|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The things in lifeSing a song about life,
Or of the power to fight,
But not mercilessly.
Give me strength to succeed,
But make me kind as can be,
In this world that I see,
With my own eyes.
Dance a dance about love,
A sweet melody of,
Or a fire step sing-
-ing with a burning tongue.
Give me hope to believe,
But make it realistically,
In this world that I feel,
With my own heart.
Paint my life today,
And we'll see what we get,
Just a hint of regret,
But a life well spent.
See the things you create,
In these beautiful shades,
In a life that I need,
To be a part of.
LovesickShe was sitting on a brown leather chair, homework in one hand, pencil in another. A glass of water sat in the cup holder that was within arm's reach. Every few seconds, she'd look up at the clock that was on the opposite wall.
Where was he?
He said he would come in the afternoon. After he had visited a friend's, apparently.
Her mother wasn't home, and the girl knew that she couldn't cook for the life of her, and didn't have the means to go shopping, so she was impatiently waiting for him to come back- if only to feed her with the food he promised he'd bring. To alleviate the hunger pangs she'd been having.
But she knew that it was much more than that. And she knew that the hurt she felt wasn't from the hunger.
She was desperate to meet him again. She couldn't wait any longer. The two were the best of friends, but she suspected that at least for her, it was a bit more. She tried to put the thoughts aside, but every time she reasoned that she w
ObsessionTheme no. 6- obsession.
It's a nice word, I guess.
Beautiful for prompt-writing material, that's for sure.
Because, really, who doesn't have obsessions?
There are those kinds of things in the world that you absolutely detest.
The ones you hate.
The ones you seriously couldn't care less about,
The ones you never think about.
The ones you like a little.
The ones you like a lot.
The ones you love,
The ones you absolutely adore.
Then, there are the ones, that, well.
There are the ones that slowly make its way into your head, taking over everything. The ones you start thinking about day and night, in your dreams, everywhere. The ones you can't help but get yourself drawn into, forgetting about things that you shouldn't be forgetting, instead focusing on that one thing that you absolutely, definitely must need. The ones where if you're reminded at all about that object, even if you only glance at it, you're sent into a state where all that matters is that one thing and you'll do
We're going that way.It was hard.
Hard to see in this place. Hard to breathe in it, too. Each day, it seemed as if the void would grow ever stronger, each day it seemed as if the memories of the world colored in light were just a dream. I try to remember the days I spent in that world, a world far beyond my reach. I can't even imagine it- all the memories seem to have faded.
It could barely be called an existence, we were both so hopeless, and we both were trapped. It was difficult knowing that we would be trapped in the darkness as long as they wanted us in it, but we survived. Barely. It was hard trying to survive day by day in this state, let alone really live. It wasn't a joyful place for any of us. We'd long forgotten how to function, how to be human- some had already forgotten what the word meant.
Life had lost its purpose, yet there was no way to die. Not in this mirrored realm, this place where you could hold your breath forever, yet not suffocate; scream y
Black and white"Hey, hey, Kiraaaaaa!"
The feminine voice stood out against the normal chatter of the room, causing me to lift my head up from my reading. A blonde, ponytailed girl in a plaid skirt and white blazer ran up to the my seat in the brightly-lit room.
Motivational posters were littered across the creamy colored walls, still as stone, contrary to the girl whose dark brown school bag swayed with each step she took. We didn't even need to wear fancy uniforms like hers, but this particular student loved wearing them.
Actually, she was pretty much the only one who even liked them.
"...yes?" I asked the charging girl, raising an eyebrow and motioning with my right hand to sign
Frustration"Okay, class, write down the color and texture of the four objects, then find the density of the objects. And please, don't scrape the wax off of the wax block."
This would have been an acceptable assignment in 3rd grade. Or 4th. Or 5th. Heck, 6th was pushing it, but if we were using interesting objects, it'd be fine with me and at least it'd be curriculum-related and we'd be learning something.
But this was 8th grade. 8th grade, in a high-capability class, the year with a huge standardized science test at the end of it and we were finding the texture of acrylic and candle wax, or something.
Because this was new stuff and we needed to spend a week figuring this out. Uh-huh. Oh no, I don't know how to find the texture of this object! Oh dear, I can't see the colors of this and I'm not colorblind!
Just, no. No.
And the worst thing about it was that the teacher gave us things that we didn't even know the names of but were obviously commonplace and not really academic a
UnbreakableTheme number 5: unbreakable.
I used to think I was that. All high and mighty, you know. Back when I was unbreakable, I thought that I could go through life as I would a superhero, soaring through its difficulties and smashing through its obstacles.
I thought that I could save myself and anyone else, even at gunpoint, in my little fantasies where I was the hero.
Not really. Not anymore.
Not after I've been crushed by paranoia, strangled by fear, and if you needed a physical thing, then almost killed by a seat belt.
No, really. A seat belt. Well, a seat belt smashing into my liver at more than 50 miles an hour, but a seat belt nonetheless.
I'm pretty breakable now.
Reaching for an eraser, I sighed to myself as I reread the words I had just written. Was I in a writing funk or what? Themes that don't make sense, themes that are seriously depressing- like, really?
I'd better step it up some.
Taking the paper and crumpling it, I started on a new sheet.
Hopefully I wouldn'
This couldn't be happening,
They couldn't make me.
They didn't understand.
I was never the performing type.
Well, perhaps a bit when I was younger, but I didn't know anything back then.
Nowadays, I prefer sitting in the shadows, watching other people shine.
Looking from the shadows is fine with me.
It may hurt to be alone, with nobody to lean on, because the panic attacks that come more frequently now, that wreck my mind and create delusions that send me silently screaming for help and clawing at my head are forced shut in my head, because there's nobody whom I can trust enough to talk to.
Yes, it does hurt.
But having to preform, to even simply be in a person's presence scares me even more.
Because I always get a feeling that I must meet their needs.
I must please them, in some way or another.
But I don't know how.
And as you can imagine, it's very nerve-wracking.
To have a problem and not know how to fix it.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More