|My boyfriend is the sweetest man alive. What God has joined together, let no man break apart.|
Thread the NeedleI ripped my heart wide open three days early.Thread the Needle by sceneecupcake
If I could mend the void I created I would.
Needle and thread for the soul—this is
The remedy I yearn for.
Three days into twenty they asked me, “What’s wrong?”
Am I transparent as glass?
Can you read off the pages?
Five days past nineteen, I have given up.
Not eating, not sleeping, and empty of love.
Had I just held on three whole days till I met him, then everything would be different.
Smudging the Looking Glass.I love kissing you with glasses onSmudging the Looking Glass. by sceneecupcake
Cause then you're all I see.
Thanks for visiting my dA profile! I'm an average young woman in a relationship with Jesus Christ. I'm saved by grace, not by good works. |
I dabble in art, photography and writing, and I sing and play guitar for the Lord. I have an amazing boyfriend, G, whom I cherish and love dearly. I am adopted. I am a Disney and BBC fanatic. Hmm... what else? Some of my other hobbies include listening to Relient K or the Beatles, solving Rubik's cubes, drinking tea, and procrastinating.
Please notice: all artwork on this page, unless otherwise clearly specified, belongs to me. Please do not claim any of this as your own.
Forgive This Grief (Miscarriage)My arms are weighted with her space,camelopardalisinblue
a heaviness that won't compare--
her toes, her smile, her tiny face,
and the imagined white-blonde hair;
forgive this mother's grief for stolen dreams
and let alone these tears that stream.
Forgive this mother's grief,
forgive this mother's grief,
remember things aren't always what they seem.
I know it's wrong to yearn for them,
but those moments when you despair
would give to me what was unsent--
a life of burdens I wish I could wear.
Forgive this jealous heart that wants to share
the grumpy shouts, the unmade beds you bear.
Forgive this jealous heart,
forgive this jealous heart,
remember it's 'bout her, my sweet butterfly of air.
This heart still aches for my baby's weight,
and the screaming absence of her cry
opens anew an unhealed space
where all that lives is the question-- "why?"
Let this heart heal as we grow old
and if an outburst leaves you cold,
let this heart heal.
Let this heart heal,
butterfly babies are heavy to hold.
The Loneliest SeptemberFragile one, my beautiful childParalyticProcess
it is okay to cry.
I will take your tiny body
my well-wishing the cement
to hold your splintered bones together.
I will brush your hair with my fingers
and wash your porcelain face with soft regrets
a small change from wallowing in ashen marrow
up to your pretty little eyes.
And maybe when all is said and done, little one
when your fingers are tangled in my hair
when they have washed my alabaster face
I’ll feel comfortable enough
RocketI used to spend Wednesdays with Team Rocket,zetsueatface
A happy hour in a normal day
With all the kids that could take the hits
Just for choosing their own ways.
What happened to that group of fighters?
I'm damn sure they didn't dare retire
Because being so open made them tired,
Or worse, better not have got fired.
I trusted these people with my life
And I still would today if I could find
The president I drove insane,
Misunderstanding with my brain.
I battled and lost, they're gone;
People here have little brawn,
Even less gentle instincts,
Guess I'll just have a drink.
I'm a kid, not a child.When I was eight I wore blue jeans,zetsueatface
Coupled with a polo, torn at the seams.
It didn't fit quite right and now I know
That you raised me without my flow.
The only things that mattered to you
Were nonviolence and fancy suits,
Transforming a boy into a man
That needed much of what you banned.
When I was ten I knew my neighbors
And they taught me some manners,
Showed me that freedom could help
And gave me power over myself.
We dug our holes together
Using them for dusty shelter,
Leaving beautiful pockmarks in the yard
That you only saw as trading cards.
When I was twelve I was a laughing stock,
Dirty clothes wrapped in a smock,
Experiencing the science and the art
That was undervalued on your part.
I formed opinions in my mind,
Structures built over lengths of time
But you measure smarts in years
And only know what you want to hear.
When I was fourteen I had enough
Of being picked on through the rough
Days of school, bored at home
Sitting in my dark room alone.
Green day posters on the wal
BabydollPropping my daughter against the towel on my shoulder, I rhythmically pat her back. Nevaeh's just had her second bottle of the day, and try as I might, I still can't get her to burp. Today is no different, and in the end I give up, wipe her small round mouth, and pop her in the bouncer for a while. It's the electric kind, with a soft lullaby and swinging motion, so I know she'll be entertained while I get on with the mountain of washing that needs to be folded.camelopardalisinblue
You wouldn't think just two people could make so much washing, but ever since her dad had left me, it seemed like the washing pile had grown larger instead of smaller. Despite the lullaby, I make conversation with her as I fold - it seems to me that it's the best way to develop her speech, for her to hear it. She's such a good, quiet baby, I often wonder how long until she starts making more noise.
By the time I've reduced "mount fold-me" to a mere foothill, she's asleep, so I leave her in the bouncer and dash out to check the m
quake (transitions)To the city made of shaky ground,Lissomer
It's been three years, nine months and thirteen days since you first cracked irrevocably. September 4th, 2010, 4:35am. We lived just a block shy of industry back then, in a suburb which was just as like to invite you in for fried food and a beer as it was to offer you marijuana in the park. We lived just a block shy of industry back then, so when I was awoken before dawn by our shuddering home, it didn’t seem like such a strange thing. But the shuddering intensified into spasms and it didn’t stop, it didn’t stop and suddenly my father was in the doorway and where am I supposed to go in an earthquake? All I can remember is “stop, drop, and roll” from primary school, and some clever corner of me is aware that I’m babbling, that I need to concentrate; then, the earthquake subsides. The power’s out, the candles are lit, and the (battery powered) radio is already speaking statistics, projections, and ad
The Cartographer's DaughterEvery night, he would fold her into his arms before she slept. Creases grew into her, turning brown with wear, and she loved them. When she woke up in the night, dreaming of darkness, he would take her to his desk and draw for her a map of her face, turning it into another world. Tracing the contours of her smile, he would scrawl a warning, "Here be monsters", whispering to her that she was a dragon when angry.ClioStorm
As she grew older, she populated his maps with creatures and peoples from the books she read, or her own creations. He taught her to draw, and to write with an old inkpen, in a cursive script her teacher could make neither head nor tail of. She made him angry once, drawing in the drying sand with her finger, and smudging the ink. When he was angry, mountain ranges grew across his forehead and caverns opened in his cheeks. Here be lions.
Walking home from school, she knew the local area inside out; from the maps he had drawn and taught her. He would copy them onto o
TeatimeIn January, Elsa got new neighbors. She greeted them with apple cinnamon tea.anapests-and-ink
It gets so cold, here, they told her, shivering in overstuffed parkas. Snow had turned to mud in their front hallan unavoidable side-effect of moving in winter. Elsa nodded along to their complaints and observations, silently brewing the tea in their kitchen. They were young; they had big plans. Allison and Steve, newlyweds, just starting out. They sat on the cold floor together, sipping with chapped lips. The house filled with cinnamon.
In April, Allison knocked on Elsa's door. We're pregnant! White tea in a china teacup; the taste of flower petals and champagne. The last caffeine for the next eight months. Elsa let her keep the cup.
In May, Steve bought a carseat and a crib. Elsa helped him carry it inside. Flat-packed, but heavy. Sturd