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All They See Is ScarsI want to tell a story,
but this story isn't a fairy tale
and it wont have a happy ending,
because the real ones, well
they never really do.
In high school
I picked up my pen
and I began to write
It existed and it was pure
and it was lovely.
But my rapist rewrote me.
breathing on my neck
and tracing my back with his fingers.
He rewrote me as broken.
He wrote me as a statistic,
as another white girl who got told
that she cried rape for attention.
But that didn't matter because see,
I wanted to tell a story.
A story about family,
about picking each other up
about blood being thicker than water
about how not everyone's home
had to be broken.
But my father rewrote me.
When i picked up my pen
he spoke words to me
that I swear bruised my whole body
and I learned that nothing
was thicker than his alcohol
and my home was already shattered.
But I wanted to tell a story.
so I picked up my pen
to write about god.
A God that could save anybody
And God loved everybody,
which was the onl
Craving YouI woke up craving you this morning.
Is that weird?
I rolled over and the light hit my face
and for a moment I wished it was your lips
soft, kissing my cheek instead of the sun.
I reached for a moment, for your hand,
to intertwine my fingers between yours
it seemed as though I'd be reaching forever.
I woke up longing for your touch,
for your hands, gentle,
tracing down my spine.
I imagined you stroking my hair,
leaning down to whisper "good morning beautiful"
and I swear I could feel your breath on my ear.
I moved my legs, searching for yours
so we could play footsies
underneath the sheets, our sheets.
I woke up craving you this morning.
What a lonely morning it turned out to be,
when I opened my eyes and you weren't next to me.
Your life is not a British television showPeople on social media sites
tend to glorify things that hurt.
They brag about things
that people struggle with.
Mental illness is not a label.
It is not a badge nor a privilege
or something you have to earn.
they battle voices in their heads
that they do not even recognize.
People struggle to tame
their inner demons
and keep up an image
that the world expects them to uphold.
Mental illness is not cute,
being so anxious you cannot speak is not a quirk.
Relying on people to take care of you is not romantic.
Your life is not an episode of Skins
The idea of Effy and Freddie is fictional,
no one is going to save you.
We go home and muffle our cries
while dragging razors across our wrists
chasing pills with bottles of vodka.
Our thoughts turn on us
Like a loaded gun,
and we are stuck forever
in a game of Russian roulette.
We wear long sleeves,
and try to drown out voices with headphones.
We tremble at the thought of giving up the chemicals
we have become dependent
Feminism (Equal but Unequal)This is how I see the whole thing
It’s nothing but an opinion
Just a little opinion
While it’s not okay to push a woman to her knees
And try your hardest to make her bleed
There’s no need to protest for the extreme
And you know I wonder
Why we care so much about the labels out there
Calling men sexist pigs
And calling women whores
We’re all living human beings
And we deserve the right to be who we are
That’s what we are
Men and women were made different
Or there would only be women or only be men
We’re all equal to an extent
This isn’t like being black and white
Skin color can’t determine what you can do
This is about male and female
How men can do things that women can’t
And how women can do things that men can’t
Equality is a thing we must strive for everyday
But men and women are still different in a lot of ways
Women can be smart
And so can men
Women can make babies
And men just can’t
We’re naturally ma
A Darkness so DeepThere cold so deep that it needs more than heat
A cold that goes beyond your skin
In your bones and in your soul
When the wind has frozen you for so long
Not even fire can warm you
There an exhaustion so heavy that it needs more than sleep
When you’ve gone without sleep
Without rest and without break
For so long you know
That not even a day alone
Will keep it from weighing you down
There is a loneliness so strong that it needs more than love
A strange feeling that persists
Despite friends despite family
It lives so long you’ve forgotten
What it’s like to have a friend
And even with those you love
A line is drawn, a connection cannot be had
There is a sadness so pure that it needs more than joy
When even on the brightest day
And in your greatest moments
A smile feels faked, with nothing
But a cold emptiness inside
Like a sepulchre
Painted in the brightest colours
A perfect face you show
A forced smile will come too easy
Affection you do not feel,
Warmth that is never t
My DancerApplaud her dance,
She dances beyond the podium;
Swirls into vulnerability,
And collapses to the ground.
Kiss her on the forehead,
Let her tears trickle;
Let her cries be heard,
But be there to mend her broken pieces.
Hug her tightly,
And let there be utter silence;
Because her mind is in chaos,
Let silence soothe her heart.
