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Deviant for 11 Years
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Literature
when she first tells you that it's time
when she first tells you that it's time for her to leave
you will walk into the forest
climb inside the hollowed sequoia you call home
and scrape away the rotting bark with your teeth
you will hum over the static of the geiger counter
test the carbon and nitrogen in the soil
and look for atrazine in the water
you will build a fire so warm
a fawn will come and rest by its side
she will not
you will wade out into the ocean, deep
past buoys and bottom trawling nets
to understand the need to stand still
when the waves remind you that no matter how far you stretch your legs
this is not your home
you will check to see if you planted enough milkweed
but a monarch will never stay
some sleeping genotype awakens with the changing leaves
unlocking a map and survival skills to carry her gentle body
to a land her mother and grandmother never knew
when she first tells you that it's time for her to leave
you will not know what to say
you will wonder whether it was the oil on your fingertips
leaking b
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Literature
A Description of Happiness in Den Haag
the water in this city reminds me of my second love
wraps around me like a silk sheet in Sevilla summer heat
something between safety and suffocation
like an alcoholic's daughter to a second glass, I
keep my distance
we follow the blue arteries until all I see is sand
soft as cinnamon, I think it must be the finest in the world
I lie without a towel, let the smooth granules press into my folds
later whisper that it was the first time my belly had seen the sun
and make lines of shells in the sand
an offering to the oldest giver and taker,
mother of tides
we go out dancing and someone spills their drink on my shoe and I don't care
my arms are up and amelia is dancing against the wall
her hair has fallen down
she has become her own region of spacetime, a white hole,
an untouchable pulsing mass of energy and light
amelia tips her head back and laughs
a celestial spark on the tip of her tongue
and I know I cannot touch her
before I know it, we are on the stage
bodies moving like the song ha
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Literature
Sitting on a Snow-Covered Picnic Table
(Full Title: Sitting on a Snow-Covered Picnic Table in the Backyard of my Apartment on Pond Street on a Frigid February Evening in Providence)
Cursing silently, I lean forward,
hugging my knees to my body.
The sound of soft piano keys,
(from whose house, I don't know)
(from whose hands, I don't know)
whispers,
coaxing my cowardly eyes open.
My body softens,
hammers striking strings,
producing not a clap, not a crash,
but the most beautiful hum.
I think of my grandmother,
(who has played the piano every day since she lost her last baby tooth,
when the porch light was her curfew,
and her hair was long and wild,
matching the color of her eyes)
when she said,
This is the way I want it to be.
I look at the bush in front of me,
planted from whose hands, I don’t know,
and say,
This song is for you.
I look at the thin, straggly spines to my left,
from which flower I don't know,
and say,
my chest swelling with excitement,
This song is for you.
I look at the wrinkled tree clo
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Literature
bloodlines / waterlines
I think of rivers, pressing wrinkles into rock,
pouring the earth and skin into the ocean,
never full,
bottomless.
I imagine dragging my arms and legs on the ground
fingers curled
as mud digs under my nails
and I start to bleed.
I imagine reaching her,
the chamber for humming of whales,
salt buzzing with the sound of songs hundreds of thousands of miles long
to an unfamiliar lover.
No matter how hard I try to bring bits of home with me,
we are estranged.
Even the mud lodged in my ears and between my toes sinks
when the saline rushes in.
I watch my mother,
an ancient glacier who has known many suns,
who has inhaled and exhaled parts of her body tens of thousands of times
as though she and the sun shared the same heartbeat
shrinking and growing, and shrinking and growing.
I see her shape
and she glides effortlessly above me.
Perfectly composed,
she basks in the sun;
Crisp clear water
atop the mighty god of salt, of sand, of remnants of blood
My mother has many secrets.
See, glaciers are
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Literature
Moonset
I don't think I'm ready to write poems for you, she whispered,
quietly,
lovingly,
voice dripping down like water droplets on leaves on a cold spring morning while the sun peeks over her window.
The sun was groggy,
half hidden behind clouds,
but we were full as the moon: heavy, as she sunk soundlessly into her crib.
The sand feels less forgiving when it's cold, she said, but at least we are less forgotten.
