Darling, Darling, I’ve got to get out of my head.
It’s weighing me down like a balloon made of lead.
And I know you’re trying your best
To measure up to this test,
But I’ve gotta go now; I gotta figure this out.
Don’t you worry, and don’t you go away
Because I’ll be back in less than a day.
So please, honey, please,
Don’t give up.
I know it’s not enough,
That I’m not enough,
But I need you to stay tough
When the times get rough,
Because someday,
I swear to you,
I’ll measure up, up, and away.
And I’ll save the day..
For you, for me, for us,
Lois Lane.
A man stumbled down the street,
Up my driveway,
And onto my front doorstep.
When I opened the door,
He vomited his soul onto my shoes.
I learned of his troubles,
Loves and losses,
Knowledge and failures.
As his soul seeped into my soles,
I wondered if perhaps
I should stagger over
To some other stranger’s house
And vomit both of our souls
Into his lap
Over tea and cakes.
I keep a little rose these days. Friends, family, even people on the street ask after her all the time. I am always happy to show them her picture and share a memory or two with them, but I never tell them the whole truth. I never mention the state she is in now. My little rose, she used to bloom all year for me, used to bathe me in her intoxicating fragrance every time I came near, but these days she remains a bud to me (though her thorns have sharpened considerably).
I used to keep her in the backyard so only I could bask in her beauty, but she has since preferred a spot by the mailbox in the front. She would rather witness the p
It is quite uncomfortable
to have one's ears filled with tears,
Because all you an hear
are the echoes of your sorrows
and the reverberations of your guilty fears.
It is very ill-advised
to lie down when tears begin to fall.
Other people can too easily pile on you their burdens
and, with too much difficulty, can you relieve your own
and move on.
That being said...
It is quite practical
to cry with a bowl in your lap.
This way
you can catch your tears (and all they represent),
go out, and water some plants.
It’s okay.
You don’t have to say
“I love you.”
Joke about the past,
Joke about the present,
Humor the future—
So long as I laugh
And everyone else scratches their head.
Keep me close to your side,
And grace my hand with your chivalry
While the good times rest
Between our intertwined fingers.
Trace my lips, my collarbone, my spine
With your fingertips.
Envelope me with your warmth
As you caress my hips.
Hide the remote on movie night
And fall asleep with me in your arms.
Surprise me with flowers
Because you’re hiding my birthday gift.
Dread the days when we’re apart
Text me call me
Send me snail m
On the Grassy Hill Beneath the Sun by Spasm101, literature
Literature
On the Grassy Hill Beneath the Sun
The sun sedates me
As the grass subtly slices me.
The winds tranquilize me
With sweet aromas of summer.
The clouds entrance me
As they adopt the forms of my nightmares.
Sigh.
There’s no sense of sense
In a summer day.
I see that girl over there.
Wow, she must be some gym buff.
Her muscles are so ripped, dude,
She must come here every day.
Her bright Nike’s look comfortable and well used,
Happy, even, against the black of the treadmill.
Her calves solid and stretched,
Knees like fists of their own,
Thighs toned with a nice tight butt.
Her stomach’s flat but soft, and her back remains hard yet smooth.
You can tell her broad shoulders bear many weights,
While her neck faithfully supports a head
That seems to hold no voice,
Nothing but concentration and determination.
I see that girl over there.
Her eyes stare at a fixed point
And her cheeks are
12 Times a Year, 12 Years in a Row by Spasm101, literature
Literature
12 Times a Year, 12 Years in a Row
In January, she told me her New Years’ resolution
Was a successful suicide.
In reply, I mentioned
That most resolutions are abandoned within the month.
Valentine’s Day rolled around, and she wanted
To vomit away her heart.
Upon hearing this, I inquired if that meant I could eat all her chocolate,
And, in response, she promptly shoved me out of the kitchen.
When the hills turned green, she thought she would push up daisies,
Even though she hates worms and nature.
I joked that she lacked a green thumb,
And her corpse would kill even the most tenacious weeds.
June brought warmer winds, though her heart remained icy.
While everyone
Darling, Darling, I’ve got to get out of my head.
It’s weighing me down like a balloon made of lead.
And I know you’re trying your best
To measure up to this test,
But I’ve gotta go now; I gotta figure this out.
Don’t you worry, and don’t you go away
Because I’ll be back in less than a day.
So please, honey, please,
Don’t give up.
I know it’s not enough,
That I’m not enough,
But I need you to stay tough
When the times get rough,
Because someday,
I swear to you,
I’ll measure up, up, and away.
And I’ll save the day..