The CycleThe Cycle.
When you were little, you were alone.
When you were a child, you feared her.
When you were a teenager, you hated her.
When you were an adult, she broke you.
When I was little, I was alone.
When I was a child, I feared you.
When I was a teenager, I hated you.
I’m an adult now, you broke me.
My biggest fear is when the next one comes.
When she is little, she will be alone.
When she is a child, she will fear me.
When she is a teenager, she will hate me.
When she is an adult, I will break her.
When I was little, I didn’t know.
When I was a child, I understood.
When I was a teenager, I made a plan.
I’m an adult now, the next one will not come.
The cycle ends with me…
Still LifeLook around and
Isn’t it strange,
How if you took a photo
It would never even change?
Immortalized in Technicolor,
But my black and white world is dull.
Sometimes blunt and simple is good,
Things don’t have to be technical.
All this idle conversation,
Makes me light in the head.
Yet I still can’t see
Past the shadow of dread.
Paralyzed by an image,
That I couldn’t be without.
Fade in and fade out.
Capture words that hang
From the tip of the tongue,
Compose a lyric,
For what’s already been sung.
Everything’s a hand-me-down
Cycling back through the system.
History’s a broken record,
In a chain of cataclysm.
Don’t go looking for a way out,
You might as well drop it.
All the secrets are hiding
Away in the director’s closet.
Enroll in our theater troop,
Be a soldier outward cast,
Tangled in mixed media,
Cut scene to last.
Keep rolling the film,
Sit back and enjoy your stay.
Don’t stop the motion picture
You call them Sociopaths, I call them HumansYou call them Sociopaths, I call them Humans
I once saw this man
siting in a bench at the park
my mom told me to be careful
because he was probably mad.
I just stared into his eyes
and let my lips form a smile,
and instead of feeling fear
I just saw the mess
inside his mind.
Maybe that was the day,
I silently promised to that man
that in a not so distant future
I would help others
fix their lives.
What an unexpected surprise
was when I told my teacher
I would go to the university
to get a graduate in criminology.
And what a curious face my friend did
when I, somehow, told her
that my future career
would consist of blood and crime scenes.
"That's not what a proper lady should do,
you're so innocent you won't last a year"
and what do you expect me to be?
A bored woman sitting
in a desk asking repeatedly
"hello sir, what do you need?"
Trying to fake a smile
because I hate my job
and that's how life works?.
Well thank you, but no sir.
Many have told me it's foolish
to try to
Sheets“I adore you,”
she said, whimsically twisted in the rippled gossamer sheets of their bed.
And in these words were memories of weather-worn love letters,
long kisses with smeared roseate lipstick,
and layered mascara outlining her chatoyant eyes,
for he loved the way it looked.
she said months later, tightly grasping the rippled gossamer sheets of her bed.
And in these words were soiled and crumpled goodbye notes,
untarnished roseate lipstick on her opulent lips,
and smeared mascara, creating an ashy mess on her pillowcase,
for who cares if he used to love the way it looked.
She whispered to empty sheets,
“I meant abhor you.”
You're that girlYou're that girl,
You're 17 of age but your weight says you're 10.
Refusing to eat even though you pretend.
They see you lost weight once again,
You sit here alone without any friend.
You're that girl,
You're putting on a smile; A fake one that is.
You're depressed, hurt, and no longer give a shit
You want to live a happy life again, that is your wish.
Yet only a hand full of minutes before you decide to quit.
You're that girl,
You're being chased, haunted and fear for your life.
You chose the wrong path and made the wrong friends.
You're sick of being threatened by a gun or a knife.
You want to get rid of yourself because it all makes no sense.
You're that girl,
You're used, abused, your innocence has been taken.
"It's not his fault, you are to blame."
Everyone says you're at fault, now you have been forsaken.
You cry in the mirror and feel like such a shame.
You're that girl,
You don't get enough sleep.
Sometimes you wish you could just leave.
Trying to rest but nightmares come creep
Rancid ApologiesI never understood why people
could not accept apologies.
Until I heard how bitter they sounded
coming off of your lips.
I always found people made themselves vulnerable
when opening up and admitting they were wrong,
until I realized the way your lip curled
the way it does when you lie.
I hope it tasted as rancid to you
as it sounded to me.
I hope you choke on your apologies.
Because they don't mean shit to me now.
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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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