The trees held us until we were only pebbles along the shore, rocking against Mother Earth,
until her body was wrapped into mine,
and I finally felt the drums begin to sound.
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Literature
The Singer
My grandmother used to put on a week-long music/drama camp at my church every year. This particular year, we were doing "A Technicolor Promise," the story of Noah's Ark, and I was Noah. I remember sitting at the round table in the back of the church, with the chairs I could never climb on to because my eight-year-old legs were too short. You've got to open your voice, he told me. I was so proud when we came to my elementary school one year and sang with his band, the Dixieland Pops, me, smiling and waving from my spot on the gym floor.
John, Ed's pastor for many years, would tell you about the time Ed led the carol sing-a-long at a Reynolds family Christmas Eve party in 1976. He directed us in the most aerobic version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" I have ever heard, John would say. Or he might tell you about how he always knew which stories in his sermons would make Ed cry. John would look down at Ed every Sunday, and sure enough, the tears would be flowing. Or he might tell you ab
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Literature
Trauma
It was apparent that my sense of danger was lacking by the age of three. That year, we were on one of our many plane rides home from my grandparent's home in northern Canada. Close to arrival, we became entangled in an unexpected snowstorm. Visibility was poor and the wind had a mind of its own. The flight attendant tried to sound calm as she alerted us of the "unexpected turbulence" (in case we didn't already know) but it was clear that landing safely would be a challenge. Movement sickness came in the form of 300 foot drops in a millisecond. Some held brown paper bags tightly around their lips while others silently prayed, but not me. I loved the feeling of my body being pressed into the scratchy blue seats during take-off and the thrill of bumpy rides. When the plane finally touched the runway and slowed to a halt, passengers released a collective sigh of relief. My pupils were dilated with excitement and my grin could not get any wider. Surrounded by irritable, green-faced passenge
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Literature
Flying.
I am in a crowded room and I am yelling. I am yelling and I am in a crowded room. I am closing my eyes and I am holding my breath but when I feel my swollen lungs scraping my rib cage, I am forced to release the air locked inside of my chest. In the blues of my still closed eyelids, I can see the curvature of smiling faces in this new world I would open my eyes to see. But nothing has changed. I am still here.
One girl walks toward me and I recognize her face. I recognize her face as she looks right through me. But without blinking, her arm darts forward and she grabs my side. "I need that," I scream. I only glance down to the hole in my side where a spleen would be when I feel another hand dive into my stomach and pull out more of my insides. "You are supposed to love me," I cry. Suddenly, they all run toward me, pulling out muscles and organs, bones and skin. The emptiness becomes greater and greater. "Why would you do this to me?"
And with eyes glistening and pupils dilated, they ga
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Literature
Unclean
I.
There is something about the words that slip off of your tongue,
the way you hide, like a shadow from the sunlight
something about the way you always cross your arms over your stomach
something about the mountains and the valleys
that
makes me wonder.
II.
My hands are covered in oil they are covered in oil and I am trying so hard to hold on but I cannot and all I hear is -- -- -- and the sound of your anger being released into the world and the taste of your skin is sinking into my taste buds and suddenly I cannot stand, I am lifting up one leg and falling on the other I am lifting up one leg and falling on the other until I am a pile of bones on the floor screaming, what do you want from me what do you want from me, still trying to hold you close.
III.
There is a place in the middle of the woods that I like to go
A place where I can climb so high
that
no one can see me
and
no one can touch me
I climb so high that I think I might fall
But feel her inside of me,
laughing with joy
<i>
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Visiting RI 2 :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 1 1 Visiting RI 1 :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 0 0 Visiting RI 3 :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 1 1 Maybe. :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 1 0 Newsprint. :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 1 1 We'll Paint the Town. :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 2 3 September :iconlittlelottexo:LittleLottexo 2 3

