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Literature
recurring dream
I dreamt I kissed you beneath a lilac cloud
and it reminded me of everything I’d ever wanted
I dreamt that the world tired of happiness
just to make us tired of each other
I dreamt that all the apologies I wanted from you
were the ones I couldn’t bear to tell myself
and maybe we were 70% water all along
but I remember us being 100% combustible
because I dreamt that time slipped an apology
under my door when I was sleeping
with your name inscribed on the cover
and forgiveness burst from my tongue
like memories that couldn’t stay buried any longer
and you kissed my lips like it was yesterday
yesterday when we danced in the rain and
wrote love letters with bashful eyes
when you brushed my hair behind my ears and
hands that held fragile bodies from falling apart
in empty hallways and fleeting touches
and innocence that only returned every time we kissed
I dreamt that I loved you again.
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Literature
fairy philosophy
there is nothing.
i read today that an artist should never
believe he is an artist
because an artist communicates thinking that he doesn't belong
and he would belong
would you rather connect through the implicit or the explicit?
are implicit connections always deeper than the explicit?
so many things get lost in translation
i am unsure
if i can shape the confusion
before the confusion shapes me
what if holding on to the small things
will never amount to the big things in life?
do you start with all the puzzle pieces
and lose them slowly, as you forget their meaning?
it is strange to be tired of things you never had
like running half a race
then wander into a nearby forest, distracted,
following breadcrumbs
will you ever know if you truly wanted to win?
would you have lost everything by then?
because i am nothing.
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Literature
nietzsche's serenade
tell me about the lessons you had to learn to become the man you are today; i
yearn only for your touch and
am only pretentious enough to write about love
with you as the subject
will you tell me to fight harder?
i've never fought for anyone before; i
tried to make it work once but the only person i was fighting was myself
i couldn't even win myself over.
how could i win you?
you are across the ocean between my mind and reality
and bound by the shore; i
must drown in uncharted waters before aching for the familiar
who listens to your demons at night?
their fingers lightly trace my stomach; i
can only watch and try to understand the ways they play with mine
you have taught me to scrape away my skin
to get to the bullet and pull it out; i
think only beyond the roots of my problems and unearth them
if a tree topples and no one hears it, does it make a sound?
this tree will gladly accept death,
as it has accepted growth - or pain, as we see best through our own eyes
because i am screaming
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Literature
my confession
the truth is, i always miss you.
i see you in the crook of his smile, or the colour of her hair - hell, even the vending machine has me thinking about you.
the truth is, you are not in everything i see.
everything i see is in you.
you are a state of mind, a perpetual conundrum; the tiniest ache of absence on a perfect day.
but do not be mistaken.
i am grateful every day for the life you gave me.
life itself is so beautiful, i fall in love each time;
even without you here.
but god, oh god -
how i wish.
how i dream.
how perfect life would be
with your soul in step with mine.
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Literature
Broken Hearts on Replay
I closed my eyes and saw you there, across a neverending pond. In it I saw my reflection aware and reaching to form a bond. I saw in my eyes intense yearning to be enveloped within your arms; in my heart I knew you had me in the centre of your palm.
I opened my eyes and saw you there, across a pool of faces. Hastily, I turned away before you could catch my mistaken gaze. Talking, laughing, smiling, I buried my feelings deep inside; everything I’d ever felt the moment you were mine.
I hoped by ignoring you that I could hide it all forever. I counted on time to ensure that all would be forgotten. In return I faced the deepest pain of wearing a heavy mask; one that protected me from heartbreak of the past - but made each heartbreak after that stronger than the last.
So I sealed the part that loved you, and forgot your lovable quirks. In the black emptiness that followed grew your flaws that lurked. You became a seething monster, a syringe brimming with venom. Ready to administer you
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Literature
The Book That Wouldn't Open
Smooth boulders rolled in leather
Bound a fragile stack of parchment.
A thousand pages, love,
to get past her introduction.
Sealed her words in stone,
Her whose fiery heart was frozen.
-
The story that can't be read,
The book that wouldn't open.
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Literature
What You Want To Hear
If he cared he would have called,
And not left you broken against a wall;
If he cared he would have knocked,
A hundred times before you unlocked;
If he cared he would have heard,
The invitation behind your words;
Cold shoulders and steel, he'd have ignored
And walked right up to your painted door.
But -
If you cared you would have seen,
In his face the lines between;
The tremble in his grand facade,
When full stops became question marks;
If you cared you would have known.
He put everything that he had to show,
On the table for you to inspect,
Despite his distrustful intellect.
If you cared you would have found,
His effort to please took much more ground,
And your hopes of him would always outweigh,
Your own pains to keep true love at bay.
If you cared, even a little bit,
You would put aside sharp wit -
For lost lovers mean more than wars,
You'd walk right up to his front door.
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Literature
lost connection
these eyes of mine -
have they seen before now?
the sparkle of your eyes
the curve of your fingers;
settling like butterflies on my
century-old thoughts.
these ears that claim
to have heard the sweetest music
from greats like Mozart and Beethoven
gave your piano a listen -
your brazen, enchanting melody
slithered under the roots of belief
and unearthed the most stoic of trees.
it was the beginning of a fantasy,
a new stage in the heavens,
and I floated on your music;
it called out, and carried me closest,
to the space behind the piano seat.
yet these tender fingers -
tender like new skin under recent wounds -
slowly grasped the idea of you.
giving meaning to gentle smiles,
and the thought of your laughter
echoing in many beautiful days to come;
an echo that never returned.
my eyes, they watched,
my ears, they listened,
my fingers, they reached out -
and still I never knew
the feeling of your heartbeat;
your soul pulsing
in time with mine.
before you I had not known
how quickly
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Literature
Freedom?
Beep! Beep! The wristwatches ring,
The cars move out and start to sing;
They puff in rhythm on rush-hour roads,
Oh, how they’d like to get back home!
Ties are loosened, files chucked away,
Important work left for another day;
For now - there’s just fun and jazz,
Slow down, rest; begin to relax.
Unbeknownst to us, the unbidden creeps,
Behind the telly and under our sheets;
For a great danger lies in every pile;
With strength that grows with every file.

