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About Literature / Artist stephFemale/United States Group :iconlegitlit: LegitLit
 
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Literature
Throw me out to sea
All I can remember thinking is "how did we end up here?" as I stared up at the too bright sky, letting the sun imprint itself into my vision, in the hopes that I'd be just blind enough to not have to see the look on your face when I finally got up the courage to tilt my eyes from the sky back to yours.
It felt like it had been decades since we met on this beach. Honestly, it felt like it had been centuries. I could barely remember what you smile first looked like, but I know it was so much bigger than it is now. The only thing I have left is the smell of laundry detergent on your fade t-shirts and the aftertaste of summer on your skin. I know that a love story is always so much better than reality, and I know that the beginning will always outshine the ending, but I thought I'd be able to handle things better than this.
I was blinking sun shaped dots out of my eyes, but I could still see the look of dismay on your face. Or bewilderment or disgust or maybe it was just confusion. I didn'
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Literature
the last magic I believe in
It's been years and I'm still here. Recycling the same sentences. Stuck in the same words. Buried in a past that doesn't quite belong to me anymore. It's funny how with enough distance nothing ever looks real anymore. It's like the way I can stand four miles from the lakefront and can still see the horizon. Clashing blues and greens. A straight line of water against an even straighter line of sky. And that's it. It's everything and it's nothing and for a little while I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Somewhere new. That I can see an entire ocean sprawled out in front of me, instead of the dirty familiar waters of Lake Michigan. I've grown up here and I've grown apart from here, but I'm stuck at the top of the hill on the corner of the street that my sister lives on and I just want to run and run and run and never look back, but that's not all there is. That's not all that's left.
It's so much bigger than that so I trace the familiar roads back to my home and I sit in my living room and
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 37 6
Literature
an exercise in giving up
I don’t know what I’m doing in this place.
My bones ache to take me away – to take me anywhere but here. But my heart remembers this place and its beat is racing, pumping blood into the far corners of my body, making my limbs too heavy to move. But I want to leave so badly, with every part of my being, but the one. My heart still belongs here…even after all these years.
I don’t remember the last time I saw your face.
But I can tell you that I still hear your voice in my dreams. In the deepest of sleeps, you’re still alive inside of me, deep within the folds of my heart, the dark spaces of my imagination. You’re alive there, even though I know nothing of where you are in reality. I know nothing of you anymore. Maybe that’s for the better. Maybe. Maybe.
I can’t recall the first time that I heard time will make it better.
But I do know that my mom repeats it to me every Saturday when I go to visit her in that old house that’s fu
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 45 19
Birds on a Wire - Vinyl Record Painting by paperheartsyndrome Birds on a Wire - Vinyl Record Painting :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 24 2 Vinyl Record Painting - Orange and Purple Tree by paperheartsyndrome Vinyl Record Painting - Orange and Purple Tree :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 10 0 vinyl record painting - birds on a wire by paperheartsyndrome vinyl record painting - birds on a wire :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 8 0 Vinyl Record Painting - Blue and Green Tree by paperheartsyndrome Vinyl Record Painting - Blue and Green Tree :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 10 2 VInyl Record Painting - Copper and Red by paperheartsyndrome VInyl Record Painting - Copper and Red :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 5 0 Vinyl Record Painting! by paperheartsyndrome Vinyl Record Painting! :iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 6 2
Literature
When I think about you, I remember it all wrong.
When I think of that first day, I will always remember the air as being too warm, and your clothes being wrinkled, your hair a complete mess. I remember how your nerves had your every sentence starting with “uhm” and how I hated indecisiveness and you couldn’t make up your mind, and I remember thinking I could do better without you. Now, I know that first impressions aren’t quite as important as they tell you every time you open that front door with your mismatched socks and complimentary sarcasm, armed with a crooked smile and bad grammar. Because if that were true, I would have said hello and goodbye in the same sentence. Hell, if that were true I never would have loved you.
It was September before you calmed down enough to look me in the eye when you were talking. My friends kept asking me why I wasting my time with you, but I knew there was something special hidden behind all your short sentences, wrapped inside the bundle of nerves that created you, that he
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 55 4
Literature
