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Grandpa Was a Master ButcherIt's good you were a certified master butcher, wasn't it grandpa?
Thus I know you must have died as painlessly as possible,
when ramming this knife into your own heart.
Besides butchering beings properly,
you had learned
how painful dying of sickness is.
Grandma was the perfect example.
didn't you also learn
how painful it is to be left behind?
The death-pale face of my uncle's girlfriend showed how dire you looked when they found you.
When I returned to your house all that was left was this
Sure, everything was still there (along with the sturdy dirt in the corners that always refused to be scrubbed away). Every thing was so very familiar. The only thing missing was you.
But you weren't sleeping in your favourite chair and I knew.
Christmastime must have reminded you of how damn lonely you felt.
Happy Christmas to you and your loved ones, right grandpa?
And I kept asking
and I kept asking
ColourfulIn this world of black and white
my scanner detected:
You've got colours inside of you.
the red of a thousand hearts,
the suns yellow energy transferred
into an ocean wave of flowers
and the warm mild orange
of early mornings and late evenings
spent with friends.
AwakeningI tear apart the blankets
while leaping out of bed,
god, there's a new vision to hunt down.
You still sleep peacefully.
But lingering in dreams is not good enough,
we need to make them real!
They shall not be flushed down the drain
along with my hopes and my happiness.
I'll go after them, spiral downward, if I need to.
I need to wake up to my dreams, not my nightmares.
I have seen the golden door,
no boundaries will keep me.
I don't need no lamp,
thy word lights my path.
I don't need an exile,
I found paradise.
MultiplicityI am not left
to keep changing.
I am a landscape,
inviting you to get lost
in the details.
The thousand lives that carve my surface –
Can you feel them?
Can you see
the lingering lilac
is not my deepest colour?
Can you find
my innermost core
and grasp it
as just one
Animalistic BehaviourHumans inherit habits and traits
like animals pass on fur patterns.
tighter than fur, closer than skin,
just above the flesh marred with battle scars.
We judge each other by colours
– not every leopard is a panther –
and habitual fur is so difficult to strip.
Who can see
deeper than skin, past blinding patterns,
into the heart of the best possible version of our selves?
Which hands can pet hearts
instead of raw naked flesh?
colour our own fur,
change bad habits into ornaments
and recreate patterns as required,
not like chameleons that forgot their own true colour while adapting to peer pressure,
but like butterflies, becoming what we were meant to be from the beginning?
Restart Your SoulConnect your heart to your brain,
rewire your mind.
Adjust your settings:
Feelings – on
Violence – off
Thinking – active
Restart your soul.
Restarting optical devices.....
Fine tuning audio input.....
Removing preset filters on incoming data.....
Starting truth detectors in heart cells.....
Reconfiguring speakers to inhibit white noise.....
Turn off auto pilot?
Yes / No
Stop the robotic movements of your hands, you can do better.
3 inches taller than last week, and still growing.
So if I'm just gaining potential
to fall deeper,
why does it feel so good?
6 miles deeper than yesterday, and still counting.
But am I falling,
or just growing faster in depth?
Shattered PiecesYou are not whole,
unless you have been broken.
You are not real,
unless your bones can break.
You are not strong,
unless you are ready to break again.
Don't be afraid to shatter -
all our forms are just temporary.
creates the pieces
required for reconstruction.
[Shattering at the same problem twice is not a weakness,
just a hardening of steel in the fire.]
is feeling the sharp edges of your shattered self
and the wonder of becoming something new.
würdig der Anbetung.
Ich wage nicht, dir dieses Wort zu schenken,
das dich einem Gott gleichstellte.
Denn nur Gott ist gottgleich.
Nein, Gott soll dir nicht ob meines Geschenkes zürnen,
er soll seinen mächtigen Hände zum Schutz über dir halten,
auch wenn Du sie nicht sehen kannst.
Er soll dich segnen für das was Du wirklich bist:
der Liebe wert.
When Stars CollapseThis is how you bespeckled my bones
with bewilderment: you kissed hushed heart
whispers and slumbering secrets
into my fingertips. You infused awe
into my joints, causing me
to ask how snowflakes got their
shape and how long would it take
to get from the Sun to Capella.
You taught me that energy is neither
created or destroyed; stars do not die.
Eyes washed with emerald sorrows you
told me that they evolve, they change
into something entirely different,
or not so different.
I now know we are made of the same
particles as someone or something else.
We began someplace together.
We're made of so much more than "star-stuff",
we are made of each other.
In a world with no mercy
Day after day
Until the end
The day I die
And then maybe
I'll find some peace
The Breaths Between Usi'm minutes away
from the collision site
the breaths between us
and the lost time
clock guts, sprung
our hallway uncoils
his walnut lean
i'm seconds away
from the before
of our near-miss
the beads of air
and the imperfections of
in a rumored heart
a stuttering mass
this broken belled
has lost hold
of the lives we live
its skullsong rings
the same vibration
I am me. Who are you?I am fragments
of every person
I've met; every
memory made; every
bond formed and tie broken.
I am an orchestra
of people's opinions;
each snide comment
each casual remark
each passing compliment
I am a library
of forgotten lies
and fake smiles
and empty promises.
I am a sky of hope;
filled with stars
which carry the wishes
of the people I have encountered
I am never alone
for their influence will forever
taint my soul and
remind me of their hopes,
dreams and pain.
This is who I am.
Who are you?
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
on remembering to breathe:i.
you can't hold it in for forever.
your lungs weren't
made to bear the weight
of this world, they weren't made
to left unexpanded
and unexplained -
it is not phenomenon that wakes you
when paralysis hits in the
night, it is physiology telling you that
not everything happens on automatic, okay?
(at least not for always)
you're born like a time bomb, with
only so many beats of
your heart in place to tick away day by day -
your words, they're the same.
there's a time limit
on your tongue, so say something that
means something - use words
that dig in and rip out hearts, use words that
curl around your fingers and worm their
way into your soul.
use words to make something
beautiful. something remembered.
never leave three things
left unsaid because they can be three
words that mean everything -
i'm not telling you to save your breath.
i'm begging you not to waste it.
sing. sing enough to take your breath
away because even though
it leaves you gasping, it fills up that
Lioness WingsAs I grew sick and lay down,
you thought I was weak and would perish.
Don't you know it drains strength
to grow wings?
Now I am stronger than ever,
and betraying me is futile,
as I have seen you at your worst.
I could hunt you with predators speed,
and crush you with my teeth,
but there's no need to.
The thundering storm of truth,
evoked by my wings, will do.
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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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