On a beautiful day, all bright and clear,
You take a walk to abandon that nagging fear;
But as you leave, it leaves with you,
It eats you up and wears you through.
Back home you’re exhausted and wondering,
About that chest ache that knows no ending;
And as you look about your heart gives out,
At the paperwork stacked up, looming proud.
Alas, another naive warrior lost!
The price of freedom; a terrible cost,
Such a pity, for all he seemed to have done
Was to do a bit of fooling around.
My friend, this is your war
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Literature
An Ocean So Wide
As damnable and despicable as humans are,
They show marvellous strengths that change perceptions by far;
Like sacrificing their lives for their fellow men,
And losing so much but loving again.
These wonderful spectacles are brought about by
A force that conquers all evil and spite;
A force so compelling, men learn how to give
Without expecting return; with no motive.
It is the force that pulls you out of sin and grief,
And gives you the courage to go on and forgive.
Love is this force. I'll tell you a tale
About two people who couldn't fail
To love each other no matter how hard they tried
In a world so big for their restless eyes.
They were the opposite, like sugar and salt,
Who could never mix and would always find fault.
But their love was unique, flavourful, never bitter;
He told her to chase her dreams; he wasn't a quitter.
He'd find her somewhere, sometime again,
They'd fall right into where they began.
But time changed things, and they were so lonely,
Tried to be strong, trapped
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Literature
Playground Bullies
You try to be:
The ice crystal that pierces my heart,
With your sharp verbal splinters;
Shooting incessantly,
Causing a brain-freeze,
With your plastic white winters.
The sword that slices me open for all to see,
Until before you I beseech,
While imaginary people cheer you on,
You realize that reality has gone;
Live the fantasy you cannot reach.
An ant trying to get into the cracks,
Crawling inside my blood vessels,
Telling me my blood is blue,
Waiting for me to see if it’s another hue,
I will not crush myself with mortar and pestle.
You are:
An itch underneath my skin,
An itch I cannot satisfy,
Seething underneath,
You bare your teeth,
In your smile I can see you lie.
A double secret agent-lawyer,
Exactly where you aren’t supposed to be,
Finding every loophole in the contract,
Except that this one's airtight and intact,
With no exit or entry.
A little like my thoughts,
You irritate but I’m not angry;
You’re just like a prevailing, pestering flea,
And like a pre
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Literature
Shimmering Silver Sonnet
Lend me your blaze, mighty sun, it’s my turn,
Let life search for silver as they adjourn,
Under my all-seeing rays they cower,
For a touch of the divine: my power,
Do not fear, I shall cast soft light anew,
On murky waters and no-more-bright hues,
On sightless eyes and things dull as can be,
Ribbons of ivory descend from me,
All things that see now, borrow the moonshine,
Reflect fluoresce; what I cannot call mine,
We need to be with those who have such gleam,
In the hopes it’d somehow make ourselves seem,
A star, moon, sun; a sparkling beacon,
For those who, by the world, have been weakened.
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Literature
Open Ended
Once upon a year of hellos
And six months overdue,
there was a cloudy blue afternoon,
With skies that told of you.
I sat beside the window,
And thought through silent fears;
“What if”s took me far away,
And regrets brought me here.
Your words had called out temptingly,
A ceasefire of mutual pain;
Leaving me with eyes squeezed shut,
And belief in peace awakened.
But all things told me of despair;
The brave words and indifference,
Could not block out the whispers I heard;
The pleading you tried to silence.
After little observance, I knew
The calm of our cloudy days,
In reality, hid a terrible storm,
Taking its time; brewing away.
I hastily made as if to leave
Before it started to pour.
The ceasefire was quickly forgotten,
But so was the existence of war.
On this day we met once more.
We didn’t say much, I know,
But the air was stuffy and sour,
And it was quite hard to breathe;
so much was the unuttered.
It mattered not that year of hellos,
Never again could we greet one
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Literature
Concert of a Lifetime
Scene One: Behind the huge red velvet curtain, she stands in a baby pink tutu on the cracked yellow floorboards, but there’s no bustle of last minute crew finishing up last minute touches: she’s completely and utterly alone.
breathe, breathe.
don’t panic
just breathe.
your chance has come
and you know it has been so long overdue.
have faith in yourself, nev-
the curtain draws.
disheartened for a moment,
she freezes
looks at the near empty theatre, and knows
that her audience will be filling in soon enough
remember.
now it’s her turn
and she shines,
she will shine.
one step, one curtsy,
begin.

