ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
she gets up each morning, and looks into the mirror. the cracked surface is covered with words that she once wrote in lipstick - just so that she wouldn't feel so fragmented inside. she goes downstairs, and writes in her diary to remove herself from her yelling family.
words were her saving grace.
when she goes to school, she joins the swarm of others, jostling to get from class to class. she writes down her homework, and takes a test or two. all the while she's holding onto a piece of that mirror, stored inside her huge pockets. just so she can feel something besides empty. she had to wear jackets with large pockets, those were the ones that hid bruises the best.
no one could see her insides freezing with the panic she felt.
at night she steps into the shower and turns the water so high that it leaves red paths on her body. the water washes away the blood the was caused by her mirror shard. the bruises from her family are lessened by the heat that burns her skin. she wrings the water out of her hair, blow dries it, letting it falls around her, filling her with the sweet smell of her shampoo.
soon she would have to face the music.
tracing a finger on the mirror, she can see herself in the spindly letters she cleared in the steam. her eyes fill with burning intensity, and extreme fear. slipping into lacy clothing, she covers it all up with a loose fitting dress. her makeup she does meticulously - not that it matters in the dark.
she has no choice.
in the night-time cold, she stands in alleyways and on street corners, her dress creating an aura of innocence. big burly men, and even sometimes cultured and dignified men, stop next to her; she smiles and waves, as if she knew them. she never did know them, not even their names. they drive off, and they park in some dark parking lot where no one will see. sometimes they have wedding rings, and she feels the slight stirrings of guilt.
but she rid herself of such emotions long ago.
when they are done, they let her out, and she thanks them for the ride - just in case anyone is around. no one ever is. or they just don't care. her nights walking around scar her deep inside. before, she had not known how many were just like her - looking for something to fill the emptiness; not once had anyone said anything about her bruises.
she isn't capable of being cared for.
when the night reaches its lowest point, she asks to be taken to a street corner from which home is just a quick walk away. sometimes they oblige, other times, they laugh in her face, telling her that she isn't worth the gas. those nights, she walks the streets for a long time. in her house, it is not quiet. there is yelling, and sometimes the sound of glass breaking. the worst is when it is still and quiet. then she knows that one, or the other, or both, will come for her, and she will have new purple and blue jewels.
she likes when they line her collarbone, it makes her feel exotic.
she takes another shower and uses a different shampoo, one that will wash away all the memories of the night. the water is just as hot, if not hotter, than her earlier one. she needs to be clean from all the pain. her eyes no longer burn by this point, instead, they are dull and dead. she doesn't glance into the mirror, not even to read the words in lipstick.
it is the result of being left alone in the world.
she feels dirty and incomplete inside; as if someone had taken the mere scraps of any purity she had left, staining them with cigarette smoke and dragging through mud. she knows that at school, she cannot look anyone in the eyes; how could she? they would see her abhorrence for herself hiding in her irises – a dark shadow haunting her every look. there is no respect in her for her; none at all. if she had any worth, any at all, she would not be stalking the streets, chasing down prey to fatten her wallet. there are other choices, but she will not take them.
and they wonder why she is silent.
taking her clothing and all the money she earns, she retreats to her room, before it can be taken from her to fuel booze and highs on the H train. counting her cash, she hides it inside her poker cards. sandwiched between kings and aces is her freedom. the worn cards remind her of happier days, and she stores her future in her memories of sunshine.
she still grips onto it as hard as she can.
when she finally rolls into her bed, she glances outside the window one last time. the girl pulling back the blinds is reflected, and she realizes, she doesn't know herself at all. so she picks up her pen, and she starts to write. her skin becomes her canvas, and she writes to cover up her hate for what she does. how else could she disguise herself? how else could she hide the dirty, dirty sins or the impurity that lingers on her skin? it would change her, from an ugly caterpillar into a butterfly with gossamer wings. when there is no more bare skin she can read, she looks into the window again, and sees a girl so much stronger and wilder than she will ever be. the girl in the window is not her.
the greatest unknown to her is her own self.
words were her saving grace.
when she goes to school, she joins the swarm of others, jostling to get from class to class. she writes down her homework, and takes a test or two. all the while she's holding onto a piece of that mirror, stored inside her huge pockets. just so she can feel something besides empty. she had to wear jackets with large pockets, those were the ones that hid bruises the best.
no one could see her insides freezing with the panic she felt.
at night she steps into the shower and turns the water so high that it leaves red paths on her body. the water washes away the blood the was caused by her mirror shard. the bruises from her family are lessened by the heat that burns her skin. she wrings the water out of her hair, blow dries it, letting it falls around her, filling her with the sweet smell of her shampoo.
soon she would have to face the music.
tracing a finger on the mirror, she can see herself in the spindly letters she cleared in the steam. her eyes fill with burning intensity, and extreme fear. slipping into lacy clothing, she covers it all up with a loose fitting dress. her makeup she does meticulously - not that it matters in the dark.
she has no choice.
in the night-time cold, she stands in alleyways and on street corners, her dress creating an aura of innocence. big burly men, and even sometimes cultured and dignified men, stop next to her; she smiles and waves, as if she knew them. she never did know them, not even their names. they drive off, and they park in some dark parking lot where no one will see. sometimes they have wedding rings, and she feels the slight stirrings of guilt.
