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About Literature / Hobbyist MonicaFemale/Canada Recent Activity
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Literature
Burrowed
Racing thoughts and my fingers lag behind them
Hover over my keyboard not moving fast enough
Bad habit compilation bitten nails and brittle hair
And smoker’s cough
I don’t have a good excuse for all my failures
But between courage and anxiety
Anxiety has always won
And it moves beneath my skin and crawls and slithers
Dancing snakes around my neck forming a knot
And I might not make sense to those
Who are sunlight kissed and sugar-spun
Because my words are made of something bitter
But what better explanation can I give
Than blackness only blackness
Burrowed deep within my soul?
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Literature
Not Anymore
He pushes her down
Onto the floor
Says "I want you
And nothing more"

His tender smile's gone
And she's pleading
She's crying
She's scratching his neck
And she's saying
"You were my friend
So if you leave I'll forget"

His voice is reassuring
As he pins her down
And his hot whispered breaths
Tell her this is her fault
"Look at the monster
You've made me become
-my only redemption is
the depth of my love
So let me love you
In this sick, twisted way
And defile the same idols
That have led me astray"

And he does
And the bruises he leaves
Stain under her skin
And she blames herself
For his sin
For a long time
But not anymore
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Literature
Misplaced
His hands are shaking, I don’t care that much…
I’m trying to focus on his voice but I’ve lost touch
With my reality
Is my face arranged like it’s supposed to be?
I don’t think I’ll say the right thing though there’s not
A right thing to be said
My mouth opens, I widen up my eyes,
The words that flow right after feel just like lies
It must be hard, but I accept you, and the darkness
That you carry deep inside

