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My AminalsWhen I was 4 years old
I named all my aminals
Because they were mine
And I could do that.
I had a monkey named Swingy,
A duck named Swimmy,
And another monkey named
And on my next birthday
I got a unicorn pillow
And it was my favorite thing
In the whole world.
I always called him beautiful.
And later I named him beautiful
Simply because he was
Incompetent LimbOnce on another day, I wrote a poem
With my left hand
Because I wondered if my left could write
Just as well as my right
And I wrote a poem because that
Seemed more meaningful than my name.
And I wrote and erased repeatedly
Just to waste time
Because I really didn't care about my left hand.
After all, they don't do much
Unless your left hand is equivalent to my right,
In which case you might find your right hand
SwayedThe girl always and only drew hands.
She was neither bad nor good,
And she dreamt of being an artist.
Everyone said a doctor would be better,
A teacher would be better,
An engineer would be better.
So, she sold her pencils and decided to use her feet.
GuardedWhy do you cross your arms
In front of your stomach
Like you have to
Hold yourself together,
Keep everything inside?
Why do you act
Like you are broken
And all you can do is hold
Onto the pieces?
Why are you silent,
As if a word could shatter you
At any moment now?
Without a PurposeI dreamt I wore a heart sign on my chest
And didn't watch my feet when I walked.
In this dream, my head wasn't dying.
Then it ended, and I don't know if I woke up
For my sake or everyone else's.
Running For ComfortOne day you're going to wonder why I left,
Why I let you drive me away.
I'll finally be the person I wanted,
Because I learned everything not to be.
You'll have your own living antonym.
The BotanistIt's my words that fear rejection when I pluck them from my brain,
Like unwanted dandelions, except I depend on these weeds.
They fear being blown back into my mouth - through lips that wished them to work.
It's my fear that hates command when I tear it off like petals,
Forcing an answer similar to, "no, I do not love you."
And it hates the choice that says courageous over careful.
It's my demands that rely on ideas when I hand you a rose,
Then wonder if the thought really counted for anything.
Or are the thoughts really just borrowed - passed around like pollination?
It's my brain that holds my tongue when I throw away withered flowers,
That lived long enough to make someone smile.
So when they're dead, them stem is left alive a while longer.
The Reason for LiesYour pointed question pokes at my chest,
Pawing for an answer that will bend your lips.
I could check my head for a lie that's sure to please you
And hope that guilt doesn't get me in the end,
Since all you really want is my agreement.
I know I'd get away, but how far could I run
Before your eyes showed up in my head again?
And how long could I live, knowing I made you smile
With a twisted truth so easily forged?
"At least I'd make you happy"... I tell myself.
Because as long as you stay unaware of this,
Nothing I say can ever hurt you.
So it's very important that you never find out,
For as soon as you question me, all these lies start to burn.
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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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