|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Realizing our Greatest FlawsThe worst feeling in the world
Is the realization
That we are no longer children.
When we were young
We spent our nights
Hiding from the monsters under our beds.
We feared the vampires
Whose sharp fangs tore us apart
Only to drink red from our veins.
We were terrified of the zombie
Devouring our minds and only wanting more.
Who use to be like us
But no longer can reach humanity, living in isolation.
We were afraid of the dark,
As it consumes us and our understanding
Concealing what might be there.
What we feared was there.
Ghosts haunted our past
And goblins filled us with fright.
We hid under our covers,
And tried to escape from
What we could not see,
But what we believed to be.
But what is most terrifying
Is that the monsters
Our flaws reflected through our dreadful imaginations.
And now we cannot hide
Because we must face our greatest fear
When we gaze into our mirrors.
A Terrifying Realization of Everlasting HeartbreakLove is terrifying.
I am afraid of looking into someones eyes
And seeing a future.
How lovely it would be
To hold out your hand and not be afraid of falling down.
To not be afraid of loosing yourself
And then watching them leave with everything you loved.
I have never loved myself,
Or felt content when I looked in the mirror.
So the day he walks out that door,
I do not think that my feet will stay planted.
I do not think my legs will stand strong,
Or my eyes look ahead,
Or my heart stay complete.
Because being in love is giving someone your heart
And trusting them to keep it close.
Love is falling and praying they will catch you.
And I do not believe that I will make it out of this world alive.
So I stray from the idea of a future
And avoid looking others in the eyes
Because I am afraid of seeing the constellations in their pupils,
Or finding an ending in their smile.
Because my heart is afraid of oblivion
And so I can only hope to fall
And only hope to love.
Blind LoveMaybe his glasses are on all wrong.
Or he hurt his ear listening to music too long.
He must have looked too long at the sky
Perhaps he has mist in his eye
It may be the wind took away his sight
Or maybe the sky took away his flight
He must be blind
To possibly find
Something good in me and my life
Depressing Thoughts Are All I KnowI want it to stop.
The pain in my chest I mean.
When I close my eyes I don't want to open them again
When I open my eyes I want to go.
I'm hoping for it to end
Because my bones are shaking
And the end is dawning
And I don't like it.
I should have something to live for.
I'm probably being dramatic.
Taking the broken and crumbling it to dust.
I'm probably being crazy
With my wicked thought and my shrouded smiles.
I'm probably being stupid
With these ideas touched by cigarette ash.
I'm delusional, hallucinating my own fate
But I'm alive.
I want it to stop.
Sitting here with a knot trapped in my fist is only
But all the same
This screaming in my head
Is louder then the pounding in my heart.
And as my breath is bated
And my lungs fill with the ashes of tonight
I let myself fall, and I allow myself to
New Ideas are FormingSuddenly it’s hard to breathe.
My heart is racing and it is becoming difficult to
How can I do this?
How do I do this?
My heart won’t stop hurting
My head won’t stop hurting.
It’s hard to stop shaking
To stop hurting.
To stop loving.
I’m so afraid of the future that I forget my past.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
Their words are stinging and their actions are burning
And I can’t understand their words.
Their words are drowning in my mind
In my bitter thoughts.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
To stop this aching
And the breaking
And the taking and oh how hard it is to stop
I think that is the hardest part of it all.
To tell yourself that it doesn't’t matter where you turn
The end is always around the corner.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe
ExpressionsI wish I were a better poet
So I could tell you how I feel.
Because these words get stuck in my throat
And make my emotions unreal.
I wish I were a better poet
And these words came from me.
Because when I think of you
The words don’t come so easily.
You twist words as if they are clay
Create beauty from 26 letters.
So how can I be good at this
When I know you can do better?
But for you I wish to type these thoughts down
To try to truly show it.
Because when you stop and smile at me
I wish I were a better poet.
No WordsI cannot speak.
My tongue is glued to my teeth and this stupid smile.
My words won't form
And I don't know how to breathe.
Heart pounding a mile a minute
And chest aching
I cannot speak.
You take these words from my mouth
And you turn them into shaking fingers and blushing faces.
I am tongue tied and heart twisted and falling.
What do I do.
With your perfect soul staring at me.
