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The tractor is red.The tractor is red.
Red does not symbolize my anger,
the tractor does not symbolize the coming of a new age that will,
Pardon the pun,
"Mow" over the old one.
It is a tractor.
It is red.
Because red tractor sounded better than blue pineapple.
Her hair was white-blonde.
This does not symbolize purity,
Nor does it symbolize icy cruelty.
Her hair is white-blonde.
It just is.
Not everything has hidden meaning,
And searching for words behind words
Leads to arguments and unanswered questions.
Sometimes the tractor is just red.
Group IndividualityEvery little thing thought out
Like pieces in a game
Actors on a stage
Every individual raised to be creative in the
"Think for yourself!"
But they never say
'So long as yourself is just like us.'
Because obviously implict,
There is always a right and a wrong.
As I am,
the poet girl is goneI used to write
I was wired to think in stanzas and lines.
Now it takes an effort to find the word to
Express what I'm feeling.
Happy and sad just don't cut it
But it's not joy or depression,
I used to be a poet.
I used to type what I felt
Now it's like something is choking my mind,
Covering my thoughts,
And I don't know how to talk.
I used to write with a purpose, to convey an idea,
To make people feel the way I felt.
But that purpose is gone,
And that voice is gone,
And the words are gone,
And the girl is gone.
The poet girl is gone.
Once a dayOnce a day,
I go on deviantart.
I look through and make myself feel bad.
Once a day,
I write a poem,
About the sadness.
And once I've written this poem,
I post it.
Watch it get one or two likes.
Watch it not be as good.
Once a day,
I write about my friends.
I write about how jealous I am.
I write and I write and I write,
As honestly as I can.
I write and I lay down what I'm thinking on paper.
And once a day,
I watch it spiral into nothing.
While my friends,
Who I love,
Who I hate,
Who I want to be,
Slowly accumulate more fame.
I watch them grow into greatness,
I try to help them grow,
While I shrink.
When you have them to look at,
Bright, shining stars that they are,
Would you look at me?
Constant as a candle flame, but dim.
A note on my obsession with stars and the moonThe sun is too harsh.
It just shows the reality of everything,
Whether you wanted it to or not.
It burns you,
Balls you up and
Throws you away.
The moon and the stars, however,
There's an air of mystery that makes the mundane fantastical.
Who knew reflected light could shine so much brighter than its source?
Twinkling up above,
The world sparkles,
And everything just seems to be okay,
If only for a moment.
A note on fameYou know,
Sometimes I get upset
Because I'm not "famous".
Always decent but not great.
I don't have a hundred million watchers,
Or colleges knocking at my door,
But I'm okay.
I have a couple thousand pageviews because I used to post a lot.
Too much, in fact.
I wanted to feel acknowledged,
But then I realized there wasn't a point in that.
Because what's the point of spamming people,
To generate some sort of illusion of popularity?
I know what I am.
I know I might not be as good,
Or as funny,
Or as broken,
Or as great,
But I'm decent.
I'll do for a little while.
So even without fame,
Even without people wanting me to acknowledge them for a change,
I'm doing fine.
Because I'm happy.
And while my poetry and drawings are only decent,
I myself am doing great.
UntitledYou know what?
I don't want to think about it
I don't want to dream about it
Something that's just standing in my way.
It's just a phase,"
They all say.
"When you grow up
You won't still feel the same way."
What's the point of getting hurt?
In the end we all end up the same way.
Nobody's a winner.
Romeo and Juliet weren't real,
Just stupid star-crossed lovers
On a page.
You can't make me want to feel
Anything more than a platonic sort of affection.
Stupidly patronizing inflection,
In your voice.
I'm not a child.
It's not a phase,
It's not a choice!
It'll only hurt you in the
Make you lose sight of what's important.
PrincessOnce upon a time,
In a kingdom
On the border between dreams and reality,
There lived a princess.
She had bright eyes,
And a huge grin, but she craved one thing--
The acknowledgement of her acheivements.
So she ran away,
Away from her kingdom of dreams,
On the cusp of her coronation.
Away to reality.
But the princess hadn't expected this,
Not the pain,
Not the sadness.
Emotions new to her seeped in.
Unacknowledged by these foreign peoples,
Brushed off as crazy,
She hid inside herself.
Our sad, sad princess
Now a pauper.
The dreamer now only saw nightmares.
She should have stayed in her castle.
Think of MeThink of Me,
Think of starry nights,
Think of full moons
Think of fireworks,
And at the same time
Think of me.
Think of a warm glow
And mint tea.
Think of books in front of fireplaces,
Watching Disney princess movies.
