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A Lovely Little Ramble-Infinite Universes I believe in infinite universes. One may be the same as the one in which we all reside, but someone decided to wear a blue shirt one day instead of green. Billions of universes created every day, based off choices everyone makes every second.
This may be a belief based on a bit of wish fulfillment. At one point after a nasty breakup, I told myself somewhere in the infinite universes, I'm happy with him. Of course, this leads to another universe, where I'm still with this guy, but miserable. The possibilities from that one outcome alone are endless. We could be together and I'm famous, but he's not, or he's famous and I'm not, or we live in England and we met on his first day working at a coffee shop in a bookstore I work in. Whatever. It's endless.
And it's not only the mundane things such as relationships (although those being defined as mundane is another thing), this extends to fictional univer
Friendships and a 3DSI am a gamer, and my happiest moments in my gaming career
Comes from a DS.
I got the upgrade, but life has forced me to forget it.
My little 3DS.
Then the summer came along, and I picked it up,
That blue 3DS.
I'd go to theatre and see you with
A small 3DS.
We bonded over our games together
On our 3DS.
While that time has passed and we've separated,
I can't help but smile when
That little orange light brightens the corner
Of my little 3DS.
TheatricsDo I do it for attention?
Do I do to be seen?
Why do I get on stage?
Just what does it mean to me?
There's a certain kind of magic
When the spotlight shines opening night.
When the dialogue is sparking,
And the cast is in character,
And the audience is invested,
And everything is just right.
It's perfect, that feeling,
All eyes on us,
The slight gasp with the game-changing line,
The laugh from the slapstick,
The "aww" from the kiss between the romantic leads...
It's like nothing else in the world.
Saturday MorningsWhen I was seven years old, I'd wake up early Saturday morning
To watch my favorite cartoons on TV.
Danny Phantom, Spongebob, Avatar,
I loved them all.
By the time I was 13,
I thought I grew out of them.
(save for Avatar, of course)
I was a big kid,
Cartoons were for the younger crowd.
Now I'm in high school,
Nearing entrance to the real world,
And when it's Saturday morning,
And I'm the only one around,
I turn on the TV,
And watch my favorite cartoons on TV.
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,
And, of course, Avatar.
I'm a big kid, who cares it's for the younger crowd?
Graduation DayI may not be a senior, but I still go.
Partially because I have to, but I need to as well.
I look out across the football field at the graduates...
The same field we marched on every Friday.
The same field we forged bonds.
Bonds that'll be forgotten?
As for the seniors, I feel my heart break.
So many of them I was close friends with.
So many I still want to talk to.
So many I'm afraid will forget me.
The conductor raises his baton, and I try to focus on my music.
I hear all their names called.
And each one of our seniors, the band seniors,
Looks over at us.
And I know, that they'll remember each and every one of us.
To Those Who Wish To Dishearten MeTo those who shower put-downs,
To those who pour insults,
To those who wish to dishearten me,
You're not getting your way.
I've fought you for over a year now.
You show no signs of stopping.
Yet I continue to outdo myself,
Occasionally even outdoing you.
Yes, I have faltered a little,
But that was ages ago.
Now I'm older, wiser,
Mentally and emotionally I've grown.
So while I may stumble.
(And I know you'll be there to point it out)
I'll always get up and be better.
So, dislikers, work it out.
Writing Stuff What do I feel like writing? There's a lot I could write...
There's that fanfiction I thought about during Algebra. The one where Harry Potter goes on a quest with Cumberbach's Sherlock and Smith's Doctor. Hm. That'd be good. At least it'd raise a few eyebrows. Oh, hey, there's that poem I tossed together on the back of my Algebra homework! All about how much I hate Algebra. Not that great though...
Poetry! Now that's an idea. Wax philosophical about something pointless. Use little rhyme or meter. Or write about the invisibility of the common me. Or about being a geek. Eh. That'll get me nowhere. What else?
I could always write a steampunk/sci-fi/vampire story. Steampunk's popular. Sci-fi's cool. And the mere mention of vampires would draw in thousands of Twihards. How to start it....hm. "The mechanical district
Poem of Romantic-ness?Do you think that I am pretty?
'Cause I think I''m simply silly
For thinking you would like me
But what do you see?
A goofy girl with a smile,
Would you like to talk a while?
A lonely girl with no friends,
Smiling, but to what end?
Maybe I'm just dramatic
Or maybe I'm ecstatic
I just don't know how to feel
Is this my first love that's really real?
Whovians and Homecoming School spirit. Homecoming. Dress-Up Day. Three things that were happing today. The first two I could care less about, but the third...I was bristling with excitement. From the moment I woke up, fifteen minutes before my alarm went off, I was energized and hurrying to get ready. I threw open my closet doors and pulled my costume off it's hanger. Grinning, I got dressed and headed off.
Once I got to school, a million eyes greeted me in the commons. Well, things were going as expected so far.
I was wearing a tweed jacket over a off-white dress shirt, with red suspenders and dress pants, with a bow-tie topping it all off.
I was the Doctor.
Crossdressing day was on Wednesday, but this was different. This. Was. Cosplay!
"Anne!" My best friend, Grace, called to me. She was wearing a bright pink wig and accompanying bright pink
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
YouIf you’re a girl, you’re a girl.
If you’re a boy, you’re a boy.
If you’re white, you’re white.
If you’re black, you’re black.
If you’re gay, you’re gay.
If you’re bi, you’re bi.
If you’re straight, you’re straight.
If you’re religious, you’re religious.
If you’re an atheist, you’re an atheist.
If you’re mentally disabled, you’re still human.
If you’re physically disabled, you’re still human.
For everything you are:
So who are they to judge you for who you are?
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More