Favourites

Literature
stage fright
the edges peel off every once in a while;
i stick them back together,
press my thumbs down, say i've fixed it---
but it's peeling, fraying,
sliding apart at the seams;
the blurry edges of my vision make me nervous,
make me shake and worry
(i am marble-cut and resolute,
somehow, i'm okay with sentences like puzzle pieces
"you're not okay"
so what?)
it's addiction, you know,
"this is love"
is love
is love
is this
love?
is this love?
is this ever going to change?
my symptoms are showing
(stage directions:  clench fists and
beat holes in the floorboards;
be careful of the bones, they're thin now,
plaster dust packed in a chalky mess
too brittle to serve as framework anymore,
the knees collapse together, tired lovers
sick of swinging back and forth)
act one, scene one:
i never meant for this to happen,
"i don't love you"
cue lights---
the scenery is bleak and minimal,
the cast is laid along the floor in tombstone rows,
players for the damned,
hissing  whispered syllables
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Literature
brittle
i'm a marionette,
strings pulled off, stuck in place
(i dance for no one)
and i've atrophied from sitting still in silent protest,
just one hunger strike away from martyrdom
where i'll join legions of
fallen angels in purgatory,
each starved and folded into
an hourglass paradigm all
ribcage and pelvis bent out in a
prison-bar silhouette of skin stretched over bones,
a sallow 2x4 canvas
painted with self-loathing
and striped with denial
my will is
caged, held hostage
behind the jericho walls of my stomach
where i learned about loathing and restraint
(i am tied and tarnished by the silver lining
left so long in the distance that it's
turned blacked and frayed away
like the skin on my fingertips)
and i wish i had those
cigarette extremities sweating metabolic regrets
nicotine-stained like old fingerprints
down pretty bones held
waist-high on display
"i thought you were different---"
but i'm trying to look as plaster-cast
as i refuse to be,
so forgive me when my name is printed in
the same
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Literature
don't make me say it
look, mom, no hands---
i'm riding waves like hope held high above the water,
i'm being as perfect as i can, and
it could be easier, but i'll show you the
things i can do with dust clouds and rope ladders
watch the sky, mom,
i'm written in the stars,
past the street lamps and the
fourth-of-july flashing lights
(can you see me?)
i promise not to sing like him
i've given up on music and johnny appleseed
and i'm sorry i let him trick me out of religion
but mom,
i don't want to live forever anymore
i learned my lesson
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Journal
Daily Literature Deviations for April 7, 2010
Daily Lit Deviations for April 7th, 2010
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
Please show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article
Don't hesitate to comment or :+fav: the artists for their hard work!
:star:For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one of your pieces featured by DLD please note us. We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article.:star:
Poetry
featured by: dreamsinstatic

"Butterfly" by RedLam
This poem managed through brilliant
imagery and haunting emotion to capture
the essence of the moment so poignantly.  
Often love is freeing, but sometimes it
refused to release.
Featured by hell-on-a-stick

"in all its fluffy glory" by injuredjaw
injuredjaw pulls us along on a journey
through weeks or months observing sometimes
v
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innocence :iconpretty-as-a-picture:Pretty-As-A-Picture 1,268 84 Anthophila :iconjoereimer:joereimer 169 37 nananas :iconpretty-as-a-picture:Pretty-As-A-Picture 552 50 cousin it goes mod :iconpretty-as-a-picture:Pretty-As-A-Picture 553 36
Journal
Good Old Days.
Good Old Days.
Do you remember the days? Did you forget those days?
Memories.
They are best kept in photographs.
This news article is about memories, about the 'good old days'. Lovely retrospective photos of love, fun, summer, music & so on.
Enjoy. :heart:
:thumb66487013: :thumb75027249: :thumb75025367: J O U R N E Y by sendok atlantic city by nosurp wish upon a sky by o--tebem--o :thumb136998671: you'll always be by LizsX Flying High by Royalshake smokebreak by brokendancer Super 8 Home Movie by jazzylemonade Nostalgia by whatshername13 I think my life is a movie by stereophone .Banka-Atomowa 052. by Cordien  u n d i s c o v e r e d by whatshername13 Feel Summer . by Squierr night ,in we, calm by theres-no-end squeeee by AutumnYuna You've got it all wrong. by dosvidaniya :thumb80131055: Chrome by EXtrasoda :thumb89359124: I'm not here by ParanoidHitsuji Sea.sea.sea.sea.sea.sea by Loving-Memory :thumb55785226: :thumb86962563: :thumb63738100: Face down in the Dirt by cashboxx Ad Infinitum by rokrgirly British fuck by Lemuriada beautiful dream by Methamphethamine somewhere else to lie. by gloeckchen :thumb93469309: :thumb91890857
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Literature
clouds.
Cirrus
They trained their big eyes upward, to the sky, glittering sacrifices in their hands, cut fresh from Earth’s appendage. “It’s a song,” they whispered, or wanted to whisper, their quiet voices crushed underfoot in the mare’s wild rampage across the arching virga.
Noctilucent
As a little girl growing up, there were many things she wanted to be; a princess, a doctor, a superhero saving people from their sadness. But years later, as she and her lover soared across the night sky, she knew, it was all she ever wanted just to be a part of that burning twilight.
Altostratus
Wig, make-up, plastic, masks, prosthetics; just a few more days, no time to be different if you want to be cool, if you want to make sure no one ever sees who you are, (who are you?) who you are because if they do, if they do, ifffftheyyyyyydooooooooo…
Cumulus
They spent their days on the boat, or in the field, drinking sweet milk and eating sticky fruit pluck
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Literature
the Major Arcana.
0. The Fool
Somewhere along the way, I’d died.
The person inside me, built up over so many years, fashioned in the wants and the needs and the loves and the hates, cracked, or turned black, or got infected, and fell away, into nothing. I had been emptied of myself, my identity. I was no one, and no one was mine. And in my emptiness, I felt free, and in need of adventure. Something tugged at my heart, or what should’ve been my heart, and so I left behind my life, and chased the horizon.
I walked for a very, very long while. Time melted into one long hybrid of day and night, colors of the sun and moon running and bleeding into each other. I stuck to the woods, and, when I needed to, ate whatever I could find. I slept in the shelter of the trees.
The world seems much bigger when you don’t have anything but wanderlust in you. Impossibly big, like you’re looking through a child’s eyes, reliving the days when anything was possible, and everything was filled wi
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Literature
Triptych.
i. Presentation of Eve to Adam</b>
Upon his waking:
Porcelain skin, the slender spoon-shaped curve of her back
Sapphires down-turned, poised and half-lidded
Above pursed lips
Hair falls in golden ringlet
Hand around her wrist,
As though measuring the worth of her --
Cape billowing like a bursting heart
Leans in real close;
"You are his, and he is yours, and you are a part of him."
Pursed lips form an 'o', shape of life, shaping words
She finished, "And this is good."
Nightmare creatures from underneath the earth
Lying together
Flight of birds
A piece of innocence, everlasting
"Stay, for you are a part of me,
And I a part of you."
ii. Garden of Earthly Delights</b>
Organic vessels drinking from mollusks and lustful eyes and parted lips and slack jaws and clothes strewn everywhere and the secret man in his secret cave plastic tubes and secret woman and their secret words broken shells and conical huts and cavorting and dancing and sex and play and color all the color
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things fall apart. :iconclockwork-aristocrat:clockwork-aristocrat 2 7
Journal
Daily Lit Deviations for August 18, 2009
Daily Lit Deviations for August 18th, 2009
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
Please show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article
Don't hesitate to comment or :+fav: the artists for their hard work!
Poetry
Featured by ColonelFitz

