[x]

Construction Paper HeartIn all my life, there are many things my brothers taught me. Very few of them were taken seriously, and I can only remember a handful.

And so, rule number four was as follows: If you're ever on your first date with a guy in a restaurant and your date orders a lemon margarita, dump him. Immediately. Just end it right there.

Rule number six was to never, ever feed a stray cat tuna, for then, they will become tuna junkies.

Yes, I know, they're both very important life lessons; I agree. However, there's a deeper meaning in both of them. ...Well, alright, maybe there isn't.

But they did teach me this, and it's more than enough to make it throu

I am a womanI am not an object.

You cannot use me.

I was not made simply for your pleasure.
I am not a pretty picture to be used and thrown away.

I have a heart, feelings, dreams….

I have a purpose here.

I am a human being, a person like you.

And it hurts me when you treat me as less than human.

It hurts me when I become less than a whole,

And just the sum of my parts.

It hurts me when I become just something to please you.

It hurts me when you strip away my humanity,

My clothes,

My purity.

Even if just with your eyes and mind.

You cannot stare at me in longing.

You cannot undress me with your eyes.

You cannot force me to kiss you.

You cannot grope me as you see fit.

You cannot take advantage of me.

You cannot have your way with me.

I am not to be dominated.

I am not to be violated.

When I say no, I do NOT mean yes.

When I te

FeathersI don’t really know how to start this. My memoirs drape over my head like a million wings at times like these and I can’t help but notice every feather and lose myself in counting them. The one that is the gravel road I grew up walking on is grayish brown, the one that is the burnt pumpkin wood that coats my house is frayed and holds a single box elder bug on its tip, and the one that is how the lawn feels between my toes when I stand still is chartreuse and glimmers if you turn it toward the light. There are no birds that hold these wings. Just a single cherub, watching over me with unblinking legions of eyes at God’s bidd

Something in commonIs it weird that I've never written about me? That I've never poured my heart and soul into something and hoped whoever read it would pick me apart but still remember to put me back together again? Maybe we're all just watches, ticking away - tick, tick, tick - and maybe that's why I don't really like people. Maybe I'm tuned in to that underlying sound of them fading away. It’s not like you can pick up another battery when you’re shopping, is it, and why would I want to get close to someone and end up counting seconds until they left again?

My mum has this watch. She’s had it for years, as long as I can remember and somehow

Things About Me 1Well. Let me start off by saying this is just a list explaining a few things plus some random shit about me.

I don't like ignoring people. I do read everything someone sends me, but I honestly feel uncomfortable talking to people sometimes. I would love to but it's like...Like I feel like somewhere along the lines I'll seriously piss off someone on accident or make them hate me because of my opinions. I dunno.

I have no confidence in myself at all. Usually people think I say "I'm fat" or "I wish I was beautiful" for attention. But it's not. I honestly feel that way. I think I'm hideous.

I want to be a writer but I feel like my writing is t

a thought on loveif only love was an option.

R-P-A-C BIO SHEETRPAC Bio Sheet

*dA name:* LUVthatSTUFF
*dA home page: http://luvthatstuff.deviantart.com/
*Real name: Just ask if you really wantto know

*Nicknames: Judge,Blood,Nagi,Clue,Spell ( depends on who you want to role-play with ) Or if you want me to role-play as myslf L-kun or Onion-kun will do
*Public email to contact: thatSTUFFLuv@yahoo.com
*Yahoo Messenger ID: thatSTUFFLuv@yahoo.com
*MSN: Can't use on my Mac, Buyt will use if needed
*AIM: Can't use on my Mac, But will use if needed
*Skype: Can't use on my Mac, But will use if needed
*ICQ: Don't know what that is...
*Best time to contact you? Throughout the week,Pretty much as ealy or as late as you want,though will tell you if otherwise
*Preferred RP method: I 'm an adapter, I will try what ever. Love new things~
Even Action and Adenture or more serious type things~
*Vore preferences / Pregnan

WatchersFake journal n° fhsgfasgasfasjgahhjf

I'll stick with that random number thing, yeh -u-
Maybe no one gives a frog but...

I felt like...

Saying...

