Hello AgainI love my school.
As always, thanks a million to everyone who has read and commented on my work. You all are amazing.
Newest Deviations
Jewelry BoxMy mother's jewelry box was kept hidden in her closet,Jewelry Box
on a low shelf underneath the hems of her formal dresses,
beside the stained suede boots she wore only in winter.
I used to sneak into the little room and rummage through the box,
looking for secrets that she might have hidden under the polished teak wood lid. When I was nine she gave me ropes of glass beads that felt too heavy in my hands,
necklaces that I cut up and fashioned into my own pieces,
bracelets and earrings that were lost one by one
in gym lockers and friends houses., until all I had left was just a handful
o
by ~acidicxbliss
MucusWhen my mother was my ageMucus
she got her first job as a volunteer in a children's hospital and there she played with children who had tubes instead of throats,
who smiled at her as phlegm dripped from the corners of their mouths.
When they vomited, she mopped their insides off the tired tile floor
and rubbed their backs while they whimpered,
one of the few sounds they could make.
Nineteen years later she took me to new jersey
to visit her cousin and her aunt, both of whom had cancers eating away at their bones. Her aunt Helen breathed
only because the rasping of the
by ~acidicxbliss
My MotherWhen my father flew down to Honduras to sew up cleft palates, he bought my mother postcards, and in the cramped airplaneMy Mother
wrote the first of many notes to her in his garbled cursive.
And when he returned he gave her the stack,
the thick cards smelling like woodsmoke,
and, she imagined, dark forests choked with vines and rainwater. And together they taped them above the sink, over the peeling paint of the window trim, so that while she cooked she could gaze at the blue oceans
instead of the snow-swollen ground outside.
But so
by ~acidicxbliss
An Apple 2He bites into bruised red skin, sticky with pesticides;An Apple 2
teeth dig through crisp flesh
with a crunch. We bury the core in the backyard, leaving behind seeds
caged in brown carpel coffins beside the roots of tulips and daffodils.
We watch for green sprouts in the soil.
They never come.
by ~acidicxbliss
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: East Coast
- Interests: Writing, photography.
- Favourite genre of music: Ska, pretty much.
- Favourite poet or writer: Chuck Palahniuk, Sylvia Plath, Henry Miller, Nabokov, William S Burroughs, Faulkner.
- Personal Quote: We all die. The goal isn't to live forever, it's to create something that will.
- Email: acidicxbliss@yahoo.com
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thanks infinitely for the
on le scaphandre et le papillon.
so glad you like it!
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i found reason to keep living
oh and the reason, dear
is you.
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*Une photographie, c'est un arrêt du coeur d'une fraction de seconde.
thanks
.
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✄ ✄ ✄
--
--
" longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure. " - Marcel Proust, 1ère phrase de "A la recherche du temps perdu"
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my real name is...
Thanks for the fave (:
--
Forever Love ♥
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