"Bubblegum Chaos." by Self-Intoxication
This poem is a wonderful stream of vivid, surrealist,
loosely related images that nonetheless flow well together.
A strong use of the second person personalizes the poem and
carries the strong emotional subtext of the piece.
Featured by KneelingGlory

"sitting bones." by midnightdiligo
Yoga is an ancient practice which calms the mind,
harmonizes the body, and enhances the senses -- all of
which is beautifully described in this poem.
Foreign Language
Featured by: Magic-fan

"Endlos lebendig" by takelith737
A romantic piece about how stro
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Activity


I logged in today for the first time in a while and was totally surprised to see that I have exactly 19,000 page views. It makes me remember what I once had on here. The car accident brought me so far from where I ever wanted to me, and yet it somehow seems to have made some positive effect on my life. I took the semester off from Brown because I am still dealing with post-concussion syndrome and I can't handle classes, friends, and everything else in a college life. So I've been working, but more recently, I started going to the gym, where I've begun training myself to run. And then last night, I went to a zen center/buddhist monastery, learned to meditate, and then participated in a large group meditation in the dharma room. And it was nothing short of amazing. It's sad to think that my body and brain had to become as damaged as they were for me to begin making this change for a healthier, happier life, but it seems to have pointed me in the right direction. Also, I'm hoping to do el camino (a 500 mile pilgrimage through France and Spain) in May, so maybe this journey of recovery and discovery has just begun.

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LittleLottexo
Meg
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
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:iconaaliyah23:
aaliyah23 Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2006
hií thank for the :+fav:
;)
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:iconjenadellagrottaglia:
JenaDellaGrottaglia Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2006  Professional Digital Artist
thanks much for the fav and comment so deeply appreciated
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:iconac200016:
ac200016 Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2006
definetly. unless of course we cacn get alex ;)
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:iconac200016:
ac200016 Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2006
yay! meg!

its aly, lol. i didn't know you were on here :D
Reply
:iconheatherihn:
HeatherIhn Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2006  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you for the favorite!
Reply
:iconpapermasque:
PAPERmasque Featured By Owner Apr 7, 2006
Welcome to Deviantart :handshake:
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