats and bed sheets.
you don't sit beside me in class anymoreyou look like oversized sweaters waiting for
mr darcy vapid vanilla shows up late to
class with coffee cheeks flushed from cold
(but there's more than meets the eye. i like
the flush of your cheeks and last week i
wondered if you bite lips or lick them; if
you'd change my mind on holding hands)
gone is your floral perfume soft breathing
arm brushing mine proximity pulsing legs
crossing blurry profile in peripheral
(but now i almost like it better this way. it's
easier to follow concentration as it moves
along your features and i have always been
more comfortable with distance anyway)
lost in space1
there were words once, listen:
quiet, soft, like fingers brushing over the fabric of a sweater, tickling your ear, warming, small gusts of heat that spread to your toes, a glinting eye, a curved mouth, a promise.
there were words once, listen:
hard, rough, like metal scraping over concrete, bruising, marking your arms, legs, ribs, even your spine, purple and black blossoming on dark skin, yellowing until silence, an apology.
there were words once, listen:
now there are no words, only the deafening roar of silence.
there are words now, listen:
the old stars whisper to each other. they have discovered the secret of patience, a conversation lasting the ages. a single word may take years upon years to travel and you have to know which way to send it. careful, precise, or you may tell a stranger you miss them.
you can hear the sound of these words, like fast cars on a track, restless and enduring. the faster they travel, the slower time moves, slowing rapidly until it sto
sharp nailsthere is a pattern of
veins on my right thigh
that looks like the long,
blue bones of a hand
sometimes these thin,
spindly fingers crawl
up my veins and
arteries to clasp around
my heart, tug on the
back of my eyes,
dotting and blacking
they scrape the nervous
system and i think i
used to pray to settle
from 3429 ft.two years ago from paris, saskatoon looked like a small solar system, hazy with rain and cold. three days ago from toronto, it is midday and foggy, a thick blanket of grey masking tiny grey buildings cut by a tiny grey river. but the feeling is the same and i want to reach across the aisle to hold my sister's hand much the same as two years ago, russell reaching for my hand, any hand, two changed souls unprepared to face the sameness of home.
but the feeling is not the same. we are not two changed souls: we are just happy ones, 'satisfied with the trip' ones, and i do not hold hands when i am happy.
may 3i press tissue paper to the skin
above my ankle, apply pressure,
try not to think about the red and
searing and the itch in my hand.
i decide i want to cover my body in
ink, beautiful and expensive.
my grandmother asks me why i
want a tattoo.
i tell her, "i think they're
five years of thinking pass.
birds fly across my wrist and i trap
beautiful and expensive.
reverberationshey skinny boy, you walk like you know where you're going
and when you kiss me, i don't know what to say
( and it sort of
reverberates between us, doesn't it? )
parenting 101when our children wake up screaming in the middle of the night
or crawl into our beds, we have a list of reassurances:
"it was just a nightmare" and
"it was just the shadows" and
"it was just your imagination"
until they, too, are desensitized and locked in a cage,
condition themselves to be blind and sane like the rest of us
Death followed my father home.Death bought a new pair of shoes from my father. It left and hit a woman right in front of my father’s store. It dragged her thirty feet across the parking lot before speeding off, leaving her to bleed in front of Target. It brought my father out of his shoe store to direct traffic around the body, blood trickling against his shoes. It tapped the shoulder of an employee with CPR training. It got blood all over his clothes and sent him home early for the day when there was nothing he could do.
Death followed my father home. It called my father’s cell phone with an invitation he couldn’t turn down. It put a new playlist in my father’s Pandora shuffle that brought him to tears. It picked out the finest formal wear my father owned and laid it on the bed. It cancelled the plans my father had with his grandson.
Death gave my nephew an empty balloon. My father took it away before he could choke. It wheezed a skeletal laugh and patted the boy on the head.
a youth without flowerswake up, dress in your sunday best - that white church dress with the ribbon collar wound tight like a noose around your neck. don't wince when mamma pulls your hair back into twin tails, even though your scalp feels like it'll split open.
get in the car. wonder why your uncle is driving the family car down wheezy roads, but only wonder silently. from the back seat you see his fat old stomach wobble as the ford jostles down a gravel road toward church. apologize to mamma when your head smacks into the window - it's your fault, anyway.
smile like your daddy is the preacher, but don't seem too happy. mamma told you that today is a sad day. this thought rattles around in your tiny head; it doesn't make sense. how can the sky be as blue as a bird's belly on a sad day? there aren't many clouds in the sky.
don't fuss when mamma pulls you away from the kids playing ball underneath the big oak tree. she's only doing that to help you - you wouldn't want those pretty black shoes to get scuffed,
Blood Regent: FaithfulThe beads were cold on his fingertips. The old brick of the church smelled of mold; corroded by the decades of winds breezing up from the loch.
