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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.
hoping for shooting stars
sending a prayer
blowing out candles
puffing out dandelions
watching for ladybugs
jinxing others. . .
the kind of silly things i do
just to wish for being with you.
fought for recovery after i lost myself in battlethey exclaim that one cannot recover on their own.
that it requires an army of family and friends
to find ones way out of that state-of-mind, victorious
so i began to build an army, and begun with you, my first (and last) warrior
i bestowed upon you the means to comprehend and
the capacity to acquire a cure;
but you overlooked the concept
all my strategically placed signs blew away as you stormed by,
stating that i was merely having an internal squabble— while you?
Oh! You were on the front lines of a real war!
To you, and to them, the thoughts that plague.
i failed to mention that this battle was one of disease and infection,
this had embedded its roots deeply within the person
i (oops) forgot to say that it was an epidemic- a plague.
that this battle was fought beneath the surface of your skin,
beneath the surface of your subconscious;
as subtle as a shadow, spreading and spreading and—
you were too concerned with your own disputes and
your own casua
phantasm.though I am but a friend,
I dream of your soft hands
intertwining with mine.
I open my weary eyes,
and the phantasm is over.
please. . .
make this my reality.
he's not beautiful in the way you want him to be halo and horns
he's got hair that's naturally black
with a blonde spot from when he bleached it
and dyed it blue before going back to
his natural color.
it's coarse but it's getting softer
and right now it's cut short
but when his bangs grow out his hair turns
curly and unable to be tamed
which is how i like it because
that's how he is
mask and facepaint
his eyes are a shade of brown that
light up when he's happy into this sort of
gorgeous hazel color reminding me of
stained glass windows or broken beer bottles
shimmering in the sunlight.
his nose is rounded at the tip
and he's got freckles and the occasional pimple
and full lips that i hope our kids inherit
paired with a smile that i sometimes think
is the reason why the ice caps are melting
(he's just so warm).
tail and wings
five inches under six feet tall
and says that he'd die if i get taller than him
his arms are muscled and toned with
shoulders and a collarbone tha
ElevateMy mood rises,
As fast as it falls,
Never perfectly in the middle,
Straight into a wall.
I wish it was my destiny,
I wish it was my fate,
I wish to let you lift me up,
A hand full of cards,
That I am forced to fold.
Lift me up above the clouds,
Where the rain can’t touch me,
Take me up to your angelic home,
Where you and I can just be.
I want you to know,
It’s never too late,
I’ll always be here for you,
Together we can Elevate.
I always think of you and me,
The lengths we could go,
The love I have for you,
And its endless flow.
I wish I could get an opportunity,
Just one date,
Then I could show you,
You make my heartbeat Elevate.
It's Crazy, but I love you chapter. 1
(Paul X Edd)
It was a hot night and the two animators were doing voice acting of their episode. "It's just the sound of NO ONE CARING!" Paul shouted, into the microphone, Edd paused the tape and laughed, "That was a good one, Paul!" he said as he patted his friends back. Paul blushed a bit, "hehe yea..." Edd smiled. Oh god, whenever Edd smiles Paul's heart just skips a beat. It's been two months since Paul started to like Edd.....more then a friend. "well i should be leaving" Edd said grabbing his things. "Uh...Edd?" Paul asked, Edd turned around, "yeah?"
"er...." Paul begin, he started to blush madly and his brain kicking the hell out of him saying, 'Make the move!' Paul grabbed the microphone wire, "you forgot this" he said and gave it to Edd. Edd grabbed it, "oh....thanks" he said. "Night" Edd said and left. Paul smacked himself, he sat down and sighed. How was he going to do it? How was he going to ask Edd? Paul picked u
a study in smilesyou don't like
the bitter taste of sugar
and I find the faces you make
you have my number, but
you never text me- I can
count the number of our messages
on my fingers
(but even your one-word texts are special to me)
you snapchat me instead
and I find that I don't mind
because I get to see your
face that way
you like showing me
pictures of your five-toed cat
sleeping in funny positions
and quotes scotch-taped
onto your bedroom door
and I love making your face
light up by telling you I watched
the YouTube link you sent me, because
I don't think you smile nearly
we're both a little messed up
and ripped up in the corners
but we fit together like
our hands interlock
and it might not be perfect
(perfect is too weak a word for what we might have)
but it still makes me smile.
You know the wordsWhen the written word just isn't enough
What do I do?
This piece of me is crying, screaming
I can't move, I can't breathe
It slams into me when I least expect it
And it brings me down
I'm a pile of red stained glass from the blown-out window, buried just below the topsoil
Wipe of the soot, and there I am
But careful, I am sharp
Please don't let our reds mix.
The written words just aren't enough
And I'm pining for a touch
Not the written ones displayed on this seven inch rectangle of glass
And circuitry, and electricity.
I need the spoken word
The final blows
The nails to the coffin that resides inside my chest
Seal it with a voice
And I will be free.
My love, my desireMy love,
the reason that I thrive.
mean nothing when you are by my side.
is turned upside down and grows still.
their rhythm flowing into one.
the reason that I live.
everything I do is for you.
My heart's pride and joy,
my soul's very core,
it is you only I adore.
Your HandsI remember when your hands
Were intertwined with mine,
Twisting, turning, constant
Yearning to know exactly
What this was, this feeling
I'm learning to cope with.
I never liked holding hands,
For in the hands the heart
Is held, folding fingers
Over one another's was never
That appealing to me, but you.
You kept my head reeling,
Returning for more, I would
Soar as your hands wrapped
'Round my body, discerning
Why this felt so new, a few
Had called me cute before,
Why is it different when
You say I'm beautiful?
Now, it's all changed, it's
Over, you were the reason
I felt this switch, a changing
Season, you said the words,
"I love you." You said it to
Me, you see, I take things
Like that pretty seriously.
You caused me such grief, a
Relief now knowing you aren't
As great as you think you are,
I'm far changed from those days,
I don't hate you. But I don't
Miss you, or to kiss you. I was
Happy to dismiss you, but I miss
Your hands intertwined with mine.
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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