because love is a lesson in trial and error
I wish I had the words to tell you what I mean. I used to store sentences between my breaths – things that I couldn’t say at the moment, but wanted to remember. Now I can barely string together enough nouns and verbs to make you understand exactly what you mean to me. And I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that if I can’t get it together fast enough I’ll lose you. It’s like you're water slipping through my fingers and I’m not quick enough to chase you through the currents. I know enough to know that you’re wild and free in a way that I’ll never be and maybe I’m jealous of that. Or maybe I’m scared. Maybe I know that if I was somehow better or different that I’d have you in a way that no one else has even gotten you, and some days, I think I’ve made it. Some days, I’m sure that I don’t have to be afraid anymore, but then it’s three in the morning and I’m tossing and turning from the waves you
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 66 28
Literature
a lifetime of storms just to make things matter
It never rains like this where I’m from. It’s all or nothing there. Where the sky will split open for days, swallowing the continents, putting oceans where they used to rest. There, we were always just barely afloat, and I never learned how to swim.
Here, I feel like I can still breathe between the raindrops and I sit out on our back patio and let the water soak into my skin and wash away all my sins. I know I’m not who I thought I’d be five years ago, but it’s not enough just to wish you could change, sometimes you just have to accept the way things are. Except who you’ve become. Where you’ve come from.
It was the day after my twentieth birthday when I learned that my heart would skip beats when I saw his face. My pulse would start and stop and disappear. I was fading and sometimes, he would make my outlines clear again, bring back the contours and all my shades and shadows. Small smiles would be awarded, unfamiliar to my face. He was my angel
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome
:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 37 19
Literature
maybe you never belonged to me
I can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
--
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 98 43
Literature
i'm not your symphony but i'm orchestrated anyways
it's not easy to explain --
but i'm a rushed symphony of heartbeats, quick breaths and hiccups. i'm not made of skin and bones, but a complicated sentence structure and thoughts that i spew out before i even finish them.
i'm messy in all the wrong ways.
and i'm not right in any of the ways that matter. but still you're always here, picking me up when i fall, kissing me goodnight, making a life with me one day at a time. and you haven't gone yet but i'm always moving so how long can you stay. how long can i expect it. how long is too long when you're living and loving and breathing and hell, if i can't stay still i'll mess this up for sure. i just need a minute, to think, to stop, to be. so i can be yours forever.
all i know is that i'm a constant frenzy -- a kaleidoscope of words and ideas and minutes and clumsy steps and i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm always shifting and moving and growing and going and going
and going and
going --
until i'm standing still again.
no one can stop
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 55 8
Literature
I'll never tell you -- you already know.
I remember in the beginning
there was just you and me
and heartbeats--
small intervals where the air would leap from my chest,
saying you leave me breathless will always be an understatement.
I wanted to kiss you before
I even knew you or knew the real you
but your untied purple chucks
had me even before your hello--
months later I realized that meant to be's aren't always
as silly as they used to be.
I've fallen in love with how
the palms of our hands match
the planes of our souls and
every time I loop my fingers
between yours we fall deeper--
If there was ever a time I should explain myself,
it's be right now, but I think you know--
I mean you should know--
How irreversibly far I've fallen
for you.
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:iconpaperheartsyndrome:paperheartsyndrome 58 16
Literature
there's nothing that feels quite like this.
Maybe the problem is that I don't know what a love story should sound like. I haven't figured out what order I should put the words in to make it read just right. I do, however, know what it feels like, but pushing around nouns and adjectives just to make it grow is the hardest thing I'll ever do. And it's true that I've tried it before and maybe I succeeded once, but since then I've learned the way real love washes through veins, and rumbles through the shifting and settling of bones until it changes you completely in a way that is absolutely unyielding. Perfect. Simple. It's not angry, or jealous, it doesn't hurt. It isn't like before. So now words don't come so easy, since I'm not sure which ones will cheapening the moments, the feelings, you.
And god, I could never do that to you, since the only thing I know with completely certainty is that you are the only thing that saves me. That moves me. That completes me. Without you, I'd be less than nothing. Alone. Forgotten. It's e
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these are my words and they are everything to me. please don't use them without my permission.

