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What is Love?There was a princess who at the youthful age of 16 already knew more about human suffering than most of the elders in the kingdom. At age 2 she had been so sick that she would have died if the brilliant doctors of the land had not attempted surgery on her. As a young child she had been the victim of bullying and as an adolescent, though she was now old enough to take the throne, she felt complete isolation.
The Princess knew that none of the courtiers wanted to speak to her, so she would take her food during meals and sit beneath the stairs in the Great Hall, where she dined alone with none but the imaginary creatures she had created with her vast imagination to comfort her.
One day the Princess felt her heart strings straining to stay intact. The pain was so unbearable that she sought counsel. To her dismay she was met with only mockery, ridicule and disbelief. She decided that the only way to escape her pain would be to take her own life. The Princess ran to her room and found the ne
Thomasin's Monologue(This is a monologue from a play I am working on. Thomasin is a tavern wench who is in love with the prince of England. He loves her too, but Thomasin fears that one day their union will be discovered and the people will lose their faith in William. She has been contemplating giving him up so he can marry a princess and rule the traditional way.)
THOMASIN: Oh, will nothing remove this stain? What is it that lurks in the mouths of the ruffians who frequent the tavern? I dare not really ask. Thank the heavens for these rags so I do not have to touch this with my own hand, I fear I’d lose it to some foul disease if I did.
Oh, William, many times you have said that this is not the place for me. I do wish that I could be by your side every day. I live for the days you comes to the tavern. When you are near me I feel like a lady, not a wench. You treat me with respect and speak to me as you do the court of England. If all men behaved in such a way, women would have an easier time findi
Selfish PeopleI would like to take some time today to discuss a topic that many people tend to veer away from. We all think about it, possibly even on a daily basis, but we rarely bring it up to the offenders. Instead we choose to hide behind our computers, ranting about it on Facebook or Tumblr, and the offender never even realizes the post is about them. I am speaking of the fact that far too many people these days have a False Sense of Entitlement and/or live in the almighty Land of Me.
Now, I am not too harsh with people about this in most cases. Yes, every so often we do want to just have a Me Day, or do something that will only benefit ourselves. This does not make anyone a bad person. It just makes you a human being. After a long day at work or school I am sure just about everyone needs a bit of that coveted Me Time. However, you should not be the absolute center of your universe.
Selfish people oftentimes do not even realize they are selfish. I mean who goes around saying, "Yeah, I only care
Guardian AngelThere was a strange time in my life when a creature of nightmares became the source of my salvation. I had been kicked out of my mom’s house when I was nineteen because she is one of those crazy, tie you to a chair while forcing you to listen to church hymns for hours on end types, and I refused to stop believing in supernatural creatures, despite her efforts to exorcize me. I had been on my own for about nine years, in a crappy little shack in the city, just outside the crack dens and the whore houses disguised as flower shops that were mysteriously never open during the day.
When I say my house was crappy, I mean it was so bad it should have been condemned by the state. If I jiggled the doorknob too hard it would come off in my hand, most of the shingles were missing from the roof, the upstairs bathroom window was made of plastic wrap, the basement had so much mold I had to board it up so nobody could get in, and the heating only worked for half an hour at a time. Everything in
Things That Piss Me OffMy cousin refers to my parents as the Incredible Hulks. They will get blazing mad over the simplest things. I have literally seen them flip out over dropping something that never even broke when it hit the floor. They just aren’t very patient people, but they aren’t abusive, so I just tend to go to my room and wait for the storm to blow over when one of them gets like that.
I do not have as short a fuse. It honestly takes a lot to make me very angry. When I say “a lot,” I meant you have to just keep doing something that upsets me over and over until I am positive that I will never get you to accept my viewpoint, and either of us has any idea where to go from there. That being said, there are a few things that piss me off right from the get go, but I still try my best to remain civil until you try to force your ideas down my throat.
#1 Thing That Pisses Me Off
This issue tends to happen mainly through technology. I am normally texting, messaging or someone direct
Let in the Shadow Let in the Shadow
Loki opened his eyes halfway, the dazzling blue irises sparkled and his thin, pink lips parted just enough to reveal snow white teeth. A soft hum rose from his chest and his heart beat increased when he saw Tony above him like a guardian angel. The scientist's face was only inches away; close enough for Loki to catch the unmistakable scent of what he had come to know as Scotch.
"When you're alone silence is all you know."
A few months prior to this particular night, SHIELD had chosen Bruce Banner as Loki's personal therapist. Originally they had planned to imprison Loki when Thor came back to Earth with him. It took some doing and a great deal of patience, but in time Thor had been able to convince Fury that Loki was merely a lost soul who needed guidance and someone to talk to. Bruce had been able to crack through Loki's rough facade, but he could not seem to dig to the heart of the issue.
"When you're alone, silence is all you see."
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
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,
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,
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
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
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.
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.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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