she twirls tales into the scene
as the spotlight flickers on
now glowing an ivory pink
struck into her first pose
she twirls tales into the scene
her tiny leaps and half pirouettes
reflecting the innocence consuming her
she hasn’t learned yet.
she twirls tales into the scene
wishing on fairy dust and pretty flowers
she’s sprinkled on h
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Literature
Monsters Under The Bed
She was smart and sweet;
The world lay at her feet.
Boys swarmed from everywhere,
Girls were cautious and aware;
She treated them with a humbled air.
Never spiteful, never coarse
Was her nature; a loving source,
Yet alone thoughts ran through her head,
Wails and whispers soaked her bed;
When the air was cold and the night was thin,
Her demons crawled into her skin.
So dark and scared she was,
When she couldn’t escape their wicked jaws;
So one day she decided to soar,
As she lay bleeding on the floor.
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Literature
Winter Sugar
Beyond the window, beyond the doorstep
Pirouettes a world of icing sugar
Beautiful, merciless, cold minuet
Children dance to the tempo, clothes unkempt
Cheeks rosy red with endless laughter,
Beyond the window, beyond the doorstep
Midnight tells of watching the stage set
Reindeers outside, warm cookies inside
Beautiful, forgotten, cold minuet
Except for the churches and the good
All things ugly are too forgotten
Beyond the window, beyond the doorstep
While the matchstick girl slept in a snow wrap
Her flame fading away, darkness stole life
Beautiful, merciless, cold minuet
Of technicolour trees and golden hearts
There are dark alleys and cold, hating skin
Beyond the window, beyond the doorstep
Naivete does not heed the sad,
or purposeful ignorance to grief; the
Beautiful, merciless, cold minuet
So be merry, my friends, cheer up, my lad
Let your fingers craft the chilled crisp cotton
Beyond the window, beyond the doorstep
Billowing white on each weather map
Breathless kisses sealed in eac
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Favourites