but she rid herself of such emotions long ago.
when they are done, they let her out, and she thanks them for the ride - just in case anyone is around. no one ever is. or they just don't care. her nights walking around scar her deep inside. before, she had not known how many were just like her - looking for something to fill the emptiness; not once had anyone said anything about her bruises.
she isn't capable of being cared for.
when the night reaches its lowest point, she asks to be taken to a street corner from which home is just a quick walk away. sometimes they oblige, other times, they laugh in her face, telling her that she isn't worth the gas. those nights, she walks the streets for a long time. in her house, it is not quiet. there is yelling, and sometimes the sound of glass breaking. the worst is when it is still and quiet. then she knows that one, or the other, or both, will come for her, and she will have new purple and blue jewels.
she likes when they line her collarbone, it makes her feel exotic.
she takes another shower and uses a different shampoo, one that will wash away all the memories of the night. the water is just as hot, if not hotter, than her earlier one. she needs to be clean from all the pain. her eyes no longer burn by this point, instead, they are dull and dead. she doesn't glance into the mirror, not even to read the words in lipstick.
it is the result of being left alone in the world.
she feels dirty and incomplete inside; as if someone had taken the mere scraps of any purity she had left, staining them with cigarette smoke and dragging through mud. she knows that at school, she cannot look anyone in the eyes; how could she? they would see her abhorrence for herself hiding in her irises – a dark shadow haunting her every look. there is no respect in her for her; none at all. if she had any worth, any at all, she would not be stalking the streets, chasing down prey to fatten her wallet. there are other choices, but she will not take them.
and they wonder why she is silent.
taking her clothing and all the money she earns, she retreats to her room, before it can be taken from her to fuel booze and highs on the H train. counting her cash, she hides it inside her poker cards. sandwiched between kings and aces is her freedom. the worn cards remind her of happier days, and she stores her future in her memories of sunshine.
she still grips onto it as hard as she can.
when she finally rolls into her bed, she glances outside the window one last time. the girl pulling back the blinds is reflected, and she realizes, she doesn't know herself at all. so she picks up her pen, and she starts to write. her skin becomes her canvas, and she writes to cover up her hate for what she does. how else could she disguise herself? how else could she hide the dirty, dirty sins or the impurity that lingers on her skin? it would change her, from an ugly caterpillar into a butterfly with gossamer wings. when there is no more bare skin she can read, she looks into the window again, and sees a girl so much stronger and wilder than she will ever be. the girl in the window is not her.
the greatest unknown to her is her own self.
Literature
Thoughts
I'm so sick of not being perfect
I'm sick of hurting people
I'm tired of doing nothing right
I'm tired of holding back
Let me scream
Let me lash out
Let me show you the other side of me
And try telling me you still know me
Everything confined inside
It builds until I almost burst
My eyes grow heavy
My fingers claw at my arms
Tear out my hair
Twitch for the blade
I hold back
But I can only hold so much
Then I do it again
I screw up
I hurt
I break
And I fall again
Self-loathing is almost a comfort
I often wonder why
Why am I this way
Why am I messed up
Answers won't be found
I'm sick of hating myself
I'm sick of hidin
Literature
Him
If I gave up now
Would it be such a shame
Because it's becoming clear
I won't win this game
I'm so tired of running
In this twisted race
I'm running out of breath
I'm falling into last place
If I know I will lose
Why must I continue to fight
Why can't I give up
Fall into the light
There's only one person
Who can bring a smile to my lips
Only one single person
That can heal this big rips
There are few reasons why I'm still alive
Few for who I'm still fighting this silly war
There's only a couple still by my side
The very few people I'm fighting for
Literature
Love Is.
Love Is
Love is
When I can't
Say your name
Without feeling the butterflies
Love is when
I didn't know
I could feel like this
And yet it feels better each day
Love is when
You think you'll never get over it
But time heals all
And eventually you let them go
Love is when
We talk day after day
And the conversation
Never gets old
And love is when
You hold my heart in your hand
And you wake me up with your lips
And love is when
A song comes on
And we both know all the words
And love is when
I don't even know
Where I end
And you begin
Love is when we are so tightly wrapped
Around the other's fingers
That y
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
my other maybe submission for #WritersClub's contest 'perfect strangers'
please, please tell me what you think of it~
so i wrote this a while back, and i really didn't know where it came from. i mean, earlier that day i watched kung fu panda two, which was awesome.
then i remembered i read this: [link] lovely piece. seriously, go read it.
feedback/comments?
was the prompt clear in the piece?
edit:
i realize that the deadline for this is tomorrow, but i have added more to my piece. hopefully it flows better and has more of her story now. thank you to the lovely ~EmmyHorror for her suggestions <3 ^^
please, please tell me what you think of it~
so i wrote this a while back, and i really didn't know where it came from. i mean, earlier that day i watched kung fu panda two, which was awesome.
then i remembered i read this: [link] lovely piece. seriously, go read it.
feedback/comments?
was the prompt clear in the piece?
edit:
i realize that the deadline for this is tomorrow, but i have added more to my piece. hopefully it flows better and has more of her story now. thank you to the lovely ~EmmyHorror for her suggestions <3 ^^
© 2011 - 2024 Jadite
Comments27
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
You have been featured here: [link]