Random Favourites

Literature
and when the music stops.
     one.
i tried to dance on the breath of time with you, but
i only ended up tripping.
i would've let you be the rocket if i would've been space.
[space is black, lonely, empty.
rockets are hopeful, beautiful. rockets are goingsomewhere.]
    two.
this is the shadow of a memory, the breath of a chance.
we could've spent the rainy days chasing the dreams in your heart.
and maybe, if we had more time, we could've looked into ourselves and thought of ourselves as a garden.
maybe then we would've realized that the weeds are there for a reason.
maybe then you would've believed me when i called you beautiful.
     three.
we put veils over the parts of ourselves we wanted to hide.
you breathed waterfalls and holes and explosions.
[as much as you loved beautiful things, you were best at destruction.]
i found comfort in your shadow, but your shadows never were very forgiving. i only managed to get lost, without a co
:iconAmertie:Amertie
:iconamertie:Amertie 288 209
Literature
natural disasters.
dear heart:
years ago, you would be
burned alive all along your
seams and veins by ex-friends
and ex-lovers. it was the
worst thing in the world when
you shattered, but i promise it will
stop hurting,
someday.
+
dear heart:
you are not losing your head
and losing time, and losing all
that is true. please do not ever
think that. you are just forgetting
to look at the skyline and falling
comets, and how beautiful they
can be.
+
dear heart:
you were told that nostalgia
leaves this icky charring feeling, but
you never understood them
until she vanished.
left.
died.
+
dear heart:
stop letting others
control your fate; take your
identity. this is your oxygen,
your blood, and you are
perfectly capable of setting yourself
aglow without anyone
telling you
otherwise.
+
dear heart:
you grew up under shipwrecked
foundations, where parents were
doomed for divorce; broken glass
coated the bedroom floor; screams were
loud enough to wake the dead.
and if this means anything,
i`m sorry for letting you
:iconlovestruck-x:lovestruck-x
:iconlovestruck-x:lovestruck-x 24 27
Literature
colorless
You can't break the same heart
over and over. If you looked
in the ABC's of growing up,
maybe you'd know.
(Though you don't care enough to look, and
I don't care enough to make you.)
---
Trains are a different thing -
blue, like your eyes,
and green, like mine.
Exactly like our glances, always
ride different tracks, bound to
never meet.
(If I had only known in the beginning.
If I could only change my destination.)
---
I should have noticed that night you
traced my lips with your ivory fingers.
I whispered,
"Promise me you'll never change,
promise you'll always stay the same."
(You couldn't do better than
a cold "uhum.")
---
I only want one thing -
to come to you in your dreams like
you come to me,
and find the strength in myself
to say
"Let me go.
Let my train
find its
own tracks."
:iconColouredRain:ColouredRain
:iconcolouredrain:ColouredRain 7 35
Literature
o1 : letter.
i recognized your handwriting even better than i recognized my own. it started out straight, then ran down diagonally down the page, and no letter looked the same, but i loved it. it reminded me of playing football in the rain and snuggling on the couch on cold nights, watching movies we weren't really watching, and meeting under that ugly old tree in the park so we could sit and breathe together.
it reminded me of when you looked up from your journal and poked my forehead with your pencil and said, "you're beautiful, you know that?"
x
you loved to write things. you loved to write on things. you would trace your finger in puddles, and read aloud what you were writing in the water. (i would even find little notes and random thoughts written in my books and on post-its.) you would dip your finger in red paint (that eerily reminded me of blood), and marked words on my ribcage, my arms, my spine.
you wrote about what you dreamt about last night, and what your favourite color was tha
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:iconunstellastique:unstellastique 24 36
Literature
How to Look in the Mirror
1.
i.
Let your mouth be a mouth, dropping open. Let it smile and contort itself.
ii.
The way some people smile makes me believe they are polar bears on melting ice caps and
the rest of them look like a growling monkey, trying to say "I have no weapon," but it is clicking its teeth together instead.
2.
i.
You love her the way she is. If you had her you would never even say "Take your
clothes off". You know she is not beautiful underneath those garments. Her breasts
are drooping. She has a scar on her stomach after having her appendix removed
when she was eight. You would not want to ruin your love for her- beginning and
ending with her, no panties, no skirt, blouse unbuttoned and your penis in her
ii.
mouth. You both leave unsatisfied because you couldn't stop staring at the cigarette
burn on the inside of her left wrist. You know nothing will ever be as good as her with
all of her clothes on, so you don't kiss her and she doesn't take her shirt off and you
don't see the burns on her ba
:iconbatmanonrobin:batmanonrobin
:iconbatmanonrobin:batmanonrobin 42 24
Literature
Acutorsion
              She wanted to study killer whales and polar icecaps. Instead, she found herself studying his killer smile and the freckles floating across his collar bone. She liked pretending they were icebergs, trapped in his frosty smooth skin, and that if she could just get beneath the ice she’d find her oceanic heaven.
               Later, she found herself studying her face and the colors and pigments the human epidermis could turn after. She counted the number of black and blue islands and continents forming on her skin, took strategic note of their location, and mapped them out by memory so she could tell her hands of wind and ships of soap to go gently along the shoals. There was always one she missed.
               She named him after the moons of Neptune
:iconTheAfterWhys:TheAfterWhys
:icontheafterwhys:TheAfterWhys 20 38
Literature
needy.
she told you that when she died,
she wanted her ashes thrown out over the atlantic.
you shut your eyes tight, refusing to think of the inevitable,
and traced your dry fingers over her collarbone.
(bone against bone sounds beautiful sometimes,
just as friction feels like flying, not falling.)
x
you twirled her hair on spindle fingers and broken hearts.
she was golden on the surface, beautiful and shining in
bokeh lights, body engulfed in the cities glow.
often
she would selfishly wish that she was golden on the inside too, that she could
shine and sparkle and not get lost in amber bottles and die on rain-splattered sidewalks.
not once did she think that maybe you were more
broken than she was.
x
apparently, she was always the one who needed the helping,
and you were always the one to bow down on one knee and give her
butterfly kisses and tender smiles.
but by the end of the month, your knees were skinned and bloody,
and by the end of the year, you were wishing that your legs would
x
jus
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:iconbing-bam-boom:bing-bam-boom 49 40
Literature
don't bend too far.
keep breathing,
they tell you, but
you are tracing your self-inflicted scars,
lit up by moonlight. you are dancing recklessly,
eyes closed, waiting to collide with something, anything. you are
closed ears, icy blood, darkened dreams,
almost-broken lungs, and they say
keep breathing, keep
breathing,