Literature
Tea Rings
Tiny hands knocking softly
on wood, how long until
I see your face, until
you press your fingers
onto my skin. How long
until I need you becomes
the sound of the rain.
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Literature
the last magic I believe in
It's been years and I'm still here. Recycling the same sentences. Stuck in the same words. Buried in a past that doesn't quite belong to me anymore. It's funny how with enough distance nothing ever looks real anymore. It's like the way I can stand four miles from the lakefront and can still see the horizon. Clashing blues and greens. A straight line of water against an even straighter line of sky. And that's it. It's everything and it's nothing and for a little while I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Somewhere new. That I can see an entire ocean sprawled out in front of me, instead of the dirty familiar waters of Lake Michigan. I've grown up here and I've grown apart from here, but I'm stuck at the top of the hill on the corner of the street that my sister lives on and I just want to run and run and run and never look back, but that's not all there is. That's not all that's left.
It's so much bigger than that so I trace the familiar roads back to my home and I sit in my living room and
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Literature
Throw me out to sea
All I can remember thinking is "how did we end up here?" as I stared up at the too bright sky, letting the sun imprint itself into my vision, in the hopes that I'd be just blind enough to not have to see the look on your face when I finally got up the courage to tilt my eyes from the sky back to yours.
It felt like it had been decades since we met on this beach. Honestly, it felt like it had been centuries. I could barely remember what you smile first looked like, but I know it was so much bigger than it is now. The only thing I have left is the smell of laundry detergent on your fade t-shirts and the aftertaste of summer on your skin. I know that a love story is always so much better than reality, and I know that the beginning will always outshine the ending, but I thought I'd be able to handle things better than this.
I was blinking sun shaped dots out of my eyes, but I could still see the look of dismay on your face. Or bewilderment or disgust or maybe it was just confusion. I didn'
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Literature
your hands
I have been thinking about
your hands, how they touched me-
fingers that were shadows
that were rivers, each a stream
of subtle, each a petal
landing on my skin.
On my shoulder they were
curtains and in my hair
they were wind chimes.
In the dark, on the bus,
your hands-
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Literature
inner compass poetry
This is the story
so far: I got off the bus
and into your car.
So far, so far, this
is what
we are: barefoot and stillness,
unmade bed,
dreams delaying
unused cabin
forest decaying
On the ferry, on the greyhound,
my seat on the plane
a cold cup of tea
a hot summer rain.
This is my kind of drowning,
into the cup on the table
falling in your arms, into
pretending that I’m stable.
(She is searching for a
scent to bring back 4AM)
To hear the train in the distance
is to know the thought is gone,
it is the exhale of admitting
that I couldn’t be more wrong.
(There is a train in her head
and I watched it go all the way
to the end of its tracks)
This is my kind of drowning,
a song from the south
movie credit sleepiness
your kiss on my mouth.
(In the night, she
wrote a note, over the
years, a memoir)
This is my kind of drowning,
in the library of our story
in the ocean on the map
in the murky sounds of sorry.
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Literature
Think Unresponsive Clouds
I want to tear down these clouds
Like the heavy curtains they are
They hang there, hopelessly,
Not parting, nor breaking into tears
Let me shred them away, I beg of you,
Before I go mad
Because I feel like a caged beast
Trapped under these unmoving, thoughtless clouds
Let freely shine the sun
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Literature
Soft and Steady
Soft and steady
Is the way one breathes
Once night reaches a certain hour
It terrifies me
To be awake while you sleep
Because my demons are hungry for power
They whisper their doubt
In the crevices of my mind
While my soul tries to fight them away
Panicked, I quiver,
Though not alone in this winter,
I'll breathe when you promise to stay
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Literature
10.06
-
you brought a new day with you -
you weathered the cold with me and slowly,
the sun has risen on my frail body, shining light across milky skin
and slowly thawed me of all that was and
all that had been
your smile has fallen on all of my flaws, now
as the ice melted from them
and i stand naked, unashamed and
unabashedly proud
of the version of me that we have fashioned
from the mess that had been left behind
-
i was always a romantic
but you have reminded me of the fact
that sometimes you don't need poetry
to remind yourself that you are loved
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Literature
Dawn
Ease in, birdchirp morning
Free the sun
Fade out, cold night
Let the stars rest
What a magic hour, this
