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A Happy Poem?It's weird.
Weird that I found myself alone of my own choosing,
but hated every second of it,
because I knew it meant leaving you.
Weird that this dull pain in the back of my heart lingered for so long,
and that it was a longing for you,
who I deserted.
Weird that now,
When I come to you with my tail between my legs,
and those sad eyes and those lines we've all heard before,
you've forgiven me.
And my heart leaped out of my chest,
And caught in my throat.
A second chance?
A shot to prove myself?
What a relief.
Bad tasteEverywhere I go has a bad taste to it now.
I try to drink from the waters of creativity,
but am met by bitterness and the salt of freshly shed tears.
Everything I eat tastes of ash.
I try to think of things that make me happy,
and I see you everywhere.
I've left a bad taste there for the two of us.
And it hurts,
but I can force myself through it.
I feel wrong making you go through it, too, though.
I wish...I wish that I could say I'm sorry,
but I know that it will only make you hurt more.
I wish I could give you back the piece of your heart
that you were kind enough to give to me,
but I was cold enough to toss aside.
I wish that I could make things better
for the both of us.
Because even as we've gone our separate ways,
I still hurt when I see you like this.
I wish that I could do more than give you time,
but time will have to be all.
I wish I could keep from messing up,
but I can only help by keeping my hands away.
Most Interesting ManI don't always think about you anymore,
but when I do, it still stings.
I don't always lie around and moan about how awful life is,
and how my life doesn't have any meaning,
but when I do,
I make sure that I'm not publicly humiliating anyone.
I may not be the most interesting man on earth,
but I wish I'd be able to get your attention long enough to be recognized.
I may not be unhappy with where I am,
but I sure as hell can bitch about a lot.
Feedback and Activity Messages are AwesomeFeedback and Activity messages are awesome.
Why don't I get any.
It makes me sad.
I don't post any deviations...
Moment of TruthIt's the moment of truth,
Where I come to terms with myself.
Have I been lying to myself all this time?
Or have I actually gotten better?
It's the moment of truth,
Where the last stitch will finally be made,
or where everything I've worked for will be torn up again.
It's the moment of truth,
Where I can learn to be a person again,
And we can learn to be people together.
It's the moment of truth,
Where we meet as entities other than each others' lovers.
And I'm scared.
But I'm ready for this.
It's the moment of truth,
Let's make the most of it.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
The scarsLife hurts us
It causes us to bleed
Time can heal the wounds
And stop the pain
But the scars remain
For the rest of our lives....
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
things i don't rememberi.
what you sounded like
as my ears were forming
what dreams or secrets
you confided in me
what pressures sunk
your proud shoulders
or the first time
i caused you
where i was when i decided
that your footsteps
should be followed
that your ideals
should be made my own
on my body
as i learned the world's ways
do not align
with our hopes
when i first
how my feet dangled
every time i wasn't strong enough and
how you made the world
how you were
figuring it all out
thought that life
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
Our Weight and RopesYour life, little flower
like a snake
from a can
lungs not ready
you hit the air
it hit you
months too early
this life on earth
and its lightning
hit and burnt
nothing about you
was anywhere near
and ever so luckily
your wings were
slow to form too
as it was all
we could do
were barely enough
to keep you
from floating away
pulled back inside
and years later
we're the ones
Sticks And Stones
Sticks and stones,
and broken bones,
but only words have hurt me.
In a matter of time,
You'll draw the line,
But I'll never be free.
With my heart on my sleeve,
I'm left to believe,
That eventually blood runs dry,
The clock is ticking,
The plot thickening.
I seriously just want to cry.
And stick and stones,
When I've only hurt my heart.
I'll say I'm wrong,
Sing a sad song,
And I'll begin again from the start.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
Keep in Touch!
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