For you, for me, for us,
Lois Lane.
A man stumbled down the street,
Up my driveway,
And onto my front doorstep.
When I opened the door,
He vomited his soul onto my shoes.
I learned of his troubles,
Loves and losses,
Knowledge and failures.
As his soul seeped into my soles,
I wondered if perhaps
I should stagger over
To some other stranger’s house
And vomit both of our souls
Into his lap
Over tea and cakes.
I keep a little rose these days. Friends, family, even people on the street ask after her all the time. I am always happy to show them her picture and share a memory or two with them, but I never tell them the whole truth. I never mention the state she is in now. My little rose, she used to bloom all year for me, used to bathe me in her intoxicating fragrance every time I came near, but these days she remains a bud to me (though her thorns have sharpened considerably).
I used to keep her in the backyard so only I could bask in her beauty, but she has since preferred a spot by the mailbox in the front. She would rather witness the p
It is quite uncomfortable
to have one's ears filled with tears,
Because all you an hear
are the echoes of your sorrows
and the reverberations of your guilty fears.
It is very ill-advised
to lie down when tears begin to fall.
Other people can too easily pile on you their burdens
and, with too much difficulty, can you relieve your own
and move on.
That being said...
It is quite practical
to cry with a bowl in your lap.
This way
you can catch your tears (and all they represent),
go out, and water some plants.
It’s okay.
You don’t have to say
“I love you.”
Joke about the past,
Joke about the present,
Humor the future—
So long as I laugh
And everyone else scratches their head.
Keep me close to your side,
And grace my hand with your chivalry
While the good times rest
Between our intertwined fingers.
Trace my lips, my collarbone, my spine
With your fingertips.
Envelope me with your warmth
As you caress my hips.
Hide the remote on movie night
And fall asleep with me in your arms.
Surprise me with flowers
Because you’re hiding my birthday gift.
Dread the days when we’re apart
Text me call me
Send me snail m
On the Grassy Hill Beneath the Sun by Spasm101, literature
Literature
On the Grassy Hill Beneath the Sun
The sun sedates me
As the grass subtly slices me.
The winds tranquilize me
With sweet aromas of summer.
The clouds entrance me
As they adopt the forms of my nightmares.
Sigh.
There’s no sense of sense
In a summer day.
I see that girl over there.
Wow, she must be some gym buff.
Her muscles are so ripped, dude,
She must come here every day.
Her bright Nike’s look comfortable and well used,
Happy, even, against the black of the treadmill.
Her calves solid and stretched,
Knees like fists of their own,
Thighs toned with a nice tight butt.
Her stomach’s flat but soft, and her back remains hard yet smooth.
You can tell her broad shoulders bear many weights,
While her neck faithfully supports a head
That seems to hold no voice,
Nothing but concentration and determination.
I see that girl over there.
Her eyes stare at a fixed point
And her cheeks are
Childhood in the Hundred-Acre Wood by Spasm101, literature
Literature
Childhood in the Hundred-Acre Wood
Summer swings around,
And, in the warm breeze,
I can smell the trees
Of the Hundred-Acre Wood.
I remember, in the Hundred-Acre Wood,
That discovery was like afternoon tea,
Not bitter, not bland, but always sweet.
Every day, I was adventure-bound.
In the Hundred-Acre Wood,
Afternoons passed us by
While we watched the lazy clouds float up high
And pointed out as many shapes as we could.
Back in the Hundred-Acre Wood,
The current bubbled over my bare feet
As I searched for creatures in the river so deep
With my trousers rolled up out of the mud.
Such was life in the Hundred-Acre Wood.
Simple, lovely,
Pleasant, carefree.
Whenev
5 Guidelines for Adding Romance to Your Novel by DesdemonaDeBlake, literature
Literature
5 Guidelines for Adding Romance to Your Novel
PLEASE NOTE THAT WHILE THIS PAGE WILL REMAIN ACTIVE FOR PURPOSES OF EDUCATION AND RECORDS, IT IS OUTDATED. CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE NEWEST VERSION.
5 Guidelines for Adding Romance to Your Novel – A Valentine's Day Special
Most people love to see romance in a novel of any genre. It's a universal human experience that can happen in the context of any story. However, most attempts at such have become cliched, sexist, or too unrealistic to be believable. So here are my 5 guidelines to adding romance in your novel.
Tip 1: Lose the damsel in distress trope.