That I'm gaining a lot of watchers lately ;A; ...

And...

I LOVE YOU ALL >w<

No I'm not on drugs, just I'm on a good mood today -u-

Procrastination High-pitched ringing chimed from a cell phone vibrating on an intricately carved wooden chair. With a muffled groan, a pale hand lazily slapped at it in a poor attempt to shut it off. Such attempts were obviously unsuccessful, and the pale hand retracted to the nearby bed. In one slow, shaky movement, the pale arm and its twin hoisted up a frazzled girl with a mess of dark hair hiding her face. She slid off the bedside and picked up her phone, shut it off, and sat back on the mattress.
“Maow…” whispered an orange fluff of fur at the foot of her bed. It raised its head and yawned as it blinked groggily at its owner

What They Do Not Tell You....What They Do Not Tell You About Being Color Blind

… is that over the course of your life you will be asked to identify the color of all manor of things, over and over.
What they don’t tell you is the disbelief that comes when you are able to correctly identify the color of said objects.
“So you’re color blind?”
“Yup”
“What color is my shirt?”
“Green”
“You’re not color blind!”
“It doesn’t work like that, I can see colors. It’s combinations, and tones and shades and stuff. Have you taken a color blindness test before?”
“No...

Symposium and Phaedrus

Old French postcards. So risqué for the day. Yet, more intimate than a lot of the nudity that is dished-up today. Nudity will never be as sexy as being naked. Just baring your flesh, does not leave you naked. Leaving the door to your soul ajar, does.

I've always thought it would be fun to do some modern-day French postcards with a twist. The twist being to express all the many ways everyone in the world thinks about love.

And, sex.

I've given this a lot of thought and, honestly, I think that sexual attraction is far deeper than the flesh. It is a profound need for contact. And, while the passage from desire to experience is a complicated f

HejterzyCzemu sie odwracacie??
Czemu mnie oczerniacie??
Czemu nie odpowiadacie??
Czemu mnie obrażacie??
Kto Wam to wszystko gada,
że odezwać chce się nawet lada??
O czym te wszystkie plotki,
o których gadają nawet lotki??
Po co te wszystkie kłamstwa
i ta cała obudowa chamska??
To naprawdę niepotrzebna,
aby mieć zachowanie chwalebne.
Uwierzcie mi na słowo,
to nie jest już oldskulowo.
Szanujcie mnie, proszę,
właśnie do Was się odnoszę,
moi drodzy hejterzy,
pewnie ciężar na Was leży.
@Bookleade 18.05.2013

Confessions by a Soldier's Sister"There’s just something about a man in a uniform."
Is there now? What is it about a man in a uniform? How does a simple uniform change a person? Why not say there’s something about a man in a fedora? But that’s just me. The truth is, as cliché and ambiguous as the phrase is, it’s also so darn true. There is something about a man in a uniform. On Friday night, for me, it was a slap in the face.
I don’t dislike men in uniform. I think a uniform makes a man look respectable and well put together. I come from a family of men in uniform. They are proud, strong, and dependable. I love men in uniform. So of all people,

My love of Martial arts: by DMy love of Martial arts: by David C West.
My name is David C West I am originally from Chicago. I move to Des Moines over 5 or more years ago. I live here with friends and work at the store up the street (Hy Vee). I have love of Martial Arts of all kinds no matter style. My love of the martial art stems from my love of comic book and the Kung fu flicks. In the marvel comic world there was/is Shang Chi “master of kung fu” So skilled was the he would fight foes with super power and/or power armor. There was/is Iron Fist, able focus his chi in to a devastating strikes. Then in DC comics’ there was Karate kid, known for be

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad DayYesterday morning, I had a stuffy nose, but Claritin D doesn't work so my mom went to CVS and bought just Sudafed pills. In case you don't know, Sudafed is an ingredient used in the making of methamphetamine, so it causes a powerful emotional stimulation, and (I learned this later) if you have depression, it causes bad anxiety and panic attacks. I took the pill around 11 AM, hoping it would clear my nose out: it did, but not without a price. At 1:00, I met my friend John at the mall and we walked around for a little bit because he wanted to buy a pair of shorts. He likes to wear girl's shorts when he's home alone after school because he finds

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dysphoria7. my lungs are collapsing inwards and fragments of my ribs are embedding themselves inside my swollen flesh.