He seems placated, I am scared
My heart is steady in my chest
My tongue is lead-like and my brain
Is stuck five sentences behind, analyzing
What’s deep within my mind
I’m very sorry
You’ve confided in the wrong friend
Because though I look like it
I can’t bring myself to care
(Isn’t that sad?)
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Literature
Bookworm
It’s like I’ve been holding my breath ever since I was fifteen
-I’ve been suspended in the spaces between-
The silent separation of words and sentences and more
Growing up, I always looked at the last pages of a book first
Because I needed my happy-ending fix, my reassurance
My ever-after to ease the pain of the unknown
At twenty, I know better- this book doesn’t have a good ending
And, well, I’ve read it, but I’m just so tired of pretending I’m alright
With this halting narration and meaningless plot.
I want more.
Only more.
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Literature
Doodles
I don’t know what Grim looks like- I’ve never seen his face.
His voice is always muffled, and there’s something forgettable about his bizarreness. It’s as if...his appearance is so shocking your brain just refutes it as soon as he’s out of sight.
“Alone in the park again, Mary? Isn’t that a bit strange?”
The sombre, clear voice startles me. I stop doodling on my notebook and lift my gaze up.
“Wait, you’re calling me strange? Do you even realize how fucked up that is?” Grim takes a seat besides me on the bench, removing his black top hat and placing it on the floor. His platinum hair is sleeked back flawlessly.
Setting his cane on the ground firmly, he leans forward and intertwines his gloved fingers together.
I wonder what kind of expression he has, underneath the skull mask. “What could you possibly mean by that?”
“Really, Grim? Really? It’s like you’ve been wearing a Hallowee
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Literature
Homeless Man at an Intersection
Today, I saw a homeless man at an intersection.
He was old, dirty, crooked-looking as he balanced himself on some crutches. His limbs were heavy underneath layers of worn-out clothing- tattered sweaters, and a bright blue jacket dulled out by dark stains.
His skin was leathery, and his hair was a muted brown.
He had very dark eyes.
I think he might have been around fifty years old, but who knows? I’ve heard the streets can weather you down and age you up.
I stood in the crowd, waiting for the lights to change so I could cross the street.
The man stopped his awkward advance right before reaching the sidewalk.
I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe he needed to readjust his crutches. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was hoping someone would run him over and he would be able to sue for damages.
Two, three cars sped by, almost brushing against him.
I turned up the volume of my music, and avoided staring directly at him.
I’m not sure why I did this, either. Why I was entranced and fr
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Literature
If
His lips are pink and bright against the pallor of his face. The corners of his mouth curl upwards, slightly, in a smirk.
The dim lights above me do nothing to ease my anxiety; they cast eerie shadows across his face, sharpening its contours.
“Stop fidgeting”, he says quietly, so I have to lean forward in order to decipher his words.
His indigo eyes rest on the skin of my frantic hands, like bruises. I reach for my drink nervously and swallow as much alcohol as possible, hoping it will help me relax. The burning in my throat crawls downwards slowly, soothing me a little.
“Did you miss me?” That’s the first question he asks. No meaningless pleasantries. No how have you beens?- skip right to the good part.
I shrug. It is the best answer I can give him. How else could I explain that his absence left behind a pestering wound? An angry, needy girl? An uncertain, fearful shell of what was once somebody? How can I make him understand that missing will neve
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Literature
Dissection
As a child, I was enthralled by moths. The way they circled the light made me think of dancing angels.
I eventually managed to catch one, and in my curiosity, I decided to dissect it.
The blade of my knife slid gently over its abdomen, slicing it open.
Carefully, I removed its insides and after an hour of labor all that was left was a lovely carcass with feathered wings.
It wasn't until after it was done that I understood. Dead things are not beautiful. A moth's corpse cannot dance with fire.
Still, I kept the small insect inside a box until the wings turned brittle and crumbled into dust.
Ellie reminds me of it.
Everything about her is frail and small. Jutting shoulders, skeletal hands, a protruding collarbone. Her eye sockets are cavernous and her cheekbones sunken.
"You're quiet, Noah, what are you thinking about?"
Her voice is soft and her gaze is solemn.  
"Moths," I tell her.
Her thin lips curl in disgust and her scraped knuckles tighten. Blood flows from the cuts, but she d
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Literature
City Walk
I feel very strange.
Almost like I am two people at once.
I am present, of course, walking hurriedly. My calves ache, my breath feels awkward and halting, my hands are cold and rough. My skin is heavy over my body, almost like a mantle.
I am far away too, though. I am so far within myself that I see nothing, feel nothing. Only blurs of colour, and snippets of sensations. The grayish clouds remind me of my own skin- they make me ponder about how, perhaps, the city is suffocating underneath it. The thought unnerves me.
If the city is alive, then does that mean I am a cell? Or a parasite?
I glance around me, at the skeleton-buildings. The arterial roads, vein-paths, blood-vehicles. The rushing people, all with places to go to and things to do.
A cell then, I must be a cell.
Water begins spilling from the sky, and I awaken from my trance. The droplets are cold and heavy. They hit me and drag downwards, across my face, leaving wet trails that are reminiscent of tears.
I am downtown now, and
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Literature
Strangers on the Bus
The days are blurry. It is like watching the scenery pass by through a condensed window.
Blink once and an important detail is gone so fast, you won’t even know you missed it.
Except for the melancholy.
The melancholy reminds me that I’ve let something precious slip through my fingers.
But not anymore, I vow.
I glance around the bus, trying to capture every detail in my mind.
If I look hard enough, maybe I can force my life into focus.
But my resolve does not last more than just a few moments. Just until I see him. Then everything fades once more, receding into the monochrome background.
He has very dark hair, and very light skin, and lapis lazuli coloured eyes.
His cheekbones are rose tinted.
I want to reach out my hands and touch him, to see if he is real. There is something ephemeral about his appearance, something ethereal about how he holds himself. He is apart from the rest of the world - he does not belong to this busy, public-transport reality of halting advances an
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Literature
Stream of Consciousness
I feel like a ghost, walking through campus.
My heels, they slam against the cement and it reverberates soothingly inside my ears, almost to the beat of the music.
The cold brushes my face softly, whipping my hair around me.
I meet the eyes of a boy, and stare blankly.
I have heard that some people have dead eyes. They lack light, or life, or something essential.
I don’t know what dead eyes look like, but I wonder if maybe I can make my own eyes dead.
The boy glances away, but before he passes me, I get the urge to ask him.
Do you think my eyes are alive?
I don’t.
My hands are fisted inside the pockets of my jacket.
The fabric is soft against my skin.
There is an old couple walking nearby.
They are not holding hands.
I don’t know if it is because they are not husband and wife, or simply because at their age, hand-holding is irrelevant.
Leave public displays of affection for the young- their love transcends physicality.
I try to imagine myself in their place. Crooked b
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Literature
Confession no.29
You were starlight sifting through my fingers
Spilling shadows on the floor
And though I tried to hold on to you tightly
I see now my intentions were impure.
In my childish desperation
I was selfish and forgot
The best part of loving you
Was not
To own you,
But to see the fire
in your soul.
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Literature
How to be a Good Girl
I was told if I was pretty he would want me
And I searched for validation in his arms
If I was sad then it meant that I was broken
And he was the only one who could fix all my flaws
I was taught that strength was inappropriate
Because ladies must be gentle at all times
And if I yearned for more then I was stained
And impure girls don’t deserve anyone
I was told abuse meant that he loved me
And crude words meant he liked all that he saw
It took me years to learn to take a compliment
Or realize my worth was determined by my size
I was taught to be quiet and modest
And even though they said I had a fickle mind
I have memorized these lessons fervently
In hopes I can attract a man
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Literature
Acherontia Atropos
Feather flutters near the flames
I start- then stutter- what to say?
Words stuffed deeply down my throat
Eating at my insides just like moths
Songs sound softly in my head
And chant the secrets of the dead
Yearning always to remain untold
But beating against my lips just like the moths
Pulsing, approaching candlelight
Cocooned corpses-mummified
Into self-consuming constellations burst
Raining down in ashes- just like moths
But, at least -at last- they have been told.
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Literature
Sirens
I overheard sirens singing prophecies
But the meaning was drowned
In the tumultuous depths
Of the seven seas
And when I was lifted from
The wave-spells they wove
I found my-long-lost love gone
From my memories
Now I search for a name
A promise, a resuscitating word
To pump life back into my arteries.
But all that I’ve left
Is the sound of flooded laughter
And the sirens’ false promises
To unveil an ocean of mysteries.
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Literature
Liars
The swollen bulge of my tongue in my mouth
Feels vaguely familiar-
This is just another epinephrine emergency love
Cause you know I am deadly allergic to liars
So you better stay away
And swear on all constant
Unavoidable things
That you’ll never come back
And I’ll swear to take you in my arms yet again
When you do
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Literature
Quiet
You want to stitch your wounds...
But you end up stitching your mouth instead
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Monica
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Canada

