Your temper is like gasoline, Burning BRIGHT HOT FIERCE FLAMES with no care for what scars it leaves behind. Your temper is like a sparkler, Showering VIVID EXPLOSIVE COUNTLESS SPARKS until suddenly the intensity is gone, leaving twisted steel and burning memories. Your temper is like a viper, Biting HARD DEEP SHARP POISON sending pain through my very veins until it oozes out my eyes. Your temper is like a wild dog, Attacking UNPREDICTABLE VIOLENT DISPROPORTIONATE FANGS retaliating upon outreaches with such severity as to discourage future attempts. Your temper is like a gun, Aiming CALCULATED PRECISE CRIPPLING BULLETS leaving me bent over double and teaching me the wisdom of staying under cover. In this love we call war, I don't even know who's side I'm on anymore.
Your name is not a shape. But if it was, it wouldn't be bold and blocky like Brandon. It would be a smooth river stone, hardness turned soft by the constant chafing of time. Your name is not a texture. But if it was, you wouldn't be like Craig, heavy and seamless as fresh cut stone. It would be like newly cut pine, soft and willing to bend, with a smell that welcomes everyone. Your name is not an odor. But if it was, it wouldn't be like Nathan, smelling like mold and something buried. It would be like fresh growth emerging from the ground towards the sun. Your name is not a light. But if it was, it wouldn't be like Darren, a flickering dusty lightbulb. It would be like a flashlight, cutting apart the dark because it's a road you've been down before, leaving everything soft and golden. Your name is not a color. But if it was, it wouldn't be a bright neon color like Serenity. It would be a softer hue, adding depth and value, while willing to be overlooked. Your name is
You live in hatred of your own hand's writing cursing it and shaming it - you've named it well Unruly and Terrible. Awful for short. You as you scrawl across the pages, I watch with careful art lined eyes. Because I see what you don't. I've beheld the act of you binding your B's, which are inclined to billow out of bounds. They seek the edges of your strokes, thirsting for the freedom that is Beyond. You try too hard to cage you C's which are too caring to stay where you contain them. They will forever careen across the chasms between your characters, seeking and sharing the comfort of Company. You're determined to dam up your D's, but they dance past divisions. I've seen their dynamic natures - driving them on, they're too Daring to die as they are. You expend energy ensnaring your E's, which are too energetic to stay entangled for long. You ought to be told they're explorers by nature, wanting always to exist in that blank white space. You're frequently fixing down your
The smell of parchment swirls slowly through the air, drifting down sunbeams among the dust of long kept secrets Secrets creeping 'tween the shelves, careful, cautious, the silence - screaming stretching straining to hide softest whispers, too long looks. Penned in open, or inked in secret. Wrapped in binding of every hue, left behind words, long lost breath Ancient letters, swollen scrolls Tales of adventures that slink between the margins. Secrets are kept closed and saved between the pages But the smell of you - open just a crack
If a carver does not carve
is he a carver still?
When wood chips flex beneath his skin,
and sawdust fills his soul?
Tell me please, my heart must know.
If a writer does not write,
is she a writer still?
When letters are carved among her bones
And ink flows through her veins?
Let me tell you, for my whole self knows,
Identity comes from hearts, not hands.
Your temper is like gasoline, Burning BRIGHT HOT FIERCE FLAMES with no care for what scars it leaves behind. Your temper is like a sparkler, Showering VIVID EXPLOSIVE COUNTLESS SPARKS until suddenly the intensity is gone, leaving twisted steel and burning memories. Your temper is like a viper, Biting HARD DEEP SHARP POISON sending pain through my very veins until it oozes out my eyes. Your temper is like a wild dog, Attacking UNPREDICTABLE VIOLENT DISPROPORTIONATE FANGS retaliating upon outreaches with such severity as to discourage future attempts. Your temper is like a gun, Aiming CALCULATED PRECISE CRIPPLING BULLETS leaving me bent over double and teaching me the wisdom of staying under cover. In this love we call war, I don't even know who's side I'm on anymore.
Your name is not a shape. But if it was, it wouldn't be bold and blocky like Brandon. It would be a smooth river stone, hardness turned soft by the constant chafing of time. Your name is not a texture. But if it was, you wouldn't be like Craig, heavy and seamless as fresh cut stone. It would be like newly cut pine, soft and willing to bend, with a smell that welcomes everyone. Your name is not an odor. But if it was, it wouldn't be like Nathan, smelling like mold and something buried. It would be like fresh growth emerging from the ground towards the sun. Your name is not a light. But if it was, it wouldn't be like Darren, a flickering dusty lightbulb. It would be like a flashlight, cutting apart the dark because it's a road you've been down before, leaving everything soft and golden. Your name is not a color. But if it was, it wouldn't be a bright neon color like Serenity. It would be a softer hue, adding depth and value, while willing to be overlooked. Your name is
You live in hatred of your own hand's writing cursing it and shaming it - you've named it well Unruly and Terrible. Awful for short. You as you scrawl across the pages, I watch with careful art lined eyes. Because I see what you don't. I've beheld the act of you binding your B's, which are inclined to billow out of bounds. They seek the edges of your strokes, thirsting for the freedom that is Beyond. You try too hard to cage you C's which are too caring to stay where you contain them. They will forever careen across the chasms between your characters, seeking and sharing the comfort of Company. You're determined to dam up your D's, but they dance past divisions. I've seen their dynamic natures - driving them on, they're too Daring to die as they are. You expend energy ensnaring your E's, which are too energetic to stay entangled for long. You ought to be told they're explorers by nature, wanting always to exist in that blank white space. You're frequently fixing down your
The smell of parchment swirls slowly through the air, drifting down sunbeams among the dust of long kept secrets Secrets creeping 'tween the shelves, careful, cautious, the silence - screaming stretching straining to hide softest whispers, too long looks. Penned in open, or inked in secret. Wrapped in binding of every hue, left behind words, long lost breath Ancient letters, swollen scrolls Tales of adventures that slink between the margins. Secrets are kept closed and saved between the pages But the smell of you - open just a crack
If a carver does not carve
is he a carver still?