but
you have no time to listen
to things you don't understand.
.
horror stories seem much brighter at night,
and hope fades in comparison. see, you have
glass running through your veins, waiting
to pierce your heart, running faster and faster
until they collide with your lungs, and
dear god,
you can't breathe.
.
you are killing yourself, slowly,
with too-much-depression and
not-enough-air.
you look to memories for comfort,
thinking you might find hope
in them, but
you can't remember things
that never existed.
:iconAmertie:Amertie
:iconamertie:Amertie 227 307
wish by gnash-pie wish :icongnash-pie:gnash-pie 148 28
Literature
sixmillion
in years gone by, you never called
and the phone lay untouched on the table
like spider legs gathering dust
on ebony wood
it's been fourthousandthreehundredandeightytwo
days since you left
and i've had over six million minutes
of memories of you
sometimes you would whisper
and glitter would fall in my ear
sometimes you would play ribguitar
(it was your own version of airguitar)
until your crimson fingers
could pluck no more
then you would kiss life
back into my limp body
i still bear the scars
where my skin was sown back together
but my ribcage has never been the same
and each day is a struggle to breathe
:iconEvairy:Evairy
:iconevairy:Evairy 59 36
Literature
Serein
One.
What if you left?
                 And I was alone with the memory of the brush of your eyelashes against your cheek. The pages of your soul sighing shut, like a last breath. Like a last chance. (Like the shudder of a last chance.)
Two.
                 You're like black and white photographs (that are really just shades of grey), and summer rainstorms that came too late for spring; The puzzle pieces that seem to fit, but don't. You're a kitten tiger playing unnoticed in the streets of Burma; The smudged fingerprint that is almost a match (if only that line was a bit clearer).
                 I'd love you like I love the seasons, and the billboard by the roadside; I'd hold your hand, and kiss your face. . . if only you were somet
:iconTheAfterWhys:TheAfterWhys
:icontheafterwhys:TheAfterWhys 27 19
Literature
You're Everything They Said
Missing, kissing
I've got two sides of listening
I've never heard a word you said
But I thought you would have guessed
Second best, under dressed
He says this is my only chance
But I've proved him wrong before
And I'm not one to let him go
Justify, amplify
Drop this act of I'm ready to die
You were the best thing in this head
I've never had days like what we left
Relieve, breathe
I've finished with these jagged knees
This is the day of all we went through
They will never hurt you like I do
:iconlake-effect-kid:lake-effect-kid
:iconlake-effect-kid:lake-effect-kid 14 31
Literature
Scratchiti
Yesterday, I told you the gates of heaven were made of glass, not light. You looked at me and said there wasn’t any difference. Smiling, I just shook my head and turned away.
Tomorrow,
I’ll rent a room down on Chandelier Street and tell you to come. I’ll dump all the furniture in the hallway, so that the only thing in this place, will be your cream seashell-dust soul, and board up every window so your eyes never seek anything except the white sunshine from the sliding glass doors of the balcony.
You’ll stand barefoot on oaken floorboards (because I stole your shoes), against pale walls, with that little frown wrinkling your forehead that says “What?”.  You’re cutest when you have no idea what I’m doing.
.
I’ll laugh, and lock myself on the balcony and say, see if you can reach me now. And you’ll try.  
.
Your fists will smear the window pane with sweat and fear, when I step up onto the railing and lean into th
:iconTheAfterWhys:TheAfterWhys
:icontheafterwhys:TheAfterWhys 22 20

