When I started out on DeviantArt, I used to be one of those artists that thought I could never do art properly.
I'll start saying that I spend most of my childhood getting only little encouragement.
My parents were, like many other parents, convinced that art wasn't that much of a useful skill since it's nearly impossible to earn money with -- and would've liked it if I spend my time doing something more useful instead. At school I was that pathetic kid without friends. Creative, yet very introverted. The one that gets bullied in the schoolyard. Needless to say; it was rare to find people saying something nice about me, and it was even more
ariel stole your breath more than i ever did -
when my heart was thudding between your lungs,
because that was the only safe place, or so i was told
i can't remember when my heart caught the fever
for you had guarded it with your own ribcage for so long
my memories melded between your synapses and
we became one
Love Letters On the Train by Rosary0fSighs, literature
Literature
Love Letters On the Train
Dear Stranger,
I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress).
You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something
Lancaster Pennsylvania.
July 3rd, 1978.
Five pm.
Eighty-two degrees outside.
Driving sixty eight mph down Millersville road
past miles of cornfields
And everything is silent.
Except the faint scream of wind escaping through the cracked driver side window
and the dull thud of tire treading on the newly paved road.
He is
trying to understand,
while trying not to think,
while thinking too much,
while being silent.
And suddenly its
March of 1968
And Calley is calling
“kill them all dead”.
And he sees his daughter,
her Agent Orange colored curls
clinging to her face like napalm sticks to melting bodies;
her eyes burning bri
Lingering in that photo...
In that simple shot
I look, and I see a woman.
I am not a woman.
I have never worked for a lifestyle,
given birth for an allowance
I have never truly loved a man.
I am not a woman.
I do not have the means to
Transport
myself
to wake, feel the calling..(oh, it calls, but I do not answer)
and move, move, move
until I reach a place of
astonishing beauty.
I am not a woman.
Sometimes, I still take the
Weight
of my childhood and
place it on shoulders of
self-doubt.
and
Sometimes, I remember the way
lifting builds me up.
But I am not a woman.
Lingering in that photo...
A wisdom of some sort
has t
It had been Javiers idea for the tattoos. "It'll keep you safe, Diego. No one will touch you." On the streets, no one had touched Diego to begin with. In order for Javier to earn the tattoo, he had to steal. When he stole the teenager's purse, she screamed and only chased him for half a block before giving up, but Javier didn't stop running. Back at his friend's apartment, when they opened the Coach bag and dumped out the contents, besides lipstick and a compact mirror, the wallet held cash and credit cards, a little iPod with the headphone cords wrapped around it and most of all, a digital camera. It had been a lucky find, and they'd sold ev
The Caper of the President's Seal by Cassildra, literature
Literature
The Caper of the President's Seal
The brown-haired girl enters my office and sits quietly, eyes darting around the room. My secretary looks at me over her head as she shows her in, face filled with curiosity.
"Thank you, Marisa. Please hold my calls for the next hour." She blinks, but nods in the affirmative before heading back to her desk, closing the door behind her.
"Hello, Miss Sandiego," I say to the girl in front of me. She offers me a superficial smile, wan and wary.
"Hello, Chief." Undeterred, I try to continue the conversation.
"So, you won a huge prize on a game show a couple of years ago, right? &