-

6. there is my lopsided breathing and my crooked smile.

-

5. there are the blooms that cover my body- ashaming and unnerving.

-

4. anastasha is the very air i breathe, and in my coughing fits i contaminate her.

she is a woman whose body subtly moved me- my soul is buried somewhere within her trembling chest- my name is lying unspoken upon her tongue [her lips].

if i were to describe her in a word- it would be the gesture of her hands which so lovingly [unknowingly] caressed my collarbones.

-

3. she is ripping apart the ros

the bare bones of bulimiathe day i turned eleven was the day i fell in love with my bones.

-

i am fourteen now, and my innocent soul has ripened and festered until i was thrown in the wastebasket with all of life's other leftovers.

-

i hate how my skin keeps me from seeing my fragile skeleton.
i hate that my bones are obscured by blue-pink skin and delicately knotted flesh.
i hate how slowly the world turns and i wish i could pull it faster- make it move quicker.

-

a wise person once told me not to dwell on the bad things in life- that it messes with the future, and the future is too beautiful to mess with.

-

i never really listen to wise people.

-

i am e

being with the a folk

you told me-
"i want you to be happy."
you told me-
"you are everything i could want."

-

you speak to me more and more. your words are comforting and constant, made of a patchwork of clouds and stars- reflecting into my eyes as i see you for the person you really are.

-

you listen.

-

inside i am wondering how trees figure out where to place their branches, and their broad, strong roots. i am deciding what to do with myself, and i cannot even pierce the soil. you want me to be happy, but i do not know if i am capable of happiness. not after years of torture- of torment.

-

i am sitting at my dining room table and the cold linoleum fl

the god that was never there

i watched a man speak once. he told of the stars, planets, and people- and how they all came to being. some people say a picture is worth a thousand words, but no one ever gives the worth of words that create images. he created images of blackness- of a non-existent identity.
he told me about the birth and made very clear that it was the only beginning that ever really existed. he said, "the creation of something is the start- and nothing happens before the start. there is no god to shoot a gun or shout, 'go'". there was no time- and time is really the only living thing to this very day.

my head collapses inwards- my eyes explode with small

trusting fate

~

i am pulsing. my brain is filling with electricity- a blown fuse has been replaced. all the sudden, i see you again. i see you laughing, so far away and yet so close. your face has a way of lighting up like you've always known about him- that man you said you'd find. and inside i am dying, but something sad has a way of holding on.

yet here you are, and i am dying again. a few words written, a thank you, a description of something buried deep inside- the last wisps of snowflakes and shards of ice are churning, desperately keeping in motion, trying to survive.

you have a way with words. you speak in tongues that are both enchanting and un

running over flying

i find you with my hands-
it doesn't take long,
for you have always been in the same place,
and i,
not knowing that it is dark to everyone else as well,
reason that i am being watched.
you are worn on the edges,
dog eared and brittle.
you smell of cigarette smoke and peppermint.
i can trace along your spine and count every vertebrae-
each standing alert on the edge of your cover
nearly piercing the leather that consumes you.
i like to read through you sometimes,
tracing my fingers along the jagged patterns of your braille,
not even noticing that far too many pages were missing
for me to understand you.
i pretended that i,

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an honest letter.

by ~MadeleineArtist, Nov 22, 2012, 11:56:44 AM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Biography & Memoir / Stories & Vignettes

dear,

if i only had one minute left to live i would cry because you weren't here with me.

although, maybe i would just remember you and hope you had the best life possible. you deserve it, you know. you always try to boost my self-esteem, but you don't love yourself nearly as much as i think you should. i don't know, i just think you deserve to be happy- so fucking happy that it isn't even funny. what can i do that will make you content? even the most random thing, i'll do it.

you help me much more than you could imagine. even though i smoke and burn and cut and cry i always get through it, but if i didn't have you i might not be so lucky.

so, i guess what i'm trying to say is thank you for making my life worth living.

you're incredible.

love, me.