look, it's a journal! (+ a super rad feature)

Aug 3, 20147 min read

Deviation Actions

By

Published: Aug 3, 2014

790 Views

Hello friends! I have finally (re)discovered a thing on deviantART, a thing called a journal, that I have neglected the past few months since I moved over to this account. I apologize to my journal. I shall not neglect you again.

So this is my first journal on this new account. How is everyone? Thank you to all the people who have decided to rewatch me--I really do appreciate it. Also, I'm sorry I haven't been uploading much. My writing projects lately have consisted mostly dead-ended short stories and revising my novel, Of Violet Eyes.

I also have an exciting thing to share--my piece, 't e n', was shortlisted for the top ten in We-Write-To-Escape's I Am contest. If you're reading this, you should totes go check out this poll and read all the wonderful pieces and vote! They're all truly magnificent.

That's basically it for me. I'm going to end this journal with a lit feature because features are great, and our lit community deserves more recognition.

.to politicians who sip scotch and fall asleep to the ten o'clock news
which came first, the guilt or the glory?
do we pick up the bodies or tiptoe quietly between the cracks
until they wither like bleeding roses and the streets
are named for their bones;
tell me of the dead mothers,
children martyred
and fathers left to forsake themselves
tell me of your white saviors, their
barbed wire haloes and empty promises
some days, freedom is the miracle of survival, Democracy
is a god with many faces, a machine dressed in
expensive suits
.
we mustn't pretend that we are anything but children
with heads that grew too big, mistaking our own voices
for whispers from the sky;
your words have become the ghosts of the person you promised us
to be, yesterday's shadow, the past resurrected
and us foolish sinners, still believing
tell me of the truth, if you have yet to beat the light from its name,
to mangle its foreign face into a monster we will no longer recognize
or is it just the stench th Don't Fall In Love With A Writer Just because they will bruise your neck with pearls of metaphors; and splash palettes of colours onto your chest with reckless waves and boundless twilight. They will smear ink onto your lips as you kiss them because that is how they leave hickeys. They are wildest in their 2 a.m. diary, and liveliest in book racks of novels; they have butterflies in every heartbeat and they breathe living poems. They leave trails in libraries and coffee shops like Hansel leaves crumbs in forest and they have undying lovers because every love story is ever living in their abyssal oceans of analogies and similes. They know every cliché like the sunset knows the moon rise, and every wound in their heart like blood in their veins. They are terrifying because they weave you in splinters of fires rolling down their cheeks. They are weird because they don't smile much but sometimes you could catch their smiles in poems or tales. They are psychotic b rise and shinedaybreak is a vial
of liquid amber
spilt out against the sky
when I wake up.
there is enough warmth
between us, I think,
to coax the very sun
into existence—
the press of you
against my back, the
swell of you
within my chest.
and perhaps the sun awakens
each day
to see the breath and motion
of people like us,
drowsy in our crowds
of blankets.
you stir behind me,
and it blinks
its bleary eyes. wishesi am not a flower,
if you
tear out
a piece of me,
stomp it
halfway between cracks in the sidewalk,
it will only die.
but
our lips fit together
perfectly, like
all the broken pieces.
[maybe it was just a dream.] <da:thumb id="429858494"/><da:thumb id="425867879"/> Atvasarai.
Ridges in tea leaves
draw arabesques in darker seas
than we ever swam naked in
ii.
Evenings still shower your bed
with constellations made of dust
that my skin knows by heart
iii.
Atop halos of ashen snow
the mountaintop still calls your name
or is it calling me
to you?
iv.
I lay singing by your side
lullabies that make you cry
of how I regret not hating you
Passionately. she had a habit of making stars cryprobably could've settled for
less than mine, but there's
a tongue-tied night sky
crying to the moon and
its narrating defenses
against my remarks, comments
too
snark: it's
never too dark to notice the spark, dead
shooting stars have been
trying to prove. to me, it takes
more than will to move
the north to the south, no field will
help you, no power will allow you,
no words will let you.
should've stuck to rhyming for
catharsis and, let the night cry to
a fraudulent sun and
found comfort in anonymity to
hang on some more; should've quit
being a witness before i
fell to the floor. should've opened
more books
before popping those pills and let
the driftwood
drag reluctance until it
swam into ripples too perfect for
the moon, and stayed to hold the
stars when they fell
into our lagoon.
probably could've lied about
discovery and the Nile, probably would've
granted every wish worth the while. could've
said the day was too dark for the
night, could've stopped the moon from
settling to surviv cerebrum.if it's midnight already and i can't feel you anymore,
it's because you're savoring the taste of someone else;
or maybe it's because you're just lost in all the shades of blue,
the word "farewell" comes in so many colors.
if you've climbed too high and still haven't found a signal,
it's because my thoughts are lost somewhere in jupiter's storm
or maybe it's because i'm asleep on a train
heading far, far away from you.
i took a metaphor literally once when i cut you out of my life
with a pair of rusty black-handled scissors and every picture that i had of us.
it never seemed to work, i could never chase you out of my head,
and that was when i realized that you lived there.
you're everything and nothing i've learned in history class,
about guillotines and revolutions,
and if i know one thing, it's that you're surely not a Saint
and no sir, i will not love you.

© 2014 - 2024 sylveda

Comments12

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

thank you so much!