Dreams still live
And the day yet holds promise
See, how it’s softened me?
A soothing balm for the soul
Gentle
If there is a god
This is where he dwells
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Literature
I think of you
As suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
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Literature
The Artist
She talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happy
To leave their home for her newest installation piece
She cried sometimes for no reason other than
She felt like having a good cry
Her house was covered in her students’ drawings
She said the best art was produced from innocence
She went mad once, and painted canvas after canvas
In furious strokes of black
The soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew old
People shook their heads when they saw her
And whispered “poor dear” under their breath
But she was never poor
Her love for everything and everyone never died
It was swept in all directions like a summer breeze
Making people smile without knowing why
But the river rocks know
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Literature
yeah, but it could be a myth-c
note to self:
you'll find someone. really you will.
you'll find someone since you just have to. since it hurts to feel this sort of inside out. maybe this time you'll find someone who won't spill dandelion wishes down your throat forcing you to swallow all these words like lies and beliefs like truths and every in between that makes you want to come undone. and maybe this time, your someone won't spread through you replacing your veins with roots as he becomes an integral part of your survival. because eventually, this boy who's spread through you like a sickness will pull away from you ripping out your insides, ripping out your silly little hope, ripping out the useless organ that doesn't beat synchronized anyways. and you just need to realize that boys like that are more common than the fields of weeds that decorate the sides of these country highways. i promise you deserve something more. you deserve something different. i promise. i promise.
maybe you'll meet him in an art m
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Literature
Things I Would Tell Her
I want to tell her the things
I'll tell her when she’s older,
but the information terrifies her.
In order of importance:
she has luna moths in her head,
monarch butterflies in her stomach,
and a feral fetus in her womb.
Her hands
are collapse-clasped and folded
in her lap;
she holds her elbows like wings
away from her ribs,
ready to flap,
to flutter,
to fly.
I want to tell her
to keep one hand in her purse
so she can always find her keys,
to keep an eye on the door
and the door always open
so she can run if she doesn't feel safe,
but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch red
and the tension in her shoulders
warns me she's not ready
to hear this.
And there is the possibility that
maybe I’m not ready to tell
this fourteen-year-old
now woman,
I’m just as devastated as her;
that she is surrounded by friends and family
who are violated by a community
where no man can say yes all men.
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Literature
Again
Play the same song again for the hundredth time
Try to compose another rhyme
To explain this pain
Yeah, and you're not even sure why you're crying tonight
I wish I could make the whole thing right
But I can't.
So get up and walk to the kitchen, dear heart
Tonight's not a good night to fall apart
Take your pills
Write another song
Stare at the knife on the counter too long-
Close your eyes.
Get lost in space trying to think
You're just dehydrated
Go get a drink
Get some more sleep
Write another rhyme
Play the same song again for the hundredth time!
Play the same song again for the hundredth time!
Play the same song again for the hundredth time!
Yeah...
And you don't even know why you're crying tonight
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Literature
botanical malady
if i could walk
these sterling hooves along your chest
and press down, hard,
white peonies would bloom from your windpipe
petals folding over peeled lips,
floral rabies, a disease of botany.
and if you could wrap
your flaxen arms around my ribs,
champagne limbs melting silver,
a garden would burst from my mouth.
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Literature
in which i am the envious moon
i could think of a million metaphors
to describe the rising sun,
and how my love blinded me
from the danger that burned
but we are wrong.
we poets, with our fanciful words
that make us sound too pretentious;
readers feel the pang in their chest
as we stab them with our imagery,
thoughts drip
drip
dripping onto paper like ink.
we are wrong.
romeo,
the light through which yonder window breaks
is not the east. juliet is not the sun. 
i am wrong.
everything makes me think of you.
from dusk 'til dawn, my thoughts are of you:
and when the night falls, my thoughts are of us,
and how the word 'us' is a concept: a concept
that never was, never is, never will be.
they say that when you can't sleep,
it is because someone else is dreaming of you.
i will give you all my dreams and my rest
if it means i can dance through yours
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Activity


