she was made, fabricated from sheets and cloth. she was stuffed with weak and flammable straw, but in her genesis there was too little. she walked, lopsided and limping, until she came across a beehive. she stuck in her empty arms, and the insects flew into her fingertips, filling her limbs.
as she walked, small children heard her buzzing and they smacked her arms and legs, lifting bruises and scars and angering the bees within her. she heard the buzzing get louder and louder, filling her hands and feet and even her head, until it was nearly unbearable. the bees tried desperately to escape, stinging her cloth skin from the inside and beating
when he was born, his eyes were imbued with emeralds, so shockingly green they nearly blinded his mother and father. as he grew, the green in his irises grew with him. the sun and the grass and the trees shone out of them, lighting his way and moving the obstacles in his life aside.
but after he grew out of this stage of innocence, he walked through life noticing things lining his path: tollbooths, ones that as a child his parents had always paid for and to which he had given no attention to. he looked at these tollbooths, scoffing and continued with his life.
however, he was stopped at each one. he had to pay the toll to continue, or else be
we took a trip. a little vacation, a final hurrah before our lives hit the brick wall and life slowed down for good. it was so beautiful, but we didn't know it yet.
the details of where we were seem hazy because of the magnitude of things so much more important, but i'll try to describe it as best i can.
we decided on the cliché cabin in the woods, as neither of us had experienced it before. it was amazing to live so close to nature. we didn't care that mosquitoes bit us all over, or that we had panic attacks regularly thinking the seaweed in the lake was some sort of sea monster.
we collected our own firewood and made a fire on o
i'm small and awkward and thin and people think i'm a freak. i know they stared at me before when i walked down the halls. i mean, who could stand not catching a glimpse at the weird girl with no hair and scars so new they practically bleed?
i have sympathizers, but it's all the same white noise. "they just don't see you for the person you really are." "they're just not giving you the chance you deserve." it's as if they think i don't already know that. nobody gets near me. it's as if they think cancer is contageous or something, the way they almost unnoticably take a step away from me in the hall, or the way teachers hold my pa
2- lonely or alone? by christiangloria93, literature
Literature
2- lonely or alone?
what's the difference between being lonely and being alone? beyond that, which one is worse?
to be lonely, surrounded by people and love and admiration; everything it is that you want, but ultimately empty inside?
or to be alone, longing so much to be desired, to be noticed, and to be accompanied, but never given the chance?
can you ever be without one or the other? is it possible not to be lonely or alone? or are we doomed to walk the planet, never truly satiated and wishing for something, anything more?
1- vanessa's story. by christiangloria93, literature
Literature
1- vanessa's story.
i was a hypocrite, and i was lonely, and i was crying.
you were wronged, and you were lonely, and you were crying.
and you were beautiful and nobody could help but love you. you were small. i thought you were innocent, but there were demons about you. they beat against your head and ate you from the inside out. your eyes filled with tears and your tears filled my eyes too.
we became one.
you pulled on my memories, my soul; my achilles heel. and so, crippled and limping, i had no escape from your love, and it swallowed me up, drowning me until i gave in and inhaled. so i broke down, and your wonderful love filled me completely. it electrified me, coursing through arteries and capillaries and making me finally whole. i see the world not through rose-tinted glasses, but lenses of topaz; everything in my vision exploding with sunlight, giving me the purest, most absolute hope. here's hoping i don't break them.
she was made, fabricated from sheets and cloth. she was stuffed with weak and flammable straw, but in her genesis there was too little. she walked, lopsided and limping, until she came across a beehive. she stuck in her empty arms, and the insects flew into her fingertips, filling her limbs.
as she walked, small children heard her buzzing and they smacked her arms and legs, lifting bruises and scars and angering the bees within her. she heard the buzzing get louder and louder, filling her hands and feet and even her head, until it was nearly unbearable. the bees tried desperately to escape, stinging her cloth skin from the inside and beating
when he was born, his eyes were imbued with emeralds, so shockingly green they nearly blinded his mother and father. as he grew, the green in his irises grew with him. the sun and the grass and the trees shone out of them, lighting his way and moving the obstacles in his life aside.
but after he grew out of this stage of innocence, he walked through life noticing things lining his path: tollbooths, ones that as a child his parents had always paid for and to which he had given no attention to. he looked at these tollbooths, scoffing and continued with his life.
however, he was stopped at each one. he had to pay the toll to continue, or else be
we took a trip. a little vacation, a final hurrah before our lives hit the brick wall and life slowed down for good. it was so beautiful, but we didn't know it yet.
the details of where we were seem hazy because of the magnitude of things so much more important, but i'll try to describe it as best i can.