“O my God, I am heartfully sorry for having offended thee,” he rolled the bead along the edge of his finger. The words spilled from his lips, memorized but still genuine. He lifted the stick until the candle finally breathed flame.
“- and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee my God…”
“Garrett,” a voice called from behind him.
“- Who is all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve…”
“Garrett, haven’t you asked enough?” Garrett felt a hand brush his shoulder. His scar rubbed against the cloth and the feeling was unpleasant.
“That is the point of repentance, Duncan. It will never be enough. Leave me to my prayers, please.”
Garrett watched Duncan’s shadow dance across the walls. He p
Generations - Through the Years1956
“So tell me, do you think I can get away with this on the beach at Nice?”
Helen Forbes looked over at her daughter and said “I don’t know – you don’t think it shows a little too much?”
Katherine smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. “Nah – I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. The sleeveless white blouse was open at the neck, the lapel folded back, and her red shorts had little pockets at the front. Her outfit was completed with a pair of white heeled sandals.
“I still think it’s a little showy,” Helen said as she went back to packing her daughter’s case. Her mother was wearing a blue blouse, the neck open and the lapels pressed back, and a knee length red cotton skirt that buttoned up the front, with white open toed shoes.
“Come on Mum – what did you wear when you were my age?”
“Short dresses, long socks and pigtails,”
SethEn la oscuridad del origen del mundo definí mi destino
La llave de la verdad yace enterrada en lo profundo de mi alma
Mi sangre inerte clama por el conocimiento perdido.
HauntedAs the apartment door shut behind Melliene she turned, looking back at it. It was difficult for her to leave that apartment a second time in such a rush but it had to be done. She knew herself too well to know that if she stayed any longer that things wouldn't have gotten accomplished. A sigh left her lips as she breathed into the white scarf that was drawn over her face, and neck, concealing her identity, as she tore herself from Nallaen's door.
Descending the stairs of the apartment building she passed one fellow, nodding her head in greeting. Dressed as this, hidden, and garbed in white silken robes of the Light she was no longer Melliene. She was Greer Rosach, a woman of the Cathedral. A kind woman. A good woman. Everything Melliene was not. Sometimes she wished for Greer to become a reality for her, to put an end to her hazardous ways. It didn't matter how much she hid behind the mask though. She would always be Melliene. A selfish woman. A woman who knew no bounds. A woman who wo
~*Would Be Better*~The darkness closes
The final leaves flutter and fall
What a perfect way-
Perfect way to end it all
The tale has been told
Starting with a sweet love song-
Followed by the cold
Cold, sheer truth and the one strong-
Strong fall of the heart
Even if you never love
Never play the part-
The part in which a prince comes
Even if the weather shifts
You unleash all your evil tricks
Fate bond to the life that drowns
Would be much better to do
Then to sit here now and say
“I never have loved you”
anythingHold on. No, wait, a little to the left. Smile. Moment captured. We'll hate it later. We love it now. You don't use enough exclamation marks when you talk, birdie. I know. I don't like them. You are too close for breathing. Hold my hand when we are not together. Hold my hand through walls and fallen trees. Let me live in everything you see. Let me jump from every object you glance at. Let my name ring out as a ghost when you see someone with hair like mine. Let the memory of my hands graze your mind when you see someone else's. Let nothing else be enough. And my shadow hovers over everything you are. And my voice still makes you jerk your head. And you are my first experiment, and let the sound of typing make you remember me. May the blurred silhouette against the kitchen window at 10pm when the light is long remind you of me. May you miss where your head fell against my collarbone. Scoop up burned charcoal with bare fingers and cry. Dip your guitar string calluses in the ocean and cry
the lonely sea monsterThings hadn't been the same since Marty kicked the can. Marty, an old manatee that liked to
trick sailors into believing he was a beautiful stranded woman singing sad songs, had just
dropped dead one day. They said that he choked on a fish bone, but Kassie was sure it
had been the humans.
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