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jugendliche.i.) die Bekennende
Du bist meine Liebe, meine Engel in der Nacht.
Die Sonne scheint so hell fuer uns, du kuesst mich und sagt,
"Kannst du bitte halt mein Hand?"
Ich kuesse dich, weil ich weiss ich kann.
Ich hoffe, du weisst, du bist wirklich schoen.
Alles, ich kann sagen ist "ich brauche dich so gern."
Meine Liebe fuer dich ist sehr gross, ich bitte zu sein.
Immer Ihren Liebling, damit du mein sein.
ii.) die Sehnsucht
Sie ist so viel staerker als ich.
Sie leuchtet den Raum und ich fuehle mich
Als wuerde ich tiefer fallen in der Liebe.
Ich denke, das sind Liebhaber oder Taschendiebe?
Aber sie ist so anders, so perfekt und Art ist.
Es scheint, sie fühlt sich nicht Zwist.
Ich will nur ihre Hand zu Halten,
Aber das ist nicht etwas, was ich ganz einfach verwalten.
Sie hat eine andere, obwohl sie liebt mich mehr
Und ich weiss, ich liebe sie ebensosehr.
A Little Bit Like Crazy: Chapter 4.1chapter four
“is astrid your girlfriend?” keillan asked me unexpectedly at our breakfast. i nearly choked on my chocolate milk.
“what the heck, kiddo?” i tried to laugh but it just came out really uncomfortable sounding. “of course she isn’t.”
“well, was she?” his insight never ceased to amaze me. his eyes were large and intent, as if he’d thought about this for a long time.
“what even would make you think that, keillan?” i appeared composed. it was still way too soon for me to answer questions about astrid. “you’ve known me your whole life. that’s the most peculiar thing to ever come out of your mouth.” i was avoiding eye contact. keillan’s got this way of making you feel totally at ease with even the most uncomfortable of topics. i guess it’s a good trait to have.
“okay, you guys are always talking about
A Little Bit Like Crazy: Chapter 3.1Chapter Three
The only person that was at home when I arrived back was my sister Brinley, a spoiled fifteen-year-old with a penchant for making my life miserable. She was lying on the sofa Daisy Buchanan-style, sprawled lazily reading a fashion magazine.
“You’re home late,” she grumbled, not even having the decency to lift her eyes from the gossip column. “How was your drunken rave last night?” Her words were dripping with sarcasm, a smirk on her lips. She genuinely repulsed me.
“You didn’t,” I spat gruffly in her direction, wide-eyes full of anger. “You did not see anything.” I was terrified, not that she had seen, but that she had shown our parents.
“Au contraire, my dear sister,” she chuckled nonchalantly. “I especially liked the one of you smashing a beer bottle into Mrs. McCartney’s heirloom china vase.”
“Brin, you wouldn’t dare,
fresh.don't look at me.
every time you do i see her.
you look just like her, but
shorter thinner sweeter
younger. you are so much younger.
you're nowhere near as naive.
innocent is not in your expansive
vocabulary. your voice is both
agonizing and intoxicating.
we used to lie next to each
other, hold hands and harmonize.
you held me when i cried
and laughed at my cheesy jokes.
now you have gone. you don't
even speak to me, no choral context.
but you look at me. and you smile.
and you make me feel so fresh,
don't ever leave my side.
a memoir of a butterfly.her memory is like a dead mockingbird.
something so beautiful, but remnants
scatter in the wind, unable to
comprehend whether it was deserved
perishing or a mistake.
will you remember in twenty
years, or twenty months, twenty
goddamn seconds, or will she
fade like the fluttering feathers
of the bird shot down in anguish?
can you kiss yourself goodnight
because her butterflies will never
again land on your fleshy lips?
laugh to keep from crying, cry
to keep for being numb,
pretending her presence was
that of a ghost inside a dream.
cover your wrists in gauze and
guilt to prevent moral infection,
feign disinterest when she bites
her lips, don't crave to be the
one biting back, because you'll
only be chewing yourself out.
don't look directly at her, she
is a sapphic eclipse, tease
me with your sloping neck,
tease me with your impeccable
jawline, hazel eyes and
crooked nose, a sweet breathiness
achieved by her trembling,
raspy alto, how i want to
press my mouth to hers and utter
the cure for romantic epilepsy is you.lighthearted heartthrobs
leave me tenderhearted for
the moment, callously discarded
when the brokenhearted relapses
occur and my heartache is just
a simple subtraction amongst
the breakage and blood pumping.
can you heal me? can you heal you?
do you know how to divide me
into the good, the bad, and the
parts that get too clingy?
can you tell me what it is
that keeps you clinging?
your body is like a metronome,
and i just want to move
to your tempo, you envelope
me with your beautiful
lyricism and lips like a rose.
hands hold like roping soliloquies
of the what-ifs and what-nows,
they're clenching like we're
on a roller coaster and i just
want to hold on to you, if
i could kiss you would i be
considered lucky or a casualty?
i want to peruse the inky pages
of your loitered soul, picking
up the pieces because something
as beautiful as you doesn't
deserve to be littered.
all i want you to do is stand
near me, not even next to me,
because the glow of your glower
is gorgeous even in your mos
drowned.this ice is getting thinner
and i keep feeling like i'm
about to fall through. i just
wanted you to envelope me in
your harmony, sweet kisses
making the syncopation
between broken glass and
heart pieces, shattered
with lips uttering breathlessly.
i wanted to be warmed by
the sound of your melodies,
you told me of my beauties
and i believed you, remember
that my soul is fragile and
that suicide and silence
start and end the same way.
keep in mind when you told
me how much you cared and
how much i hope you realized
at this point the water is
freezing and i can't swim.
love like remission.everybody says that
i'm a specific type. i
think that's just an
excuse to say there's
really no chance i can
ever be loved. keep saying
that i'm beautiful, keep
saying that i'm good.
do you really think i
believe any of that? i'm
trying to turn a new
page, cleanse the wounds
she caused me, and now
i don't know which way
to turn because neither
path is paved for me and
neither door is open. i
wish i could say it was
easy but i can feel it
coming back, steadily like
a creeping animal ready
to pounce on my freshly-
healed heart and soul.
everyone says i have a type.
i believe that in a
heartbeat because each
heart that beats next to
mine is sweet in the melody.
i don't have my choice of
the picking but i can
pretend to be free of this
illness, relapsing on
romanticism and using stoicism
as a crutch, this wall i
put up can be broken down
by whoever's love is strong
enough. someone, take my hand
and lead me through the disease.