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:iconsleeprestlisgai1972:
sleeprestlisgai1972 Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2017  New Deviant
hi, look at this - tinyurl.com/ycl3z9c4
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:iconnightshade-keyblade:
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
:iconhappybirthday2plz:!
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:iconmalintra-shadowmoon:
Malintra-Shadowmoon Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday, Monica. May you have a great day today :heart:
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:iconnightshade-keyblade:
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
:iconhappybirthday2plz:, Monica!
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:iconhuks905:
Huks905 Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much! :D
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:iconmalintra-shadowmoon:
Malintra-Shadowmoon Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday and all my best wishes to you. Hope you have a wonderful day :heart:
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:iconhuks905:
Huks905 Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the wishes; I really appreciate it! :D (Big Grin) 
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:iconmalintra-shadowmoon:
Malintra-Shadowmoon Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
You are very welcome :)
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:iconnishdpian:
NISHDPIAN Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
hey thank you so much for the watch.....Chili Anime Emoji (Snuggy hug) [V2] Lovely Shoujo Emoji (Huggy Hug) [V2] 
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:iconpinkythepink:
pinkythepink Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2015  Professional Artisan Crafter
:love: Thank you for the favorites, it really means ever so much to me that you enjoy my artwork! I invite you to add me to your watch so that you can see all the future beaded and stitched pieces I have planned! :blowkiss: Just think of the sparkles... :squee:
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