|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Georgia"Life ain't meant for the slow..." Georgia shouted as she bolted off down the street.
It was always hard to get a read on her. Named loosely after her grandfather - they had all wanted a "George" but the double X thing worked out - she wasn't quite what they expected. As a family, they had grow up pretty close to home, both in spirit and in behavior. But Georgia, somewhere in her teenage, growing up years, sprouted some curiosity. She began to question everything more than we thought she would. No harm in that, except when it got on the nerves.
But, Georgia, well, she took the spirit of George, I guess. Tall and sturdy, she had just enough meat on her bones to call her fit. And if one ever thought she crossed the line, well, they just needed to see her in action. Always running in some tanned shorts, riding just about mid-thigh. Legs and calves taunt from the constant chase of an idea. Her mind moved as fast as her feet, hardly keeping up in those run-down tennis. But she loved the com
Mr. WhiskersMr. Whiskers was a tired old man. He sat inside his lonely apartment staring at the blank, slightly graying walls. Most of the pictures held smiles of family members long gone. No one loved him anymore. No one wanted his wisdom – which bounded like stumbling rocks and sounded just as clear. He hadn't truly talked to anyone since the funeral of his wife's passing. He had gargled thanks to the neighbors and their few remaining friends. He hadn't wanted his son to stop by. They hadn't spoken in over ten years. His mother only at Christmas, and then she'd be the one to call. Mr. Whiskers doubted his son's interest in them.
Now, he was all alone. Left to discover a game of Mahjong installed on his computer. As he matched tablets on the game he thought of his life, whether he should continue it without her. After all, she was the reason to get out of bed in the morning. She sprung to life so easily. Did a million things in the house while he stumbled to get his coffee. And right as he
Leaden HeartDays go by as I wonder where this feeling comes from. I say it is like lead, but the feeling grows more complex than that. I feel these dark anchors latched to my heart - casual but stern. They have a solid hold over me and they want to pull me down. I feel every link of their chains tugging deeper into a void I may never find, disappearing into a darkness I may never understand.
Sometimes, their grip is loose, or weak. My heart rises above the void, buoying up too high. It gets caught against the walls of my throat - too big to rise up; too desperate to sink back down. Sometimes my body amazes me in that I never seem to choke on the vital organ.
And then there are times when I am blessed. My heart has slowed it's fight and grows patient. It beats and, although it fights to keep me alive, the struggle isn't so hard. It doesn't thump against my chest for the world to see. All this time, I thought my body was too small, my skin too thin and thus my heart overexposed. Now I understand. My
Growing UpIt's funny, growing up. One minute we're like these little people. Wanting to be heroes, or explorers. Wanting to be the first. The first female president or the youngest superstar. We draw out our dreams - first, in pencil, then in crayons. Then, we write out our hopes, our goals. Nothing could stop us. The road ahead is clear and bright. Maybe we'll cross a few pebbles, hit a pothole or two. Nothing big. Nothing earth-shattering.
Before we know it, we've graduated. We made it. The hard, stupid part is over. Or, at least, we thought. But then, a snag. School. College. We must continue to learn our desired profession. How mixtures work. How rules are made and followed. What's implied. When to interpret. Our minds gather info and implode with knowledge. They never taught us that in High School! Some things we find great, others tedious. But, that's the price we pay to follow our dreams, right?
Wrong! Because school costs money. And, mommy and daddy can't help anymore. So we go out to th
Drowning in DoubtDrowning in a whirlpool,
My faith in you grows stale.
I struggle to understand
as I sink deeper
I fought in earnest.
but was never heard.
I find myself
Gasping for air.
If the battle was worth it.
Empty WordsAt night, sometimes, I want to cry. I want to spill into tears. Why am I never good enough? But, you are. You are, you always seem to say. But then you turn your back on me as if words were enough. For a while I thought maybe I was the fool. Maybe I just need to open my eyes. See myself through you. And now I realize the value. I am not worth a dime, or even a penny. I'm not worth your time, your patience. All I wanted was your love. But I guess the price was just too high...
Cross RoadsI'm at a cross-roads in life. To love him is to forgive him. But I'm not too sure I can do that right now. Because I feel my heart is broken. There is a hole inside that I can't mend. And though, at first, I wanted to try, to be patient and forgive, I'm finding the opportunity flickering away. Anger eating away at my peace of mind, like a virus. And, once infected, it can never be removed. It is buried deep inside, and even when you provide the vaccine, it will have already been too late. Because even if the vaccine cures the ailment, it will only strike up again, stronger, more resilient.
So what is the cure to my demise?
Do I remove you from my life, and therefore remove all doubt? Or, do I stick it out and hope for the best? Even knowing that these feelings grow stronger in doubt, in the times between troubled rows.
Perhaps picking one path will lead me to return to these very same crossroads. But, how am I to know which one will lead ahead and which one will lead back to?
It is onl
Tangled in the Yarn of HeartsThe way of the heart is not an easy path. Many times we struggle to find our soulmate. Struggle with the yarn of hearts. But once we unlock its secrets, once we figure out this mess, we find our ribbon. Deep inside, we know we are connected. And, with the help of Destiny, we find our partner.
Sometimes the path is long and winding. It grows dark and muddled, and if our hands weren't tracing the string, we would surly lose the way. But it is there, always just ahead of us.
Some hold Fortune's kiss and find the other end early. Others struggle and end up searching a lifetime for someone seemingly beyond reach. But everyone is meant to be held by another. Meant to be loved and, in return, give affection.
We all were not meant to be alone. Even if we were to believe ourselves miserable, it is the simple things that mean the most. The softest smile. The kindness of a stranger's eyes. Or even the smallest embrace of the most insignificant person.
Tangled can be our lives, but alone we are no
The P in Pnuemonia is SilentStruggling to wake, struggling to breathe. I can only envision Grimm's dismal grip upon my throat. A clammy, icy touch, reminiscent of Winter's last stand. Bones against chalkboard, moisture perspiring against the hollow tubes that should represent my lungs. Instead they are pipes laden with poisons, sent to make the human contraption break down both physically and mentally. There is no release, no patience, in the time it takes to exhale. Only miserable clusters of oxygen tapering with the humidity of hydrogen, rattling against the pipes that connect to the rest of my form. Reminding me with each breath "I am only human", and yet I am made to break down. I hate the struggle. Knowing my lungs gape out like a fish, piddling itself against the rigid floor. Worse than a fish. I have to cough to remind myself of my limits. To remind myself I cannot escape this. Even if I were to lie down to rest, I find no comfort. Only knowing that I would drown all the faster because shallow lungs fill u
Life is not a choiceLife is not a choice.
We don't choose whom we are born from,
Or when we must leave.
No one requests birth.
If you saw the world before
You came, would you come?
Its end is not yours.
If your mom didn't want you,
The end is your start.
If life gets cut off,
It's called an accident so
no one can claim why.
And when your life ends,
You don't decide the moment,
Because it's old age.
So life's not a choice.
No, the only choice you have
Is how you live it.
Solo Tea PartyRicher than pure gold.
Sweeter than any sugar.
Thank you for this peace.
It brewed perfectly.
Its taste is so clean and pure.
Such an honest drink.
If I treat it right,
it will never betray me,
or turn bitter gall.
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More