Think of rain drumming on windows,
And glitter glue,
Think of sunny but cold days,
And classic rock,
Think of me,
Not by appearance,
But by desires spiraling around in my head.
You're worth so much moreShe was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
because looking at what
was even harder
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
p i l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
I Tear My Skin AwayI Tear My Skin Away
I tear this skin from my body,
Even if the world screams,
That I am only an illusion.
I tear the bones from my legs,
Through pain, I will grow,
Through suffering, I will become.
I rip the muscles from my arms,
These teeth from my jaws...
And with nothing upon me,
I carry on...
Like a broken puppet, still shivering,
Still forcing its way through the darkness;
I tremble for I am nothing...
And yet, I am moving. My voice still screams...
I draw breath into these tired lungs,
As I rip the flesh away...
And I shatter these mirrors before me,
With a voice that will not break:
Because the world cannot label me as nothing,
And I will live for my own sake!
"So tell me, is that all the pain you've got for me?"
A note for people who need a kind wordJust a note,
For anyone who has felt,
Like they have been broken.
Just like an old toy.
Thrown and tossed around like a rag doll.
To anyone who feels,
They re tearing at their seams.
And they re losing all control.
A note to the little girl,
And waited for her mother.
Or her father.
To come back home,
To keep her safe,
While she cried.
Or to at least of said goodbye.
And wishes they d come back and tell her,
A note to the lonely boy.
So quiet and reserved.
Who sits and takes their cruel words.
Thinking it s what he deserved.
To be thrown into lockers,
And thinking he can find something better,
With the company of a razor,
Rather than a human.
Because humans have caused him more hurt,
Than the blades that pierce his skin.
A note to the beautiful girls.
Who walk for miles,
Until they have blisters on their feet.
Because they will not accept the defeat,
Of having to see numbers,
That tell them they are not worthy.
They are not pretty.
And they should not be living.
If they c
You're beautifulPlease eat.
Are you listening to me?
If you are,
I want to tell you.
You re beautiful.
It doesn't matter what you weigh,
you shouldn't feel guilty about what you ate.
It doesn't matter,
I promise you things will get better.
Listen to my words,
Hold my hand.
Don't worry about the rest of the world,
It's okay if they don't understand,
How it feels like,
To feel fat,
To feel ugly,
To feel worthless.
You are none of those things.
It s okay to be chubby,
It s okay to be skinny.
Because you have a big heart.
And your smile,
Is like a priceless work of art.
And I don't want to see you destroy,
Because you're more than just a broken toy.
And to everyone else,
So for once let yourself be,
Accept your reflection.
Because you are the definition of perfection.
So don't worry,
Don't be sorry,
To be who you are.
Because you re,
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
What is Hope?Hope is something we have as children,
It helps us thrive and try our hardest.
Hope is what we express in the worst of times
When all hope seems lost.
Hope is what people possess in life
To work toward our dreams.
Hope is a lie
That's not worth our time.
AnxietyAnxiety tapping on my door,
"Can I come inside your head?"
I shiver, not ready for its visit.
It charges in, smelling of worry.
Spends a morning, afternoon and night,
playing with my emotions.
A marionette dancing its old tune on rough strings.
Leaves me winded and praying to beat it the next time.
I Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger TogetherI Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger Together
if i’m being completely honest,
i can’t say i know what you’re goin’ through.
and if i’m being frank,
i’m sort of afraid to write this
because i’ve always been unsure
if i love too much but it’s my nature
and i’d rather lose by trying too hard
than to do so without doing enough.
i hope you’re asleep now
and i hope you don’t read this
till the morning and i hope by then
things will be a little lighter
but i’m hoping against hope
because if you don’t know,
i feel when things are off.
call it intuition, call it a feelin’,
say i just know it.
my friend, my door is always open
even when you’re feeling closed
off to the world and right there,
i can understand that feeling well,
because i still feel we relate to one another
better than most brothers understand their sisters.
know i look at you as a sibling
and i believe we know when the other
I miss youYou are a ghost in my head
Living, yet you haunt my thoughts today
To speak your name
Would be to desecrate this space
Where you are, I should not care to know
But you are a never-healing wound
An unfulfilled promise
A chance to do no wrong
My memories burn with your taste, your touch, your smell
Who have I become?
Too long have the years been to me
To find myself wishing for the crossroads
For the chance to say no, one more time.
Speaking to the rythymDrums going off in my head,
Slow and steady,
Fast and frantic.
Don't you understand what I've said?
Or have I just
Left you behind again.
Life is about speaking to the rythym,
Moving on when it's not there.
It's about finding a chord so perfect,
You can use it anywhere.
It's about discovering your own beat,
Till the world sings harmony.
It's about talking with the music
Of who you are
And who you wanna be.
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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