When wood chips flex beneath his skin,
and sawdust fills his soul?
Tell me please, my heart must know.
If a writer does not write,
is she a writer still?
When letters are carved among her bones
And ink flows through her veins?
Let me tell you, for my whole self knows,
Identity comes from hearts, not hands.
Ripple Effect - Quote by Crystal-Magic13, literature
Literature
Ripple Effect - Quote
When a small stone is thrown into a still pond, it sends rings of ripples outward,
touching the very edges of the pond -even to places never seen by the stone that was thrown.
The ripples return, sending echos back to the same place where the stone fell.
After a time the ripples calm, and the surface of the pond is once again still -
yet it is never the same.
However small the change may seem, the small stone now rests on the bottom of the pond
and is part of it - the pond will never be the same again.
she does this thing with her voice where she
opens her mouth
and what comes out isn’t so much sound
isn’t so much words
as it is
heartrending
heartache
heartsick
heartsong
straight to my soul.
her voice vibrates my bones like
bass,
like brass booming,
like heartthrob lovesick
heartbeat
brilliance
her voice swoons me
her voice wounds me
her voice loves me, drugs me,
kills me
I want her voice
in my head in my heart in my soul,
in the very ridges of my fingerprints
until I am so full of her that when I open my own mouth
my own voice can do nothing
but sing back…
sing her my heartstringbroken heart,
and hope
Love is
random kisses
and washing the dishes
even when it's not your job.
Love is
a tiny hand
that grips so tight
it pulls at all your heartstrings
and makes its self a little nest
safe within your arms.
Love is
telling a friend when they're making a mistake
and even when they hate you
you watch them from the shadows
so that you'll still be there for them,
to catch them when they fall.
Love is
second chances,
giving time and sharing knowledge
to restore Dignity and Hope
to that girl on the corner.
Love is
risking your all
to save that which isn't yours
nor ever will be,
or dying
so that what you love might live.
Lo
Never will you completely understand,
That when I hug you it's more than just holding you close.
It's nothing like how I would hug a friend,
Or even the same as a family member or favorite pet.
It's something entirely different that only happens when I'm with you.
It's a hug that only our bodies are familiar with,
A feeling that makes me never want to let you go.
Never will you completely understand,
That when I say you are handsome it means more than just you look stunning today.
It doesn't mean I like the pants you are wearing,
Or that I never get tired of the smell of your cologne.
Yes, I happen to notice those things but when I
"Because you meant what you said when you said you would never leave."
I think for a second, and decide that's true.
whether in a gentle hug from the wind
or a sweet kiss from the rain.
You never leave us as long as we live.
"So what than? What about when out lives end?"
"That's when I take you with me."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
I turned and ran, fighting tears all the way.
"If you're real, stop me.
Stop me please.
If you can do anything, Why won't you stop me?"
'Because if I stopped you, it would claim your free will.
And it would steal from you the joy of when you come back.
Besides, you cannot run from me,
I have developmental congenital prosopamnesia Height: 5'8" Eye color: blue or green Hair: Dark brown Birthday: September 1st Current Residence: IL, United states Sexuality: Demisexual; sapiosexual; Favorite genre of music: Celtic or Contemporary Christian Favorite style of art: Poetry, digital, or hand sketched Shell of choice: Star Limpet seashells Note to self: finding a cool quote and writing it in your journal is not a substitute for Getting. It. Done.
How foolish it is to call some things godsends. As though there was anything else.
God loves you more in a moment than anyone else could in a lifetime.
My life revolves around God, not guys. God will always be the only guy I would ever be willing to give up everything for.
The more broken you are, the more the light gets though.
Favourite Movies
How to Train your Dragon; Lord of the Rings; the Hobbit;
Favourite TV Shows
How to Train your Dragon, Riders of Berk; BBC Sherlock; Xena
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Loreena McKennitt; Owl City; Mumford and Sons;
Favourite Books
Rowan Hood; Ranger's Apprentice; Valdemar
Favourite Writers
:iconblackoutpoet: :iconuntamedunwanted:
Favourite Games
Dark Cloud 2; Super Mario world; Zelda, link to the past;