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Read between the linesIf you would have read between the lines that painted my wrist
…You'd see they taunted me
Fat, Ugly, worthless
It's all they seem to have screamed
However, their message changed
…when a new perspective had finally come around
Now all they shriek is,
You made it through
Tin SoldierShe wishes she was a violin so she could sing of tragedy and of sweetness and of wild beauty – so she could sing of giving and of grieving and of loss; of the crumbling of men; of the wandering; of the weeping; of her heart breaking anew at the rawness of this world. Her skin is too soft, her eyes are too wide. She is a fragile and hollow vessel. She thinks her bones are too light for these things she carries. She hates to sound precocious.
She wishes she was a violin so the world could draw its fingers over her and she would weep so sweetly that I could not swallow my sadness any longer but would let it burst forth from underneath my skin. A fountain, a pomegranate in a fist. A violin. She wishes the world would listen to it. She wishes the fountain of my song and the weeping notes were enough to empty my heart, because she swears she could fill it again.
We could be violins together, she thinks, and sing of our sadness and of our sweetness and of our grief. We could serenade the love
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More