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you are all lovely. by momo-madness, journal
you are all lovely.
thank you all so much for 9,000 page views and over 300 watchers! :party: it's amazing to see how much i've grown on this site with the help of every one of you. i just wanted to make a watcher appreciation journal to remind you guys that you all mean so much to me, whether you've been with me since the beginning or have just recently browsed my gallery. you guys are special, fabulous, wonderful, and amazing. :rose:
as such, i realize i never do features (because i am lazy and there are way too many great artists out there) but i thought i'd do a small one showcasing just a tiny amount of the great work coming from my watchers. thank you for
hydroxycut by ambulances, literature
Literature
hydroxycut
i’m in a fight with gravity
to the death- until my head rests,
empty as my belly
on this false-porcelain floor-
porcelain skin waxy as laminate over
these heavy hollow bones
waiting for freedom
liberation from this sullen casing
i shake, manic
blood pressure in the basement
nauseous from anxiety and diet pills
jittery, stare at the ceiling-
a spider, stick-legged, teases me
but here’s the silver lining:
no curds and whey coating
my shining insides
i am stronger than ever
as black swims in my vision
light-headed from malnutrition
as i wrap fingers around my wrists
make sure i haven’t escaped my limits
the mirror doesn&rsquo
( by jikivigoig, literature
Literature
(
your hands are curved brackets around my shoulders, we're okay here
with your coffee scent tangled up in my cheekbones -
i recognise you
in the most unfamiliar way -
let me know if your pulse is scattered across your freckles like
blood on the walls
if you can't breathe long enough
to allow your thoughts to seep through metal barriers: your hands
are forgiveness, i am laddered skin beneath soft eyes,
you smooth my imperfections and sharp angles -
i breathe you in.
on waking up tangled in my skin by jikivigoig, literature
Literature
on waking up tangled in my skin
i am bound in coils of darkened sleep,
my past creeps up like a slinking hollow-eyed shadow:
let me run with trailing paper paths beneath my feet,
i don't like waking up half-naked,
skin exposed to a world that chews on my fingers and
chokes on my exhalations - these accusations lay bitter on my tongue -
i'd rather drown in a voice that's always there than
my own twisted suspicions.
i button up my secrets, nestle the stained collar near my neck,
and pin my eyes open with the unknowing:
i don't like waking with my shirt yanked up around my neck,
( please let me lock the door to keep the monsters out-
side. )
let me check your nails at
waiting room. by arabesque-o, literature
Literature
waiting room.
your head's a door you keep shutting on all the thoughts trapped inside.
your heart is the moon, just waiting for someone to set foot on it.
you think your body is a warning sign
where you've posted stop,
because you already know you'll yeild
but maybe your body is just a waiting room,
waiting for the right person to step in.
