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MummificationI don’t know
if I’ll ever be stable
if I’ll ever be functional
if I’ll ever be well adjusted
I’m all too content with crying
and I’ve gotten to the point
where emoting is my homeostasis
and I struggle hard to keep from being apathetic
I feel it’s more important to be emotionally sincere
than to worry about those who will feel ostracized by my tears
and maybe I’m selfish to care more for my emotions than relationships
I ruined a date due to talking about my life mantras through mummification allegories
since in ancient egypt they believed the heart held more truth and soulness than the brain
and in my length of living I’ve come to believe that too
A summer birthday party
Thinking sweet sixteen seemed so old
Pilgrimaging to to see the sunrise
Trying to swing high
What if I’m too fat for this and I break the chains
But this is too beautiful to think like this
I finally feel for the first time
Like home is something tangible
Wet grass seeping into sneakers
Flying with swaying legs
Between the two girls
I’d come to call my two best friends
I laugh along to things I don’t quite understand
But the feeling of floating
Between two beloveds
It was such inexplicable sweetness
Same setting as the first
Trying to convince
A friend whose soul was drifting out of his place in my heart
I told him not to worry
That things would work out somehow
And he scoffed saying I couldn’t talk
Because unlike him, I was successful
Successful because I’m happy
And I sadistically smiled since he was right
Talking about an effervescent future
With such naive optimism
With a brand new beloved
Hymns of Hate and MemorandumOh well
It’s just like me
the time that hurt the most
Have I learned nothing?
if you don’t go running back
Come on, self
let that dream die
in your wake
we have to keep moving forward
it smells like death back there
a place where we ache to go again“Nostalgia was originally considered a disease of the mind
which sort of overtook you in times of stress”
Did I ever tell you
when I was cowering under covers
fearing for my life
(erroneously or not)
I recited in my head
the entire dialogue
from my favorite childhood movie?
I wanted to bring myself to a happy place
since I figured if I could relax
I might be as asleep as I pretended to be
and I hear dying in one’s sleep is far more comfortable
Dear Self- Stop Being AwfulI feel like my recent experiences are at least beginning to forge me into a better person
Just today I found myself shrugging off someone’s legitimate concern of feeling unsafe
But instead of going on shrugging I realized I became aware and shouted at my jerk brain
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?
JUST BECAUSE YOU DON’T SEE A REASON TO BE OFFENDED
IT DOESN’T MEAN THERE IS NO REASON
YOU ARE NOT ALL WOMEN
YOU DO NOT INHABIT ALL EXPERIENCES
AND IF YOU DON’T SEE WHY SOMETHING ISN’T OFFENSIVE
IT DOESN’T MEAN IT ISN’T OFFENSIVE
IT JUST MEANS YOU HAVEN’T TAKEN YOUR ROSE-COLORED GLASSES OFF YET”
April 13th 2014- Feminist Memoir Draft 1Today is April 13th 2014 and I am currently typing in the back seat of my mum’s car with my brother joking about the explosive power of propane tanks like the scientifically minded teenage boy Michael Bay wishes he were. We’re currently driving through Starbuck Minnesota where the biggest attraction is the Cemeteries with a semi flattened tire. I’ve decided to write this Feminist Memoir now of all times since we’re coming from seeing the play, ‘Uncommon Women’ by Wendy Wasserstein in which my best friend played the character Susie Friend. It isn’t any sort of stretch that a play about feminism, existential crises and college would inspire me to begin writing my first draft now. I don’t know how to start writing this, but I just told my Brother about my project, and surprisingly enough, not only did a conservative republican boy find a play about feminism and the lives of women who some would claim as Misandrist hilarious, but he also said
Adult Who Won't Watch Shows With Ugly ActorsThere must be something sincerely fucked up in your brain
if you believe that anyone in entertainment
has the utter obligation to be your eye candy.
No one owes you their appearance.
I used to try online petitions to prove you wrong-
“Please comment if you don’t think ____ is ugly”
as if they needed me to defend their honor
against comments that only prove the speaker’s shallowness.
And perceived ugliness isn’t the problem, after all
even if a thousand anonymous icons comment
“WTF ___ is SO Hot!”
“What’s wrong with your friend, ____ is gorgeous!”
it doesn’t change anything
since the focus
is still on the shell’s appearance
and not the soul’s expression
so the damage of overlooking art in favor of attractiveness is still done.
So I’m glad my mind has been cleared
even if you never progressed past the fog of heartless hormones
and teenage testosterone-poisoned conversations.
first draft in a queen of hearts comp booki have a huge fat feminism and writing project in the works
but i have to be secretive for my own safety (because i'm paranoid)
and i know at the end there'll be more harshness than ever
but i have to stop myself from being afraid
because fear is what got me to be this subdued and sad
and i honestly feel like my idea is worth a try
in order to re-become the sort of woman i used to be and genuinely wish i still were
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
1:33 amto the angry young
hungry ocean eyes:
i do not wish to know
what crawled inside
your ribs to
i just wish you would
let it leave.
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
I was so mean, my god was I mean, and you were the innocent archetype. You were never that open, or naive after that year. I feel like I broke you, but it took me so long to realize, and now I cannot apologize since, I'm sure, you don't remember. Many of the people I hurt don't remember me, but my words shaped their souls and I wish I could take all that back. It's true, you know, those that are hurt tend to hurt others, but you are anomalistically kind, and I wish I could be as devoted to anything in life as you were to everything. You'll make it I swear, even while I am stuck. I'll be your Renfield, perhaps then I'll earn your forgiveness.
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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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