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About Literature / Hobbyist Member CheesecakeFemale/Unknown Groups :iconpoetrywritersunity: PoetryWritersUnity
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Deviant for 4 Years
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Newest Deviations

What I've come up with so far.

Don't expect this to be updated too frequently. But these words are my heart.

Random Favourites

Lovely works of art made by lovely, lovely people.


You stood me up here the very first time you said
you loved me;
and I have been waiting so long
they've crowned me queen just for staying -

    everybody else
was just passing through.
Remember, kids: when someone says they'll meet you halfway, they're lying. 

1. You're going to be okay.
2. I haven't forgiven myself yet, but I'm getting there.
3. You can't make homes out of people. You can't make poems out of them, either.
4. Whatever you want to believe, you should know you made me happy.
5. You were always beautiful, even though I never said it aloud.
6. Writing about you is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
7. Tucked between my lungs is a memory of the day you first smiled at me.
8. It's funny when you realise that I'm an atheist, and goodbye used to mean God be with ye.
9. I don't know the words for the way I felt when you first called me handsome.
10. Sometimes I started fights just to see if I could make you leave.
11. I stopped loving you somewhere in between the third drink and the fourth.
12. I went home that night and I couldn't remember your face.
13. I never read your letters - it would have been too sad.
14. Boys should be allowed to cry in public, too.
15. I wasn't built to handle forevers.
16. I can't listen to Coldplay without thinking of you.
17. My tongue still dances around your first name.
18. Some part of me hopes I never stop giving you butterflies.
19. You deserve so much better.
20. But so do I.
21. If I could have had a forever, it would have been you.
22. Please don't wait for me, darling;
23. I'm not coming back.
things you should've told me.
full title, since dA won't let me have a lengthy one:
things you should have told me, the day before you left.

these words could be true, or they couldn't be. what matters is they might as well be. 
but as a rule, I don't put words in other people's mouths unless I'm sure of them. 

(I miss you.)
To everyone I have responsibilities to (i.e. my groups) I'm incredibly sorry. I've been unwell the past two months and haven't been able to come online in dA or even online in general. I don't know when I can come back and be active again but I know that I'm trying. Please forgive me. I really didn't expect this to happen. I'm still contemplating on whether I should approach my parents about how I'm feeling because I don't want to be diagnosed with something that will make then pull me out of school. In any case, I haven't been writing much since I haven't the energy for it, but I'm trying. As always, I am trying. Please, please understand. Thank you.
  • Mood: Compassion
  • Listening to: Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars
  • Reading: Wicked - Gregory McGuire
  • Watching: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Hi guys! I haven't been excessively active lately, although I know I promised. Things happened that I didn't foresee and that I wasn't (and still am not) equipped to deal with, so I was forced to remove myself from a lot of non-academic things I was doing. 

Lately though, I've found more time for myself (and learned that leaving time for yourself is healthy in situations like this) so I've decided to come back and keep my promise.

Aside from doing the weekly feature (although the second week came late, and I'm sorry for that) I will also now be opening commissions. And get this: they're free. I won't ask for anything from you except the freedom to take a bit of time in writing. You can ask me to write poetry of any length, although it'll have to be free verse as I can't rhyme for shit, and I will gladly blaze words onto this screen for you.

Why am I doing this? Well, mostly because I want to give back to a community that's helped me grow so much. I love dA and the lit community and the chance to make someone smile or cry or feel anything using my words is something I appreciate greatly. It's also a little bit because I don't trust myself to write anything lucidly at this point (baaaad things happening to me nowadays) and I do need a little bit of a push or a nudge from someone other than the tiny voice behind my mind to actually get off my butt and start writing. 

Well, that's it for now. If you want to request something (even *gasp* a collaboration!) just comment here that you want to, and as soon as I acknowledge it, send me a note with your details for the poem and plans to rule the world with sushi and cookies. 

Thanks, guys! It's good to be back.

  • Mood: Compassion
  • Listening to: Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars
  • Reading: Wicked - Gregory McGuire
  • Watching: Captain America: The Winter Soldier
And also, at the same time, my second official feature journal!

