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Theme Prompt - SoliloquyI was thinking about my poetry and some of the stories I’ve written and I realized something interesting. When I write, I bare a small piece of my soul and am usually speaking to someone in particular. At least when it comes to the poems that resonate the most with me when I re-read them. There are a few that I just have no feeling for at all and, if I didn’t know I wrote it, I wouldn’t attribute to myself.
I’ve written poetry to my father, my aunt, my grandmother, my ex, and my friends. Some with good intentions and feelings and some not so good. I’ve written alternately hopeful and sad, longing poems to a nebulous person that I hope to meet in the future. I’ve worked through my emotions for everyone and showed how I truly felt about them all. The gratitude and love for my friends, the sorrow and love for my family, and the love and, subsequently, anger and regret for my ex. Yet I’ve never really tried to work through my own feelings towards m
11.- La Niña Esperanzada:
Erase una niña, que siempre soño
con un amor. No era un principe azul, era mas bien alguien solitario que no brillaba fisicamente como en cuentos de hadas, el brillo de sus ojos era algo que muy pocos veian. Le puso nombre, rasgos y caracteristicas. Lo soño durante tantas noches, lo imagino durante tantos dias, que ella podia reconocerlo si se le apareciera. Dias pasan, años pasan, pero la esperanza no. En el decimotercer cumpleaños de la niña ella solo deseo, al soplar las velas, que su amado llegara. Su Tristan. Su Tristan de ojos azules y rizada cabellera castaña oscura. Porque sabia que el estaba ahi, viviendo con la luna y navegando con el mar. Dias pasan, años pasan, pero la esparanza no pasa. Cuatro años y la niña solo era niña en su interior, ahora era Elena y nadie ya le decia niña, mas alla de la seda y su maduro seno se encontraba un corazón, un coraz
Food allergies and a chicken boneBack when I was still not well and back when my mind was still poisoned I was sitting at one of the plastic tables in the main room. It was dinner time and I was all alone. Most of the other children had all gone down to the cafeteria. Unfortunately I had mentioned that I had a food allergy, so they made me stay there. I had even told them that pine nuts wouldn't be in anything that they would serve. But they wouldn't listen. They never did. So I just sat there in that dimly lit room staring down at my plate. A clump of chicken lay forlornly in front of me. I had tried to eat some of it, but it was terrible. Just as I had expected.
Eventually I got bored of just staring at my food, so I stuck my hand into the meat and fished out a bone. First I scraped all the bits of chicken still left on it. Then I rubbed it against my shirt until it almost shone. I was so strangely fixated with this bone that I decided to bring it back to my room with me. But that was going to be difficult. There wa
Chapter 4 words are cheap but gags....
The Week That Was:
Monday morning arrived and I fear to even open my eyes thinking that in light of the past several days this must be a dream. You see, like a hobbit, I like my comforts and so I was snuggled up nicely between a pair of satin sheets in this beautiful big bed and totally free for a change. Was that all a dream (and a bad one at that)? I could certainly hope so.
I eventually arose and patted my way into the bathroom to prepare for another week and certainly another day. Nice warm shower: quite lovely Since the shackles of the previous days wouldn't let me lift my legs high enough to get over the tub and into the shower proper. It's amazing how quickly you can despise having to take sponge baths with a washcloth and operate under the illusion that you're actually clean. I digress.
As a warm water cascaded over my chest and then my shoulders and then finally my scalp I felt like I had been born again: although this time it was in the tub of warm, soapy water. I t
drei.Mit elf Jahren musste ich meine Vorhaut operieren lassen. Falls jemand nicht weiss, was eine Vorhaut ist, es ist das, was bei den Juden abgeschnitten wird. Nicht, dass meine Familie zum Judentum konvertieren wollte, nein, meine Eltern beabsichtigten, weiterhin nicht-praktizierende Protestanten zu bleiben. Und meine Vorhaut sollte nicht abgeschnitten, sondern nur gelöst werden. Ich lag auf dem Schragen, während mir eine Maske mit Schlauch über Mund und Nase gestülpt wurde, und im nächsten Moment behauptete jemand, alles sei vorbei.
