“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”
~ Martin Luther King Jr.
ThoughtsAll at once, it stopped.Thoughts by *MadHat11D6
She was playing. Her box of fears lined up in a neat little line of torture. She didn’t know how to play but she was playing because that was what children did. They lined up their toys and they played, their days decided by the nature of the merry go rounds and swing sets. The laughter spins around her and on the swings she can fly. She’s a butterfly. Or a bat. Flying though the darkness waiting for the sunrise so she can rest. Because the day is tired. It is cool stares and computer cords cracking on her back. And the world, spinning with laughter, quiets in its crescendo.
She was a dandelion. Reaching out in tentative beauty. Please, today let her reach. Let her shine. Torn out at the roots and tossed away. She was a weed trying to be a flower. No one wanted a weed, a plant that took and took and gave nothing back. It did not collect the morning dew or shine as it came to life. A dim parasite, feeding off the fertile grounds. She had the right to
The Bird SingsThe child plays.The Bird Sings by *MadHat11D6
It is what it does, all it does, all it is ever meant to do. The adult works, the elder rests, the birds sing while the child plays. This is our perfect state of life, our frame on which we compare, we judge, within society. It all hinges on this one simple concept. The child plays. When the child doesn’t play, society cries.
Society does nothing but cry. They cry about what they could fix, then try to fix what does not need to be fixed. They cry about the adult who cannot work, the elders who cannot rest. They cry about the baby that wasn’t born, the birds that don’t sing. They cry about the children. Oh, do they cry about the children.
A child that cannot play makes an adult that cannot work. An adult that cannot work makes an elder than cannot rest. An elder that cannot rest makes a grave that needs digging. Of course, a grave that needs digging gives us a society crying about how many graves we need to dig while taking everything we need to dig th
Unstable Together - Hurricane KatrinaI’m heavy. So heavy. But I can’t stop. I can’t. Not even if I wanted too. There’s too much, just too much. And everything is spinning, spinning, spinning. And I’m moving, but I don’t know where. And I’m taking, but I don’t know what. I’m moving close – so close. I don’t even know where I am. There’s just water and grey and a screaming howl as I spin and spin and spin. It’s all around me. Where I go, it follows. If I could break through it, I would – oh I would. Just for the silence, just for the peace. If only for a moment. But I haven’t stopped. I’m moving closer and closer, I can almost feel it now. I don’t know what it is. But I know it’s there. And then I feel it. It tries to slow me down, it tries to end my spinning, my crying, my running. I try so hard to let it happen. I try. But –Unstable Together - Hurricane Katrina by *MadHat11D6
Boom! Boom! Boom! There’s cracking and falling and crumbling all around me, and
Caught in the StormThere is a rough pounding on the thick walls.Caught in the Storm by *MadHat11D6
She takes cover, as she always does when it happens. Her movements are practiced; she does not need to think about them. Lying on her side, knees pulled to her chest, blankets pulled tight around her still frame, hoping this time it will be enough.
The walls are shaking. The pictures go first, as they always do. Images of smiling men and women, girls and boys. One family. Good memories. She prefers the good ones. They help her to pretend. But they are falling, one by one. Cracking, tearing. She pictures them in her mind as they shatter. What they were, where they went. Sometimes she forgets. The puzzle isn’t even worth attempting when so many pieces are missing.
The picture on the side table is always the same, though. It does not fall. It is stable where it stands. A girl and a man, smiling. This is the important one. The one that never breaks. The one that must never break.
The windows go next. One small crack. Another
ode to youif you ever asked meode to you by ~escap-ing
to describe it,
i would tell you how
you spin my thoughts into poetry,
compose my heartbeats into music,
how your lighthouse presence
beckons me to a home
within your smile.
if you ever asked me
to write it,
i would write my fingers bloody
with all the words
that could have come between us,
all the conversations
that skirted past unspoken,
all the poems
that i should have surrendered.
if you ever asked me
to show it,
i would love your heart till it's raw,
your joints till they no longer creak,
your tears till they dry,
your bruises till they fade,
the whites of your eyes
till the bloodshot veins
fade into milky bliss,
your irises till they lose all dreary grayness,
and your pupils till they tire no more of the sunlight,
till they tire no more of me.
if you ever asked me
to prove it,
i would recite the thought-poems
that you spun
and play the heartbeat sonatas
that you composed.
i would paint you an ocea
how to become a writerhave parents that separatehow to become a writer by =DrippingWords
when you’re in high school;
a father filled with unused anger
and a mother who’s too busy to care.
pretend it doesn’t hurt.
let your friends treat you
everything is your fault.
listen to their problems with a fake smile
all the while crying out because
everything hurts and no one can see.
press a knife to your skin,
but be too cowardly to
draw your own blood.
fall in love with people
who could never notice you,
just. not. good.
chew on the multicolored
strands of your hair.
(you can’t stop running
from who you really are.)
carry around a notebook
Therapists, I don't like their taste.i.Therapists, I don't like their taste. by ~DearPoetry
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through the storm of my mind
like a lighthouse-
instead of pills,
if a therapist could
give me the strength
i might just
take my chances.
Awakening - The Monsters Inside of MeI stare at the white-washed wall, unmoving. A single tear escapes from my left eye and rushes off my cheek with dedicated intent. In this room that I call my own, my monsters are more real than ever. They leer and jeer from dark corners and sinister reflections, taunting me. With a sniffle and a shudder, I turn my head away from the white wall and towards my broken mirror. I scrutinize the dent made on the metal backing of the mirror and I remember. I remember the shrill crack and the shattering rain of fragile glass breaking upon hard wooden floor. I broke the demon, I ended its existence and yet I was so naive to think it was over. I sat idle and watched over my kingdom but failed to see the darkness on the horizon. My inaction and my indecision cost me dearly as the monsters tore through my lax defenses and feasted upon my soul, corrupting it. Now, I sit in my prison of a room, soulless and fragile. All my mistakes and my regrets haunting me, each taking their turn to stab me. I cry
Tea with TobyHi there, and thanks if you're bothering to read this.
It's not going to be usual journal. I'm going to ask you to just think about doing something really, really incredible. It doesn't take a lot of time, or a lot of effort but if you just understood the difference it would make...
You see, tonight, I've been switching my blog entries from the last two years over to deviantART. I was doing this because... Well, for anyone that doesn't know, I have terminal cancer and when I pass my blog will probably be taken down. I just wanted the posts to go somewhere. And no, don't panic! I'm not going to ask you to read 3 years worth of blog entries.
I'd just like you to read one. And if you could just consider donating blood or bone marrow(stem cells)... I mean, i don't think there's any hope left for me, but if there is, i'd be grateful if someone would be willing to give me that chance. It's not like most people think, so if you'd just give my post a read, you might find it's not as terrifying
For your informationTUESDAY, 7 DECEMBER 2010
For your information....
I realised that some people don’t know enough about blood and bone marrowdonations, so I’m going to write everything I know to dispel any myths.
Firstly, blood donation. And I don’t care if you’re gay. Do you think you have some STI or STD just because you’re gay? Do you think there’s a massive difference between anal sex with a woman and anal sex with a man? People can lie. I would. They check all blood anyway, and if you’re clean you shouldn’t have a problem. You make a choice between helping someone and not helping someone. I’m sure they’d take your blood whether you’re gay or straight…. Or does a gay man have some kind of toxic, disease infested blood? Is it green? Is it yellow? No, it’s not, so stop being a massive a