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an anthology of childhood loves.when i was three, i dressed up as cinderella.
it was a warm october night in the hills of south carolina,
where scorpions basked in the garden and daddy once killed a rattlesnake in the kitchen.
i remember momma tying a bow on my dress and taking sixteen pictures.
i was a gap toothed little blond with a plastic tiara and dreams in my eyes.
i made my friend mark be my prince charming.
i remember looking over, suddenly shy, and wondering if we would get married one day.
when i was five, we moved away.
that was my first little taste of heartbreak.
it didn't last long, though.
my next memory is standing on my new driveway,
peering past the moving van to a girl with curly gold hair and hazel eyes.
when the moving van pulled away, she ran across the street and shook hands with me.
she told me her name was bella.
i told her i had a dog, and she told me she had an american girl doll.
we were two happy little blond girls and people thought we were sisters when we went to the pool.
i started kin
help.i am a dysphoric mess of
dry eyes and clenched fists and lots
of nights beating the hell out of walls and
the punching bag in the basement and scabby
knuckles and aching muscles and oh god i really
just really wanna get straight to sleep this time because what
the hell am i am i a girl am i a guy and now my knuckles are bleeding
and i miss you and a week isn't long to wait really but for me it is eternity because i
am a fucking mess and i wanna go home and sleep but sweetheart you're already at
home my mother says and i shake my head and say that's not what i mean, mother
so i never went back.i
lately, the curve of your shoulderblades
has been tattooed on the insides of my eyelids,
and the weight of your heart has settled alongside mine
in my chest, like it's found a home.
your eyes would fly if they could,
just grey enough to make you think pigeon
and just blue enough to make you think bluebird.
if my feet were lighter and i weren't weighed down by the chains
of sorrow and tiredness and scars,
i would follow you into the sky.
i made you a dreamcatcher with bluejay feathers on it.
a gold (not really, but it looks pretty) key charm hangs from it,
flanked by beads and feathers and fluttering ribbons.
its intricate design reminds me of you,
and now- funny thing-
i can't bear to let it go,
because i feel that to give it to you
would be to lose a piece of you.
in the four a.m. darkness,
i think i hear you whispering to me,
but that's impossible.
we are separated by miles and miles
and by people that will never understand us.
sort of like a modern-day r
hero.she never saw it coming at all.
well, maybe she did, she was the one that held the knife but
she never thought it would really happen.
she was the kind of girl that drank the stars with her eyes,
flying away on wings of paper and dreams,
and during the day held her screams in behind carmine lips,
keeping her nails wrapped in band-aids so she couldn't hurt herself.
it's all right it's all right it's all right it's all right all right all right
because nobody can have it all
and sometimes the only time she thought she could smile
was with the help of a knife.
all she wanted was to be happy but somehow
her psyche always worked against her.
open wide here comes original sin
she's the hero of the story doesn't need to be saved
theh ero of the story
her oof thes tory
it's all right its allright its al right its alright right its alright it salrigh
and the only way she felt she could save herself
was by giving up
lace.i have seventeen dreamcatchers hanging in my room.
i suppose it's overkill;
i'm never going to achieve my dreams anyway.
but i keep making them.
looping the yarn tightly around the small hoop, tying it off,
then taking the needle and thread
(black for despair, white for hope;
my room has shadows and black lace cast over it now)
stitch stitch stitch with looping swirls
like i'm sewing the pieces of my mind back together.
i tie off the last loop when the lacy stitches
have knitted closer together than often-broken bones
in a hospital bed.
i hang the latest dream above my bed.
when i wake up, bolting up from a nightmare with monsters on my tail,
i hit my head on it.
and frozen waterfalls.late last night, i tried to talk you down off of
that high built from nicotine and caffeine and hollows under your eyes,
that sense that something is wrong.
i told you about skies we can swim in
and the lakes that will let us fly.
i waxed poetic about neighborhood parks and the tigers at the zoo.
how in the spring, we can go to both
and be that couple everyone is jealous of.
it worked. i think.
just in case it didnt,
i told you that i love you and i wouldn't be able to survive without you
and that you have saved my life more times than you know.
i told you the real reason i keep my nails bitten down
and have never worn shorts around you
and never take off my thick bracelets.
i talked about my anxiety and depression and the monsters that claw inside my stomach
just like the ones you have.
i told you about the razors in the bathroom
and the fifteen woodworking blades in the basement workshop.
i bared my soul to you, love,
and you told me you'll stop smoking, start eating,
and keep loving
act 1: the boulevard, or, herJessie had eyes that sometimes thought they were green and sometimes thought they were brown. That night, they were in one of their depressed moods and had decided to take on the semblance of minty chocolate to make themselves feel better. If they could eat themselves, they would have. Jessie herself, however, was just as intensely, determinedly happy as usual. She skipped on every second step and her smile crackled with energy; since i flatly refused to skip with her, she would skip ahead a few feet and then turn around, pale yellow-white hair flying in the half-light from the streetlamps and storefronts, and wait for me to catch up. Our parents thought we were at a mutual friend's house, sleeping over. We'd decided to skip it. We were eighteen, after all, and it was the summer after high school, that last possible summer where you can really be a kid before having to decide what you want to do and who you want to be. College applications had been sent out, but with one girl that want
prisoner 2873.she grabbed my hands
and wrapped them around her waist,
making me slow-dance with her
right there on the boulevard
in the pouring rain.
it's on her bucket list,
to be a scene in a movie.
this is the opening credit.
baby, she said, let me tell you something.
i've got a fist full of dreams and a guitar pick in my pocket
and a head full of you.
that don't sound much like living to me, baby.
run away with me
and let's make a life.
she blinked raindrops off her eyelashes
and looked at me with melting brown eyes.
baby, she said, come with me?
how could i say no?
she squealed and kissed me in the pool of golden light
under the lamppost on the boulevard.
we were two silly girls twined around each other and drunk on love.
we'd make a perfect movie, i think,
she told me. and i guess we would.
hollywood would love this story.
six months living on the road,
just two kids living the rebel dream.
we drove across the country,
jessie headbanging to the soundtrack of the 80's
and rocking the
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
my bedspread is white and so is my coffin.i can feel
the night closing
the stars are breaking
empty glass bottles
inside of my
mouth, and they taste like
ambien. bitter, then
but you still can't close your fucking eyes
little blue pills for
eyes– it was winter and i
dreams of nothing more than
nothing. the devil
tied chains around all the
vessels in my
body. laughed, and by god i
laughed too (and laughedandlaughedandlaughed).
this will all be over soon i swear i will take everything off your skin and bones and burn it up
and then january took the world
in it's grip and i
drowned in the snow that
will never hydrate the
can you hear that it's the night and it's so beautiful so come here darling and we'll watch the sun rise and set and rise and
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
flittermice on a racetrack.have i ever told you that you make me smile?
high praise, i know, coming from me,
it's high praise indeed because i have a jumbled
up head and you make me smile and i
maybe even found someone who will stay this
time and maybe i even found someone who
will love me as much as i love them (it
slipped out that night you almost gave
up, almost threw in the towel, almost took the
pills you've been saving) and i know
i wouldn't be able to live without you and
i know i may have to and darling, it
scares me it fucking scares me.
just listen to that... my heart is racing like millions of
butterflies are trapped and running around a ferris wheel
screaming let me out let me
out because my head is jumbled up and i need
you near me and your arms around me and my hands in
your hair and darling your new haircut looks
fine and do you really think i would
leave you over something so silly as
botched bangs and shorter hair?
because no matter how much you fluster
me oh god i dont know how
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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