First of all, I'm sorry that I took so long updating this journal and my deviations in general. I've just been going through quite a lot of personal turmoil and it's been hard to read poetry, much less write it. 

That brings me, though, to my real deviantArt story. I started here on a recommendation from my best friend lizilicious because she was putting art here and I was just beginning to find my voice as a writer (which was thanks to her as well) so I figured I might as well join in the fun. I didn't know what I was getting into, but I have never regretted a single moment of it. 

deviantArt has helped me grow as both a person and a writer, has shaped me into this whole new being, someone who has a voice and is no longer afraid to use it. I've watched people grow in their poetry and sometimes in their paintings, I've watched people leave and come back, I've watched them stay through everything. I've learned so much about the world and about myself and my words, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

So here's to deviantArt, and to those who've found their voices, and those who are still looking. I salute you. 

1:10Glacier-fed, you could have been
my final destination, an early grave
waiting to swallow me up
and carry me north. I got caught in your
rapids, your eddies, your current,
like a cold electrocution that had me
hyperventilating: asphyxiating
on nothing but air.
But I fought the Reaper
in your waters, scratched and clawed
for blood, for purchase, grasping
for dear life with fingers
that were already stiff and cold
with premature rigor mortis. And
as hypothermia chased me
downstream: a piranha or
a shark smelling blood,
you taught me a lesson
in self-preservation,
and the mindless struggle
to survive.

Gripping from its very first lines, 1:10 takes you on a thunderstorm of emotion and doesn't let you go until the last words. 

Never Fall In Love With A WriterNever approach a writer
They live 
on the backbones
of untamed metaphors ;
picking wildflowers
in their free time
the way
they pick words
in order to
describe death.
Never speak to a writer 
They have X-ray eyes
that will look through you ;
picking at every scab
until it bleeds
something beautiful. 
When they speak
you will be mesmerized
for it seems 
the universe’s secrets
are hidden
under their tongues
Never accept a writer
They will cut open
their ribcage 
letting their black butterflies
flutter free ;
you will cup them
in your hands gently
and keep them
in your gut 
as they knew you would.
Never kiss a writer
You will taste 
the melancholy 
on their lips
and their hands
will mark your skin 
with stardust.
You will never
feel this beautiful again.
But most of all,                                                

Lovely not just for its imagery but also its formatting, Never Fall In Love With A Writer is a perfectly written piece about how much it costs to love people like us. 

circlesmy dad is a watch collector who never knows the time & i & i & i am still run run running from the past.
your kaleidoscope colors bleached out my eyes and now i'm a blinded butterfly.  my wings are snipped and i am flying in circles just so i won't hit the ground.
i never meant to scare you i never meant to meet you i never meant to burn you up inside my warm cocoon.   these things happen and they trail behind us wherever we go.
i sometimes think my shadow has become yours.  it's far too tall and wide and brave to belong to me.   i must admire it's loyalty; nothing else has stuck with me this long.
run run run i'm carving circles into the air i'm caving roots into the ground i'm pushing stars into the sky.  

The rhythm stops and starts and keeps you going, and circles never for a moment lets you down. 

thank you, Max Brodlast night I slept in a closet
with my coat made of tangerine desires
and visions of distant permafrost
last night I remembered
white noise in her voice
buried hopeless in bureau of disdain
the apartment on rue Fontaine
has fallen into disrepair
embraced by anarchist movement
embraced by emerald seaweed
embraced by quicksand swirl
embraced by golden doll hair
and transformed itself
into roar inside the hourglass
last night I slept in a foxhole
with ace of spades stuck in my teeth
with joker hidden in my sleeve
last night I woke up to the music
of orchestra playing at riverbed
I woke up to cry from the valley of rivets
there is no time for purple parables
as rocking chairs bring eyes to my tears
they bring the winds of mortal gestures
they bring the equations
they bring the reveries
while my co-existence
remains a mystery

thank you, Max Brod combines a quietly aching narrative with brilliant imagery to give you a poem worthy of reading out loud.