we decided on the cliché cabin in the woods, as neither of us had experienced it before. it was amazing to live so close to nature. we didn't care that mosquitoes bit us all over, or that we had panic attacks regularly thinking the seaweed in the lake was some sort of sea monster.
we collected our own firewood and made a fire on o
i'm small and awkward and thin and people think i'm a freak. i know they stared at me before when i walked down the halls. i mean, who could stand not catching a glimpse at the weird girl with no hair and scars so new they practically bleed?
i have sympathizers, but it's all the same white noise. "they just don't see you for the person you really are." "they're just not giving you the chance you deserve." it's as if they think i don't already know that. nobody gets near me. it's as if they think cancer is contageous or something, the way they almost unnoticably take a step away from me in the hall, or the way teachers hold my pa
2- lonely or alone? by christiangloria93, literature
Literature
2- lonely or alone?
what's the difference between being lonely and being alone? beyond that, which one is worse?
to be lonely, surrounded by people and love and admiration; everything it is that you want, but ultimately empty inside?
or to be alone, longing so much to be desired, to be noticed, and to be accompanied, but never given the chance?
can you ever be without one or the other? is it possible not to be lonely or alone? or are we doomed to walk the planet, never truly satiated and wishing for something, anything more?
1- vanessa's story. by christiangloria93, literature
Literature
1- vanessa's story.
i was a hypocrite, and i was lonely, and i was crying.
you were wronged, and you were lonely, and you were crying.
and you were beautiful and nobody could help but love you. you were small. i thought you were innocent, but there were demons about you. they beat against your head and ate you from the inside out. your eyes filled with tears and your tears filled my eyes too.
we became one.
you pulled on my memories, my soul; my achilles heel. and so, crippled and limping, i had no escape from your love, and it swallowed me up, drowning me until i gave in and inhaled. so i broke down, and your wonderful love filled me completely. it electrified me, coursing through arteries and capillaries and making me finally whole. i see the world not through rose-tinted glasses, but lenses of topaz; everything in my vision exploding with sunlight, giving me the purest, most absolute hope. here's hoping i don't break them.
an angel, to say the least. by christiangloria93, literature
Literature
an angel, to say the least.
she looks at me with expectant eyes, impossibly wide, impossibly beautiful.
"please?" she asks in a sticky-sweet voice, brushing behind her ear the loose threads of the mask she made for herself out of bright blue hair dye and childish pigtails.
"how can i say no to that?" i say, and give her one last kiss before i leave. "you know that's cheating, right?"
a smug grin appears on her face. "oh, i know." her grin has become a weightless smile that seems to take up her entire face.
we whisper sweet everythings in each others' ears, say our goodbyes, and she merrily skips off. the rhythmic clump-clump of her heavy boots rings in my ears for h
they climbed the playground ladder, higher and higher, stuck in the moments between nighttime and daybreak, a time nobody could forget.
[he never wanted to remember.]
--
he presented her with fine gifts
glasses of unconditional loving stares, lipstick of promising, reassuring kisses, a flowing dress of careful embraces.
she rewarded him with coldness, returned dodging glances, nothing more than half-open lips, barely holding him at all.
he watched as she took all his love and spent it.
he stood by as she walked out for the nth time.
he was silent as she screamed at him.
in two weeks, she had forgotten him.
in two years, he was still
"say a prayer and light a fire, we're gonna start a war."
owen john masse workman.
Current Residence: canada. Favourite genre of music: punk. Favourite photographer: procrastinations Favourite style of art: photography. Operating System: mac os x. MP3 player of choice: ipod, of course. Wallpaper of choice: something from jedi22's page. Favourite cartoon character: hmm. Personal Quote: "say a prayer and light a fire, we're gonna start a war."
Favourite Visual Artist
any surrealist basically.
Favourite Movies
the godfather series.
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
green day/ the beatles.
Favourite Writers
D.J. MacHale, Ellen Hopkins, etc.
Favourite Games
godfather or godfather 2
Favourite Gaming Platform
360
Tools of the Trade
Canon EOS 20D, Photoshop, Aperture
Other Interests
photography (obviously), guitar, music in general.
i think it's safe to say i'm leaving dA. i need to focus on schoolwork, and internet usage is going to be dropping significantly. besides, i've barely been active for weeks. i won't delete my account, since i want to keep my art up here, and in case i want to ever come back. i guess this is goodbye, at least for now. i'll be checking my notes within the next few days, so message me if you want to take over my group, photo-inanimate.
i'm back! :la:
sorry i've been so absent. i've gotten caught up with other sites and school and online courses.
BUT I'VE RETURNED.
here's hoping i still have some writing talent left.