How does speech work.
How do I form the words off the tip of my tongue
And let them roll down my side like rain.
Typing feels like an eternity as I write this down.
I don't know how words work because you take them away.
And when our lips meet the world disappeared
And I no longer needed words.
Because my words are now yours.
And my beating heart tells you my story.
A story about a broken girl with broken eyes
And a boy who shone light through the cracks
And created a sunrise.
So this is what it is like to drown.So this is what it is like to drown.
To close your eyes and slowly suffocate,
To hold your head underwater and feel like up is down
Emotions seem to know no bounds.
Your head is reeling.
Disappearing into a moment in time when you looked at your wrists and all you saw was nothing.
When you stared at your reflection and all you felt was nothing.
When the numbness inside became more than nothing, when it become broken.
The strands that held us together no more,
And our eyes no longer have life.
Breathe in, Breathe out.
Hold on to what you consider sanity
And sink below the surface.
You smile a broken grin that is too wide for your face.
You break life into your eyes and hope that they don’t see the cracked glass.
Pity is nothing to us.
I am nothing
So this is what it is like to be a dear in headlights.
To open your eyes to a blinding realization that you am changed.
To stare int
Broken Mirrors and Flawed ProtectionOver time we learn to hate ourselves.
We search for flaws in a cracked bathroom mirror
These reflections are not us
They are our demons.
We look and look for our very flaw
But aren’t we all creations?
Aren’t we all perfect because of our imperfections?
Why must we search for satisfaction and acceptance from a broken idea?
I have learned from experience that skinny is acceptable.
That having curves and having a flat stomach is more important than having a soul.
I learned from the social norms and the magazines that I am flawed.
But I am myself.
Am I not good enough for you?
Am I not what you look for when you search for sexual fantasies?
I do not apologize for my stomach or my thighs.
I am not sorry for my freckles or my pimples or my chipped fingernails.
I will not apologize for my predetermined, biological, programed features.
I will not be a perfect image of society
Because we are all different.
Because when I stare in the mirror
All I see is myself.
And you know what?
My mind deals with
Overcomes my judgement
Today it's no different
I can't take it anymore
Observing my image but
Nothing is revealed
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
To the person who holds my best friend's heart...I know that is is kind of weird
But I felt that I should write this down.
I need to tell you what I feel
And tell you what he means to me.
He's my best friend and he's a good man.
Please, give him the love and respect he deserves.
He may seem goofy but he's very sweet.
I know this because he was always there for me when I was sad.
Now, I know that you're not bad
Cause he would never choose someone who's mean.
But I still want to tell you just in case you forget in the future;
Please don't break his heart.
He's been through so much
And he doesn't deserve something like that.
He is the kind of person who smiles even when he's hurt by others
And would take any pain for the people he loves.
I know, I've witnessed it.
I know he may seem kind of childish sometimes
But don't let it get to you.
It's just his way of expressing himself.
He's very caring and I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy.
He doesn't look like it but he's very kind and thoughtful.
He'll put your needs before h
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
Can you look deeper?You see that girl you just bullied?
The one you harassed over her choice of art?
The art of a man beating a woman to death?
She saw her father kill her mother when she was five.
You know that man who likes to photograph himself in dresses?
The one you called a homo because of his choice of clothing?
Well, his parents wanted him to be a girl instead of a boy.
So they made him dress like that everyday to pretend he was a girl.
You know that woman who writes stories about child rape?
The one you bullied until she didn’t know how to cope with life anymore
Her uncle has been in jail for the past eleven years.
He raped her daily for seven years of her life.
What about that guy who favored abstract artwork?
Do you remember him he liked to use the colors red and black a lot.
He was nearly beaten to death when he was fourteen.
He only knows nightmares because he remembers seeing his blood on the wall.
What about me? Do you remember me? Even just a teensy little bit?
You bullied me because
Broken or UnbrokenI'm afraid of the day he learns to love himself.
For the day he looks down at his wrists and sees the stars
For the day where he opens his mind and breaks down these bars
For the day his scars reveal the golden interior.
I'm terrified of the day he sees his worth.
The day where his eyes shine like silver
And his heart beats in time to the marching of his feet
I'm afraid of the day he sees how beautiful he is
For that is the day he leaves me
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More