And Bridges Burnedand there was this point in time
when we stood still in a dancer's pose
and your thoughts were like vines--
they crept onto my terrace and refused to budge.
we were animals, basically,
doing what nature tells us to do:
love and brush our teeth and pretend
to know about escrow and making babies.
you hugged ideologies you'd never
fight for
and I made love to Type A poets
(a leftover of 70's free love movement,
I pretended to have chains and fought to break
our politics were made with
passive-aggression and make-up
sex that was only ever a stinging
reason for me to leave and
I clung to you with nails and
need and
I only ever tasted regret
when I tasted you.
when I broke the pact
of lovers the world over,
parted my lips so another
could graze my teeth with tongue flicks
and beer and moonlight,
you absolved me of guilt in your
it's easy to say you
were the guilty one
when you weren't there and
I could think was
it's because you're not a poet.
when I finally drifte

Raw and beautifully vivid, And Bridges Burned touches you to your bones and leaves you with emotions you're almost afraid to feel. 

Hungerdiscard these clothes like the bones of a meal well eaten
braise the skin
let the flavour soak in
savour it like the taste of a favourite dish
eat it with a well seasoned bliss
the plate licked clean
and the seeds spit out
chairs tilted back in satisfaction

Hunger is perfectly succinct and spectacular, recreating a banal feeling with powerful imagery and word choice. 

24. Hard FactsShooting stars only last a second.
Blink, and you'll miss me.
Celestial phenomena happens all the time;
People disappear if you don't keep your eye on them.
Starlight takes a million years to get here.
By the time you read this I will be — 

24. Hard Facts makes use of bullet points to drive a stunning concept home and leave it with you for the night. 

HoneyBearshoneyfurred and longclawed,
your skin is buttermilk bliss.
I want to live in a bearcave with you -
ribbons tied to stones,
sinew tied to sinew:
I want to dream with you for four months
curled into the soft cream of your fur -
blueberry dream,
strawberry cream,

I just want to curl up and listen to someone reading HoneyBears out loud to me; it's that tantalisingly good. 

WonStalk me in the tall grass
like you did the summer
I was eighteen.
I remember how I liked
your smile and the way
you could whistle
the July heat through
lips heavy with wine.
You said you liked girls
who made homes
wherever they went
and wore too much perfume;
whose legs tanned easily
and rustled under their skirts
as they strolled through the city.
I liked how your hands
were masters -
how they reached
out to grab anything
in their way,
owning what they touched
and making me believe
I was not a woman
to be won easily.

Won is magnificent in its portrayal of love and implicated loss, in that feeling of want and wanted, in the imagery that drives you to taste the words on your tongue. 

Pacifici loved him, i swallowed him whole
Powerful, eloquent, and lovingly brief, Pacific gives you reality in one line, easily haunting you with only seven words. 


neonsquiggle's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
I lack sleep. I like good food and pretty things and making people laugh. I love a boy who writes and listens to good music and still gives me that butterfly feeling.

I write when I can, and I hold nothing back.

Architecture student now: I want to see the world and live it and break it and build it from the ground up.

Potterhead. Skinny bitch. Klutz.

I ship:
LION CAKE :heart:
Dramione, Zutara, Dalek, Literati, Rumbelle!

These words are my heart. Forgive me if I bleed.

for personal things
for poetry

instagram: cheesecaaake


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Add a Comment:
Ujalasocks2001 Featured By Owner Oct 12, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Ahhhh sorry I'm late to thank you for the llama!
Tyrison Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2014  Student Writer
Thanks for the forever-ago favorite!
(1 Reply)
toxic--sunrise Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2014
horribly late, but thank you :heart:
(1 Reply)
camelopardalisinblue Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I'm so sorry to be so slack in saying this, but I just dropped by to say thank you very much for the watch! :heart: I really appreciate your support!
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2014  Student Writer
Thanks for the fave(s)! :huggle:
(1 Reply)
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