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Getting to know meBasic Info:
- Name: Ver
- Age: 14 2/3 years old
- Birthday: October 18th
- Gender: tomboyish female?
- Ethnicity (spellfail): mexican, puerto rican, and dominican
- Occupancy: Part time student, full time artist and babysitter
- School grade: sophmore in highschool
- Relationship Status: taken
Info about me:
- Favorite color: blue
- Favorite pastime: drawing, reading, listening to music, writing, Skyping
- Favorite season: spring and summer
- Career in the future: vetinary medicine or biology
Description of myself:
- I have long medium to dark bronw hair. My eyes are a very dark brown. I wear glasses, most of the time. I am four foot eleven or five foot. I weigh ninety-one pounds. I have a short temper but very nice, as long as you don't piss me off.
Life of a Rogue"GET BACK HERE YOU THIEF!"
I ran with a meatball sandwich in my mouth. A human man about the age of 20 chased after me, for a short period of time. But he eventually got tired and I claimed the sandwich mine with victory. I run through allies till I reach what I call home. Central Park, best place in all of New York. I run swiftly past couples of romantic humans kissing and speaking in this sappy goo goo baby talk, humans with their young, and humans with their dogs. I look at those dogs on leashes and compared them to me. There are alot of differences.
I'm a mixed breed, low percentage wolf, who is also a stray. My name is Rogue, I wear a forest green bandana around my neck and I'm a thief. I have a long scar on my muzzle from . . . Uh-oh animal control. I down the sandwich and throw myself in the nearest bush. They didn't see me, but they had a yowling tabby, tom-cat called Chief in a carrier case. I felt bad for him, so ran out of the bush and howled like a rabid, well, dog. They tu
LonelyI sit on my bed leaning towards the computer screen, scrolling through every comment, every note. I sigh, there was nothing that caught my eye. There was only comments saying thanks for the faves or thanks for the watch and stuff from friends. I stare at my message page with hatred.
"Is that really all you have for me" I murmur. The screen gave no answer, so whispered swear words at it as I cleaned out my messages. Once it was emptied and jammed my blue earbuds in my ears and began listening to my favourite songs to pull me out of my shadowy mood. I refreshed the page only to disappoint myself. Officially in a dark mood, I scowled at the computer screen which showed my personality written all over it. My music, art, choice of background, and everything else screamed me.
I turned off the music and switched my earbuds into my handy-dandy I-pod touch. I refreshed the page one last time, my heart raced, hoping for what I wanted to show. Empty, fuck you deviantART mess
Chapter twoI slowly wake up realizing the sun leaking through my curtains, even though they were closed. I yawned and looked at the time, 9:37 AM. Athena, my dog, sat by the door waiting for me to wake up, she did that every morning. I had named my Collie Athena because of how intelligent she was. I had gotten her from the humane society where I volunteered.
“So eager every morning, Athena” I say with a smile, she wags at the sound of her name. Shaking my head with a light laugh, I slip on the light blue slippers that were under my bed. She slightly moves out the way as I walk towards the door, I grab the nob and turned it. Athena dashes to the door and heads to the kitchen, I roll my eyes and take a sniff in the air. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and orange juice were this morning’s aromas. As I walk to the kitchen I hear my mom walk out the backdoor. I shrug my shoulders and continue on walking, Athena runs back to me with a piece of bacon in her mouth. I enter the kitchen to the sig
chapter 1She sat in a small room that contained white walls with free styled art painted on some parts of the wall. In the room, there was a dark chocolate wooded bed frame with a black comforter, black pillow, and black fleece, all with white polka dots. Next to the bed was a nightstand, which had a black digital alarm clock, a Nintendo DS, and a Kindle Fire. In the shelf, there were a few books and some chargers, which had formed a tangled mess of wires. Inside the drawer were mechanical pencils and erasers and lead, and most importantly, her sketchbook. Next to the nightstand was a bookcase, it had some more books and contained movies on the shelves as well. The book case was a three shelf dark chocolate wood shelf, it was the same color as all the furniture in the room. At the foot of the bed was her desk. On her desk was a desk lamp and pencil cup. Above the desk on the wall was a calendar with blue, green, and red markings on quite a few days on the month. Inside h
examining the worldI lay here on my back, on the couch. I'm laying here viewing the apartment that I live in with a different perspective. The wall has a long crack and and a slight bump. Huh, i never noticed that there before.
As I lay here and look around, I think of my life. What has happened to me, the good and the bad, and how they shaped my life. I can't help but to frown but smile too. They made me who I am. As much as I am self-consious and feel ugly, I love my personality. I love that I have friends like, being a tomboy, all the things I love, being an artist and a musician.
After thinking about the loves, I think about the hates. Boy, that list is long. I hated the man that ruined my childhood and is trying to ruin my life, I hate the misery my first crush put me through, arachnids (god they make me shudder in terror), and so much more.
Sometimes I'm angry, frustrated, hurt, conflicted, emotional, but I'm also excited, joyful, surprised, and happy in general. As much as I would hate life, I lov
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
The PointIt’s the taste of cake mix on the spoon, that first time you ‘help’ bake a cake.
It’s seeing the bright world afresh after a dark nightmare, when you first wake.
It’s when you make them laugh and, in that moment, everyone loves a clown.
It’s when your heart stops before the roller coaster plummets down, down.
It’s when the lights go out before your favourite band plays and you scream.
It’s that moment you look around and everything’s perfect enough to be a dream.
It’s the anticipation of waiting for a new episode of your favourite television show.
It’s the first time you listen to your favourite record and you just sort of know.
It’s reading a book cover-to-cover and a million times more and still crying at the ending.
It’s the stiff, tight, real feeling of a smiling scab as you watch the wound mending.
It’s when you first meet your best friend and you hate each other (but in a good way).
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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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