You Never Bought Me Flowers by IrishTemper, literature
Literature
You Never Bought Me Flowers
You never bought me flowers. No, you gave me many things, but never that. Most often you gave me worry. A gnawing ache in my gut that set every nerve tingling until I could hardly breathe. You also gave me laughter, deep and hearty, followed by rolling eyes and a hasty ‘I love you.’ But then you gave me tears. The wracking sobs, and running torrents where I was being ridiculous. Or so you said. For you also gave freely your words. On those days, I’d find myself asking you if we were done, and you’d shadow my question as though it was your own, unanswered. I was being ridiculous afterall. Though I was never crazy. You insisted on that much. I realize now you gave me lessons as well. You gave me the knowledge that I could be loved, and love in return. You showed me what it is to be happy once, and also what it is to feel grief over something not yet gone. You gave me the lesson of boundaries, and how they’re only dangerous if you allow someone else to set them for you. You taught
You Never Bought Me Flowers by IrishTemper, literature
Literature
You Never Bought Me Flowers
You never bought me flowers. No, you gave me many things, but never that. Most often you gave me worry. A gnawing ache in my gut that set every nerve tingling until I could hardly breathe. You also gave me laughter, deep and hearty, followed by rolling eyes and a hasty ‘I love you.’ But then you gave me tears. The wracking sobs, and running torrents where I was being ridiculous. Or so you said. For you also gave freely your words. On those days, I’d find myself asking you if we were done, and you’d shadow my question as though it was your own, unanswered. I was being ridiculous afterall. Though I was never crazy. You insisted on that much. I realize now you gave me lessons as well. You gave me the knowledge that I could be loved, and love in return. You showed me what it is to be happy once, and also what it is to feel grief over something not yet gone. You gave me the lesson of boundaries, and how they’re only dangerous if you allow someone else to set them for you. You taught
she smiled like a knife-
the worst kind of easy
filling in the cracks
lost at sea,
panicked yelling in unison because
of lost baggage in between
connecting flights
acts of war &
sound life advice
with our fashionable shoes
questionable choices,
& razors for manners
i’m stealing your words
sometimes i say things that
aren’t meant to
hurt
but they do
you move your mouth around
the words
summing it up with more
Diagnosis Is Not A Death Sentence by royalocean, literature
Literature
Diagnosis Is Not A Death Sentence
i can't seem to grasp
the diagnosis
and how easily it
is dismissed
by the masses
i feel as if every
time i sit down in
that big leather chair
i am being given
a life sentence
i bite my lip and remain
silent
hoping that maybe just
this once
i won't have a ream of
paper prescriptions to
take to the undertakers
at the pharmacy
oh, how hyperbolic of me
i guess it comes hand-in-hand
with that whole uncontrollable
shifting of the moods
that aligns with my diagnosis
but god how
i would love to
wake up in the morning
and not have a reminder
set as an alarm
to remind me to tak
The Introvert’s Curse
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting;
I wonder what this day will bring.
Will there be excitement, laughter?
Adventure, exploration, action?
Excitement grows inside of me!
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting;
I realize that I am afraid of that.
What if something goes wrong?
Why did I make any plans at all?
I feel awkward, silent, uneasy.
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting;
I am convinced excitement is wrong.
Action, exploration, adventure?
I want them no longer; go away!
Silence; racing thoughts race away.
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting…
NaNoWriMo has come and gone, and it has been far too long since my last post. That said, I am once again trying to be more active here on dA. I stress the 'once again' because I can hear that nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me of the boy who cried wolf. For now, I'm tuning that particular voice out. Although one day I may attempt smothering it with an imaginary pillow.
Why? Well, because the month of November and participating in NaNoWriMo was a great experience for me. I won't claim that anything particularly exciting happened, but I actually made time every day to take writing seriously. It's advice that I've heard of
Oh boy, what have I gotten myself into this time? In just three days, I will begin my second attempt at Nanowrimo, writing 50K words in just 30 days. It's an intimidating challenge, but this year I feel a lot more confident in my plans. I've worked out a lot of the major plot holes. I know a lot more about the motives of my characters, or at least what they've seen fit to share thus far, and I'm eager to start writing.
That said, I'm cheating. Yes, cheating. I've chosen to use DisEnchanted as this year's project (I refuse to refer to it as a novel). Much like Natural Disaster, it's a story that's been floating around in my head for ov
Inspiration can take many forms. Any form of art is always an influence, and while music more than anything else certainly aids my creative process, I can't name any one thing that is guaranteed to set my wheels spinning. However, something that is always present when I first feel that building urge to write, is a dialogue of some sort.
Sometimes I get caught up in a moment. I can get caught in the rain, the lightning flashing, the thunder roaring, while the wind sweeps my hair away from my face. Together, these are simple sensations, and yet I find myself reveling in the feel of the wind and the rain. My gut will clench in fear of the