Activity


All I can remember thinking is "how did we end up here?" as I stared up at the too bright sky, letting the sun imprint itself into my vision, in the hopes that I'd be just blind enough to not have to see the look on your face when I finally got up the courage to tilt my eyes from the sky back to yours.

It felt like it had been decades since we met on this beach. Honestly, it felt like it had been centuries. I could barely remember what you smile first looked like, but I know it was so much bigger than it is now. The only thing I have left is the smell of laundry detergent on your fade t-shirts and the aftertaste of summer on your skin. I know that a love story is always so much better than reality, and I know that the beginning will always outshine the ending, but I thought I'd be able to handle things better than this.

I was blinking sun shaped dots out of my eyes, but I could still see the look of dismay on your face. Or bewilderment or disgust or maybe it was just confusion. I didn't know how to read your emotions at that point. I still don't.

You were sucking your bottom lip in and out of your mouth, the way you do when you're nervous. I used to think it was charming. But I realized it was actually more off-putting and I wanted to look away again. And then you inhaled uneasily, almost like you were in pain. Almost like it was work to breathe, to be near me, to speak. I started to wonder what the point of this was. Neither of us wanted to be here. It was a reminder of just how much we had completely failed ourselves. It was a reminder that everything ends. Whether it's beautiful. Or good. Or completely ugly. Or any adjective in between. Not everything is as black and white as we want to pretend.

