I tend to not fave so many writed art, but that just makes the few of them more special.
Darling, Don't You Dare by MikkiMarie, literature
Literature
Darling, Don't You Dare
To the girl who skips dinner,
Because her reflection hurts more than
Starving.
To the boy who wears sweatshirts
On hot summer days,
Because he doesn’t want his mother to cry over his
Scars.
To the boy who weeps uncontrollably
Until he falls asleep,
Because it’s the only way to escape into his
Dreams.
To the girl who spends her days in her bedroom,
Because the dark is more peaceful than her
Mind.
To the child who gets angry,
Because no one understands.
To the teens who self-harm,
To the ones in recovery,
To the ones that just can’t do it anymore…
Stay Strong.
For the girl who skips meals
And the boy who wears sw
I am the goddess of the Sticky Note.
I long thrived on all of the words humanity would generously pour into me. I feasted on their cursive, their block letters, their chicken scratch. Penmanship came in many flavors – each one a fresh treat, each one an act of devotion. Each message as unique as the human hand that scrawled it in their haste.
People never seemed to feel that they had enough time. But I had all of time to enjoy their scribblings.
Messages to themselves. Messages to each other. Messages meant for the void. So many fleeting moments I enjoyed along with my loyal followers – soaking in their ink and their graphite a
Once upon a time they say
There lived a girl in Santun Bay
She was once a sweet girl, kind and pretty
But now poor and homeless, more's the pity.
It all started a few years ago,
this girl's piteous tale of woe.
Before she was a woman grown,
She lost all she'd ever known.
Her parents died in a house fire,
And with them gone her life grew dire.
She grew up begging on the streets
And never had enough to eat.
She learned to cheat and lie and steal,
Would do anything for one good meal.
So when she came across a man
Who offered food, she never ran.
She took his proffered arm instead,
And was led to an inn where she'd be fed.
And w
How to love a girl who can't love herself. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
How to love a girl who can't love herself.
one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
two.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
three.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says
Roses are red, violets are blue by Cyndrome, literature
Literature
Roses are red, violets are blue
Roses are red, violets are blue,
but they don't seem as bright, now we miss you.
All the colors turned into shades of gray,
because you had to leave us, because you went away.
And maybe, in time, they will become bright once more,
when we realize again what colors stand for,
when your memory will be as sweet and powerful as love,
and we can say: watch out for us there, up above.
(jan 2009 - Cynthia Smit)
When I was a little girl, I went to church. Our church was an illegal one: the building was unregistered.
We would sit on the benches made from stolen floorboards and listen to a man dressed in black as he read us tales of angels coming to save righteous men from evil, their swords clean and their trumpets blaring.
The man dressed in black was old. He was sick. His Bible was missing pages.
One day in March, my mother turned to me and said clearly, "Masha, I want you to remember something for when you grow up." Maybe she knew she was dying. "God loves murderers."
I just looked up at her, thumb in my mouth. My mother was still a beautiful w
1: Mias and Elle Meet Again by midnightfaery, literature
Literature
1: Mias and Elle Meet Again
Elle glanced around the wide expanse of the ballroom, suppressing a yawn with the back of her hand. It was just after eleven o'clock and she was eager for the night to end so she could go home and crawl into bed. She wasn't normally one for these types of parties, but she had promised her friends that she would attend this illustrious costume ball that they had been planning for the past several weeks.
She shifted from side to side, grateful that the long crimson skirt of her ball gown was long enough that she was at least able to wear her favorite pair of comfortable flats. Her friends had all opted for sexy high heels, but Elle knew that a
Mias stared at Elle's sleeping form beside him. She hadn't moved all nighthe knew because he hadn't moved all night either. He was still lying back against the headboard, watching her steady breathing and enjoying the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her lacy white bra. He had stripped her out of the gown she had been wearing, wanting her to be comfortable as she slept, confused as to why he cared about her comfort at all. His grin widened as her chest rose, deciding that caring about whether or not Elle was comfortable had to be the best damn idea he ever had.
Sunlight poured through the open window, a slant of light cutting acros
3: Mias and Elle Share a Kiss by midnightfaery, literature
Literature
3: Mias and Elle Share a Kiss
It took every bit of strength Elle had to keep herself from trembling. Mias still had his strong hands on her shoulders, his eyes furious. She felt so vulnerable, not because of Mias' firm hold on her, but because of the way his eyes looked deeply into hers, unblinking.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever, and Elle wasn't sure how much longer she could stand it.
"Whatever you're planning to do to me, I wish you would get on with it already. This drawn out silence is killing me." She was so proud of herself in that moment, because despite the fear that pooled in her belly her voice didn't show an ounce of what she felt.
Mias' lip twitc