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WishingFor the longest time, I yearned for someone to love. For someone to love me. I wanted to be held tightly, the warm breeze whispering secrets to us. Every night that summer, I wished that you would come to me.
I still remember that night I made that very first wish for you.
My family was fighting, so I took a walk, staring silently at the ground. When I finally looked up, I found myself at the local park, and I kicked the tanbark as I made my way over to the swings. I sat down on the sagging seat and clutched the cold metal chains, with their chipping paint and breaking plastic. The park was lit only by the moon seeping through the gaps in the ceiling of leaves overhead. It was sort of ominous here at night, with no one around, yet beautiful and peaceful at the same time. I began pumping my legs, going higher and higher, keeping my eyes on the bright full moon when I was going up, and on the tree concealing it when I sailed back down. After a while, I grew still, the swing seeping lower
Entry ThreeWhat I was trying to say yesterday before I got carried away was that I've decided I'm going to leave this place as soon as possible. Mr. Nolan is beginning to give me those looks when Mrs. Nolan leaves for the day. He hasn't tried anything yet, but you can never know. You've gotta be safe, keep your guard up. Of course my own version of keeping safe is finding a way to get out of here. I packed up the few belongings I own in the entire world; an old battered satchel bag containing a pen and this journal, a few changes of clothes, my biology textbook, and my most prized possession; an old tarnished locket I keep tucked away for safekeeping. If I dared to show anyone, it would be confiscated by the Nolans immediately. Those greedy bastards, they'd say I stole it from them. If they ever tried to take it from me, I'd chew their arms off to get it back.
The locket hangs on a plain silver chain, and it has a rose carved into the front. Inside, it's empty, but it hasn't always been. T
Entry TwoI still remember the Smiths as if I was there only yesterday. By now it's been four months since I left, but the memories are still fresh, branded deep into my soul. I don't think I could ever forget the way he looked at me as his wife was leaving to go to her hair appointment. Or the way he stood over me, so large and powerful. Or the way he pushed me into the corner.
I screamed and screamed and SCREAMED. I watched the door while I tried so hard to squirm away, waiting for my rescue to arrive. Nobody came.
Entry OneI don't know how much longer I can stand this. They tell me I'll get proper treatment if I be a 'good girl.' Real meals, three times a day, instead of this slop Mrs. Nolan gives me once a day, or twice, if she feels like being nice. She opens the door to the garage, just enough so she can slide it in, along with a couple hard insults. You'd think by now I'd be used to it, but as much as I pretend it doesn't affect me, it does. It really, really does. A real bed is all I want right now. They make me sleep in the garage, on this cot next to the washer and dyer with the broken springs that scream every time I move. They tell me I'll get the real room, the one they showed the social workers with their fake smiles, "so happy to help a young girl in need" when I treat them with respect. All they want is the money. All they ever want is the money.
Before, I might have fallen for that 'good girl' bribe. But not now. Mr. Smith said the same thing, and look how I e
SilentlyI remember the day it came. It was as a regular Tuesday as ever, and I came home tired and angry at what my life had trickled down into. Once I dreamed of doing great things in my future; becoming a doctor, saving the lives of many, maybe even finding a cure for cancer. Once. Once, so long ago. Those memories are almost shadows in my mind now, covered in ruined cobwebs.
Now, I work the 9-5 in an office building off of 10th. Every day it's the same, I come to work exhausted, fall down at my desk, strain my eyes from the bright computer monitor until it's time to leave. I feel trapped in this life I have created. Yes, I created this mess I'm in. I chose it, back when I had a choice, 17 years ago. It feels like I don't anymore.
That Tuesday, I parked my old faded Beetle in the driveway of my home, stumbled up the steps, frantically rubbing my eyes. I almost didn't see it- sitting there, silently- on the front step. For a moment I just stared, but as I picked it up and read the label, the
Fantasy I could feel the coldness seeping in through my clothing and into my skin, except for my hand which was grasped into his own. The snow was glistening brightly, capturing the light of the sun. We could hear it crunch under out feet as we walked, the only other sound besides our visible breath. It was so serene here, almost magical, this undiscovered trail that we walked along. The trees around us were so perfectly decorated with the soft snow, the air smelling clean and new. It was a welcome change from the heavy air in the city.
It was hard to believe how I lived without him in my life for 15 years. Of course I had liked him from afar for the past three, but until six months ago we had never really spoken. All this now made up for the 15 years spent laying alone, wishing someone would hold me.
I still remember that first night we spent
Stop putting words in my mouthYou shove your fingers
down my throat,
and insert words
I never spoke,
in desperate hopes
to make me choke
my pearly gates
that feeds me
swallow the universedecay remembers you --
fever breath and ocean-eyed ghosts,
secrets that smoke with poison desire.
we wake only to drink, to devour
the naked voices of dismantled stars.
glass kisses turn into granite lips
and pillars of salt; a haunted embrace
melts into the cracks of the universe.
Love is not blindLove is not blind. It can see clearly.
It looks past the boundaries.
It defies the judging stares of society.
It is a force to be reckoned with.
eight.sometimes i feel
life's been played like a puppet
on a tangled
[yet still i'm lifeless without you .]
eidolon longingbreath salts open rooms
that entomb my idle hants.
in gloomy aberrance.
when the pulse was flaunted
remain the pursuit
of lanterns haunted.
questions flung like
furtive surface glances
ghost through iris eyelines
with an epiphany;
this search sparked
full body shudderings.
shuttering every window
and portal alike,
a light threatened by
the tending toward pulsatory spikes.
aorta, i spied you
spidering open your eyes
sliding the pursuit of dawn
through your dim sight.
with the sun, beat,
you forge forward for
warded window panes,
a rhythmic wonder repeat.
but eyelids live locked,
a careless cage holding
in this socket shock.
tock and tick that slick swindle options;
your image a lit blossom in a bottomless pit.
i’m reaching, but god, this
isn’t possible when
you’re this obstinate;
i am a fossil you’ve discarded
with hardly a sniff.
snuff me out, i’ll sputter devout and wish
my cardiac espousal had been more
seven.my nights for the last weeks have
consisted of liquid
poison, smoke in
and the chilled sound of
wake up with my
head half off the sidewalk,
surrounded by shards of
and a faint touch of
[ill pick myself back up on my own two
feet.. and stumble back;
she had come seeking a riotshe found religion in silence.
there wasn't a prophet's bone
in her body, not a holy cell of skin, but
somehow she was something
to believe in. she called herself a woman, not an angel nor
madonna, and the crucifix on her tongue could
not make her hold her words.
they called her witch and called her
goddess, made of something
such as marble, but she said she wasn't one
to be revered -
icons made of glass were
made to break, she claimed she was not
born to die;
(silence is found in the loudest of tongues, for speaking is an art
not all have learned-)
Starving for PerfectionDon't touch the food
if you want to be thin.
She starves for perfection,
Because thin is always in.
Her bones are so sore,
Her muscles ache,
But she'll do it,
If that's what it'll take.
The mirror's never wrong,
and the scale never lies,
She'll do what it takes,
To get that perfect size.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More