Dabei war ich von Anfang an dagegen gewesen. „Warum muss ich ins Spital“, sagte ich zu Mami, „ich kann doch auch so auf die Toilette gehen“. – „Ja“, sagte sie, „aber wenn deine Vorhaut mit deiner Eichel verwachsen ist, kannst du vielleicht nie mit einer Frau schlafen.“ – „Mit einer Frau schlafen?!“ rief ich voller Entrüstung, „das will ich sowieso nie!&
Time for School: Chemistry (2)In tenth grade things got serious. The teacher was determined to eliminate all chances of cheating so to achieve this impossible task she developed about 50 different tests, each consisting of 3 questions, all hand-written by her and thus unavailable elsewhere. Having so many tests meant no one would be able to remember which question was asked where, so you really had to be studying to be able to get good grades. Or did you?
The teach had the habit of giving tests to around ten people per period and we, through our noble arrogance and bargaining skills, persuaded her to not give us a test during the first period of the year. She gave tests to those who lacked our abilities and got on with her lesson. Unfortunately for her though, she left all the unused tests on her desk, which was on the way to the room exit. Such a novice mistake really. Someone from the Group got the rather sudden urge to go to the toilet and elegantly picked up some tests along the way. What happened afterwa
Fragments of a Cutter - Questions and Answers -Why am I alive?
I’ve asked myself this, and most times, I don’t know the answer. I think I shouldn’t be. But today, I found my answer. No, it’s not my friends or my family, or anything like that.
A horrible guilt that I would face in my death, for my passing would cause the same for another.
I would have to live in eternity with that guilt, knowing and believing that I killed someone. Not just any someone, but the most wonderful, amazing, and beautiful someone I’ve met. A someone with a soft touch, and a sweet voice. A someone with the most stunning brown eyes and innocent demeanor. A someone with a heart so pure that I know I don’t deserve for it to beat for me. A someone that, even though I know that love is unrequited, I love. A someone that has not been without my emotions for even a second since I met them. A someone that is extremely important to me and
Grandpa Dad’s cell phone rang, breaking the peaceful silence. Nobody moved; we waited it out. Grogginess held us all in her loving claws. The voicemail ring sounded, and the room lapsed back into silence for a whole five minutes. Voicemail rang again, annoying me.
Who just calls at 6 a.m. anyway?
Slight fear stirred inside of me, but I quelled it. It wasn’t possible. We were safe and sound in a hotel room in Ohio, save for my little sister’s stomach and Mom’s intestines. Dad dubbed it “screaming diarrhea” because Mom screamed when she sat on the toilet. It made for a very long trip back from visiting family in West Virginia for spring break, but they were all safe and secure as we were, maybe even more so. Grandpa was doing much better, and at 94 with pneumonia, he had spent the first half of our week-visit in the hospital an hour away. He talked to us the night before, and was awake and eating breakfast when we left
2014-062 ReturnThe way I work these prompt-a-day musings is to look at the prompt early in the day so it can wriggle around in my head for a few hours before I try to write something in the late afternoon or evening. As I write I think of an image to go with the words. Sometimes the image comes first.
"Sojourn", yesterday's prompt, is such a common biblical theme that I knew right away where I wanted to start writing. And I had just scanned in a roll of negatives from the Yashica-D. There was one badly overexposed image that had a surreal "just passing through" feel to it I thought would fit well. I worked it up and posted it on deviantArt so I could use here.
As I thought about today's prompt, "Return", the idea that kept wriggling around my head was "coming home". I looked through my gallery for an image that would convey the idea of not simply house, but home. I picked this one from a year and a half ago.
God grant you blessings on your way and a home to return to.
Profile: Jesse P.
Name: Jesse P.
Favorite Bands: Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Foo Fighters, Avenged Sevenfold, Powerman 5000, Union Underground, Dragonforce, Elvis Presly, The Offspring, Nirvana.
Hobbies: Writing Lyrics/Music, Drawing Funny Pictures, Altering Photos, Playing Guitar, Playing My Video Games, Annoying Lycan.
Favorite Theme of Art: Creepy, Scary, Humorous, Photo, Pencil.
Personal Email: email@example.com
Profession: Editor, Design Artist, Sketcher.
Completed Courses: Multimedia Collaboration, Basic Design, Digital Photography, Basic Drawing.
Programs Knowledge: Adobe InDesign, Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Fireworks, Adobe Flash, Adobe Dreamweaver, Microsoft Word, Microsoft Excel, Microsoft Power Point.
If you have any questions for Jesse feel free to email them or comment them on this page.
Other Deviant Pages: www.luckynumberslevin.deviantart.com
Xbox Live: Spyderdemon187
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More