I can tHow can I begin this life anew?
Even though I know you would want me too.
I just don´t know the place I should start,
how do I repair my broken heart?
Searching for direction
which way do I go?
A year almost over but
I have nothing to show.
I´m just treading water,
I´m getting nowhere.
still on the spot
where you left me last year.
I will love you forever,
it´s only you that I want
I should move on I know
but I just can´t.
By Suzanne karbach Sept 2014
Little Darlin'Little darlin' with the precious heart,
rest here a little while longer with me
let me run my fingers in your long hair
I'm so glad that together we are free
you gave me a connection to share.
I had once thought you would leave
forever gone and I would be unforgiven
you said that I simply didn't believe
but you had never stopped being driven.
Feeling your skin now as it is bare
I can see the scars I have left on you
yet they're worn with pride and without scare
you loved me more than I ever knew.
Lay here with me, let me soak you in
into your warm, sweet scent I burrow
run your fingertips along my chin
wipe away my brow's furrow.
Yes, just as you've always done for me
through agonizing heartbreak and pain
even after you left me at that tree
after that, we both stood in sorrow rain.
I had been so foolish, so selfish before
I feared you would never take me again
but I ran hopeful and scared to your door
and it was a lack of love you couldn't feign.
A smile and kiss bound us together
the fall of the last monarchy (reworked)butterfly promise
weighs the feather wind, no less
than the plight he is.
Forgive MeThey found my lover on the side of the road
With twisted limbs and blood running cold
A car lead askew, burst into flames
Her limp silhouette is all that remains
Memories flash of hours before
Of me shouting, cursing and slamming the door
Of a heated argument leading into a fight
The sound of her engine speeding into the night
I collapsed to my knees in the grass at her side
Where blood painted the scene of her violent goodbye
Her final moments spent in misery’s embrace
Black mascara running down her face
If only I hadn't been so fucking pissed
To let such harsh words escape from my lips
I grasped her hand, pressed it to my cheek
Hoping to feel her soothing heartbeat
But she had already left me behind
To puruse the heaven on earth she couldn’t find
Through pain and remorse, my tears quietly flowed
They found my lover on the side of the road
A Garden Full of Butterflies.When youth was sun and cloudless skies
and a garden full of butterflies,
and daisies waiting to be chains
in meadows where it never rained.
When lambs jumped joyous every spring
and I heard every bluebird sing
and all the adults told the truth
in the dream that was my youth.
When Santa granted every wish.
When my pond was filled with golden fish
and a cow leapt high to reach the moon
and Grampa sung a funny tune.
When paper dolls danced in a line
and sugared bread to eat was fine,
and adults never gave me rules
least not before I went to school!
When time was just an honoured guest
he flitted in – but took a rest.
Moving not, he watched me grow
in Happy-Ever-After glow.
All of this, it was my Truth
in lengthened days, where dwelt my youth –
when youth was sun and cloudless skies
and a garden full of butterflies...
Your smileOn seeking solace in your smile,
it soothed my troubled heart,
soon hoped that you would stay around
and this would be the start
of something good that happens when
a happy face beguiles,
a love so true
just me and you
all started with your smile.
Now I sit and just remember and
ponder for a while,
on laughing eyes so blue,
on our love so true
and how you made me smile.
by Suzanne Karbach Sept 2014
I am Who I Am and by Me Only MeI am Who I am
A poem by AFlyingPassion
I’m a… freak
a person who has no life, a ‘stalker’
a person who steal someone’s watchers,
a piece of trash,
a discerning person,
a c*nt, a
a mental person.
A disgusting person
A person who needs to get a life
A person who can’t drive
A person who has problems
Some people wish that I would die,
end up being FOREVER alone.
No matter what people end up calling me hoping to put me down, this is me and ME only.
Have a creative mind
A giggly person
A one of a kind
A lover of animals and family
Genuinely loved by different people
This I Who I
Notice me...I remember..
Those cold nights of isolation..
Those nights worrying about being hit or not....
Waking up in a nightmare..
Trusting no man.
I am stronger,
and I am older.
I am no longer under your roof,
I am no longer under your control.
I have no more bruises from your fists,
from your belt,
from your shoes.
I AM stronger.
I am living..
waking up in cold sweats..
worrying that you are near me..
scared that I would wake up with you near me...
terrified of being hit again..
and hoping to be noticed by you..
I am not that into football.
I tend to write about my feelings,
than say them.
I am not your spawn.
Look At My Palms, They Shake Like My Current WorldMy veins? They bleed ink,
Thick, black, translucent blood.
The flowing won't stop.
Sometimes, I worry
My oxygen intake will
Falter and shut down.
I have night terrors
And wake up suffocating,
Sleep? A luxury.
I can't afford to waste it
Once I'm getting it.
Over in my world of sad,
There's too much pressure.
It's caving into me, my
Lungs and cavity.
Anymore, a cadaver
Behind curls of my dead skin.
By imagination, time
Is just an object.
Why should I follow
When I can barely keep my
Own head from falling?
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