It's the “romantic” trope of most movies and books, but it has become
five things they don't teach you in highschool by Khaimin, literature
Literature
five things they don't teach you in highschool
1.
it's okay to fall in love.
i mean, they tell you you're never going
to marry your high school sweetheart and i'm not going
to tell you it's a lie
because it's not. you guys will probably
break up and it's gonna hurt like hell
but you'll be okay. remember, you are not the only one
who has felt loneliness like a knife,
the only one to know the pain of lungs collapsing
because they were your air,
and you will never be the only one who whispered
"i love you" two lives too soon.
you will not be the last one to have tucked
hair behind their ear and leaned in for a kiss
or the last one to wake up reaching for a hand that's no longer there.
b
It's five minutes to midnight,
And I'm waiting by the phone,
Eating cookie dough
That was originally meant for you.
It's four minutes to midnight.
I'm picking up the phone every other second,
Wondering if maybe you're asleep,
Hoping you're sleeping alone.
It's three minutes to midnight.
I'm sure you were lying
When you said you'd call me.
I'm so conceited.
It's two minutes to midnight.
I'm putting the dough back in the fridge--
I'll use it another time
When you forget to call.
It's one minute to midnight.
I'm in pajamas
And getting ready to dream about you
Again.
It's midnight.
The phone rings.
I fall out of bed and spr
This box is for me to describe myself in a nutshell...but I'd rather you comment and ask me yourself. =D
Current Residence: West coast; California deviantWEAR sizing preference: medium to large depending on the article of clothing.. Print preference: my HP scanner is doing fine. Favourite genre of music: rock, and random tidbits that fits with my mood Favourite photographer: my brother, my friend DesertBreeze, and myself Favourite style of art: Tyshea's style as well as Disney's Operating System: sleep and food. no doubts about that MP3 player of choice: my black pill-shaped one.. o3o Shell of choice: Shuckle sea shells o3o Wallpaper of choice: one with a continuous comic strip running ALL around the walls! ;D Skin of choice: pretty fond of the one I'm in. Favourite cartoon character: don't think I have any Personal Quote: How do I get myself into these messes...?
Favourite Visual Artist
anybody who draws something that's funny/epic
Favourite Movies
none for the moment
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
none, really, just tidbits of bands and people
Favourite Writers
I think Cheery Tom (and Carlos Ruiz Zafon)
Favourite Games
currently, Mario (the retro version)
Favourite Gaming Platform
Gameboy SP
Tools of the Trade
mechanical pencil, fancy pens, color pencils, and replacement hand
Other Interests
Oh! Drawing, writing, sleeping, and being active =D
Hey, everyone ^^
So I submitted a bunch of this school year's poetry and didn't get any feedback. :/ I know it's not very good poetry this time around, but that's still a little cold, guys. ^^; Feedback and constructive criticism, please? I'll be editing it all pretty soon anyway, so..might as well make it count. ^^;
Moving on, I just spent about two hours (midnight - 1:54 in the morning, now) scanning the drawings from this school year and compiling them into a single deviation so that I won't spam your inboxes again :') you know, 'cause I'm cool like that. I've gotten about...eighty percent through the pile I've accumulated, not including
that's right, I'm finally submitting all the stuff that I've been hoarding this past year. ^-^ So, enjoy the momentary deluge in your inboxes, everyone. Lots of poetry that isn't very good but will eventually get revised (don't worry xD all the poetry will get major facelifts, I promise!) and the experimental sketches in (mostly) chronological order. :3 I don't know whether to say "enjoy", but... yeah. ^_^ Bear with me?
oh, and also. My new obsession song ;D http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1Xq2XsWw9g "Voyage of Beliefs" by FM Static. I'm just obsessing over their album "Dear Diary" right now, nothing special :3 carry on~
(this is just to fake you guys out. : ) this isn't a real journal at all.)
How much am I worth:
§ Natural Hair Color
[ ] Black - $100
[ ] Blonde - $50
[ ] Red - $75
[X] Brown - $15
[ ] Bald - $5
[ ] Other - $2
Total | $15
§ Eye Color
[ ] Brown - $150
[ ] Green - $75
[X] Blue - $50
[ ] Hazel - $100
[ ] Other - $15
Total so far | $65
§ Height
[ ] Over 7' - $200
[ ] 6'8" to 7' - $175
[ ] 6'0" to 6'7" - $150
[ ] 5'5" to 5'11" - $75
[X] 4'9" to 5'4" - $50
[ ] Under 4'9 - $45
Total so far | $115
§ Age
[ ] 41 to 50 - $150
[ ] 31 to 40 - $100
[ ] 26 to 30 - $75
[ ] 21 to 25 - $50
[ ] 19 to 20 - $25
[