The tide rolled in. The beach here is always littered with trash. I used to drag you here with me to combed the shores for sea glass like it was treasure, but I think the honest truth of the matter is I just liked believing that something beautiful could come out of complete garbage. I liked to think about how the waves and rocks wore down the sharp edges, buffed the surfaces, made something out of nothing. I'd throw back the too sharp pieces, giving them the opportunity to be molded into something better. I wish I could throw you back out to sea. I wish the waves and time would wear you down to something smoother, something I could come back for, since I wasn't quite ready to let you go. Some things in life should come with a warning.

There should have been red lights flashing the day I met you. There should have been sirens. I should've turned around and gone back to bed. My mom always tells me to never regret the things that made you happy, but I can't help, but feel sorry that you ever walked into my life. It's more painful to watch you go than to have never know you existed in the first place. It'd be easier if I hated you, but I don't.

I think of all the ways things could have ended up different. I could've walked right by you on the lakeshore that morning. It was cold and windy, and I almost talked myself out of going more than once, but I loved that beach. It was hard to stay away when I had a free moment. There was something about the water there that sang to me, that reeled me in -- I think you felt the same way. I didn't stay home. I didn't walk by you. I remember the way you were standing there, somewhat wistful, quiet, happy. It made me want to talk to you. I'm in the habit of making split second decisions so I never thought twice when I walked up to you and destroyed both our lives with a single syllable. From that moment on, nothing would ever be the same for either of us again.

Whirlwind loves sound more romantic than they are in real life. In reality, they rip through you like a tornado. They tear apart your heart, ravish your thoughts, throw everything you've ever know about the world up in the air and let it fall scattered across your life. You wake up in the morning with windburn on your cheeks and disheveled hair and you wonder how you survived another night of that. You don't smile when you think back on it. Yeah, you wish it could have been different, that you could've been good for each other, because it's true to say that we loved each other fiercely. We still do. That's what makes this harder. That's why all the alarms should have sounded.
Throw me out to sea
This is a part of something larger. Part two may come soon :)
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"After all these years, I still haven't grown up. 

The sky is angry in these too early hours of the morning. The clouds are rolling across the sky, quick and fierce, as if they are running away from something. Maybe they're trying to get away from me. I'm still a natural disaster in a way I shouldn't be. I'm still wind blown, indecisive, messy, a spark if lightning on a perfect day. I'm still all the things I should no longer be by now. I had such high expectations. After awhile, you learn that you can let anyone down -- even yourself."

I wish I wrote like I used to. That may be one of my biggest regrets at the moment. Hoping to change it.

I miss this. How have all you been? I've had an insanely awesome year -- bought a house, adopted the best dog ever, and married the love of my life!

deviantID

paperheartsyndrome
steph
Artist | Literature
United States
i'm extraordinarily ordinary.

Comments


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:iconlostprophetxtian:
lostprophetxtian Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2015   General Artist
happy birthday
Reply
:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat Featured By Owner Jan 9, 2015   General Artist
hello there, lovely person! :huggle:
this is to inform you that i have made use of one of the titles of your poetry in my title poem over here: fav.me/d8d65gn :love:
i hope that this is alright with you, pray that you enjoy the read, and thank you for your inspirational artistry! :eager: <3
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:iconangryangel57:
angryangel57 Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
<3
Reply
:iconmysocksrock:
MySocksRock Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2014
Have a wonderful Birthday!!!
Reply
:icontakemetoverona:
takemetoverona Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2014  Student Writer
Happy Birthday! :D
Reply
:iconangryangel57:
angryangel57 Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Your words are amazing <3
Reply
:iconconspiritorialkitten:
I adore all of the visual poetry and set-ups you do. <3 
Reply
:icontakemetoverona:
takemetoverona Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2013  Student Writer
Your visual poetry is absolutely beautiful- please keep writing!
Reply
(1 Reply)
:icondystopiandino:
dystopiandino Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2013
Oh my goodness. Your words are incredible. Thank you so much for sharing them!
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:iconwak0zak0:
wak0zak0 Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2013
I love your writing. It strikes a certain spot in me every time. It's like you say what I'm already feeling, and what i wish i could write. i feel like I have a psychological need to read your writings. How do you cope with some of the things you go through or feel?

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