I dreamt I kissed you beneath a lilac cloud
and it reminded me of everything I’d ever wanted

I dreamt that the world tired of happiness
just to make us tired of each other

I dreamt that all the apologies I wanted from you
were the ones I couldn’t bear to tell myself

and maybe we were 70% water all along
but I remember us being 100% combustible

because I dreamt that time slipped an apology
under my door when I was sleeping
with your name inscribed on the cover
and forgiveness burst from my tongue
like memories that couldn’t stay buried any longer
and you kissed my lips like it was yesterday
yesterday when we danced in the rain and
wrote love letters with bashful eyes
when you brushed my hair behind my ears and
hands that held fragile bodies from falling apart
in empty hallways and fleeting touches
and innocence that only returned every time we kissed

I dreamt that I loved you again.
recurring dream
simply, the last thing i would like to publish
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Jamie
Artist | Student | Literature
Malaysia
Hi! I'm Jamie, nice to meet you. :)

Naive. Easily enchanted. Idealistic. Young and just a tad tired. I have a wide spectrum of interests but mainly I love immersing myself in the arts - books, plays, musicals, you name it. I love people and I like listening to people and learning new things. Forever interested in anything and everything. I try to write stuff. Be the chisel to my rock?

-

"Passion is the cure to procrastination."
Interests
Hello! After a long hiatus from deviantART, I'm finally back. :yay:
Truthfully, I'm sorry I ever left. All the stuff I removed.. haunts me.

But no matter! Although the people have changed and the art scene's real different now, I'm hoping to get myself back into the rhythm of things. I'll try to submit new pieces 1000000 times more frequently than I have the past two years. Which is not saying a lot, heh. =p I'm excited to meet the many new (and old) artists on here and read breathtaking works! I've really missed the community here. :) My writing's really in need of shaping up though, so constructive feedback from you guys would be very very very much appreciated. Thank you! :heart:
  • Listening to: Of the Trees - Mree

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:iconthecandleburninglow:
TheCandleBurningLow Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the favorites!
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:iconomnivore7:
omnivore7 Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2014
Many thanks for making my short poetry piece a favourite.  I do appreciate that.  fav.me/d7wo5pc

And allow me to say that your introductory self-description is really very charming.
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:iconcookie-jam:
Cookie-Jam Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2014  Student Writer
My pleasure! I think it's really elegant, and so much is said in so few words. :) Awwww, shucks. Thank you kindly! Why do you not have a self-description yourself? :O
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:iconomnivore7:
omnivore7 Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2014
Thank you. I do aim for sparseness of style in poetry; an antidote to verbiage in prose!

Oh - I couldn't do that - what on earth would I say???
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:iconcookie-jam:
Cookie-Jam Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2014  Student Writer
:) 

You could say that you are indeed an omnivore and you like the number seven - your readers would certainly feel reassured that you have not cheated their subconscious assumptions in any way. :D
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(1 Reply)
:iconpennydiamond:
PennyDiamond Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014  Student General Artist
Thank you for the fave and the watch! :)
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:iconcookie-jam:
Cookie-Jam Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014  Student Writer
No problem! You're awesome :D
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:iconthecandleburninglow:
TheCandleBurningLow Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
thank you so much for adding me to your deviantwatch! It means the world! :)
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:iconcookie-jam:
Cookie-Jam Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014  Student Writer
My pleasure :) Keep writing!
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:iconakatlas:
akatlas Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you for faving my poem. Feel free to look around and read my other things. 
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