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Showing most liked content on 02/23/18 in all areas

  1. 3 points
    smoke on the air and trust us but you've failed us, haven't you? you've failed us again and again and again and again drumbeat staccato rhythm that's no drum you beg our respect and yet you have done nothing to earn it tear me down into a million pieces i will always stand back up we're standing tall and holding hands tight interlock our fingers and feel my heart beat do not let me go build a wall he said so we did we built it in our hearts and around our bodies we raised the barricades and readied the siege cannons thief in the night, stealing our everything and it's almost funny that you think we'd lie down and take it it's your future, they say and think of the children well, the children are thinking eyes wide open in the fading light watch the earth spin loose from its orbit out of control like a broken windmill get off the merry-go-round if you can't take it but it's not stopping and there's no way off don't jump. dig in your heels and say no. black and white moral gray of right and wrong this isn't about beliefs anymore this is about freedom gold coins are glistening but that doesn't matter when they're soaked in our blood you blocked us out and shut our mouths and so this is war and we will win it ready your weapons answer the call it's our future and we are taking it surrender quietly because we're not taking survivors this is a battlefield and you drew the lines and moments later crossed them well we've had enough brace yourself for the dawn sky turning orange or red like blood tomorrow is for us for our broken chains and rust-colored hearts fists in the air with the voices screaming get ready, soldiers the kids have had enough.
  2. 2 points
    i did a fuckton of art just now skdgjksdjfs (if u read the file names all may become....slightly more clear)
  3. 1 point
    I love this poem! Especially:
  4. 1 point
    take a ribbon and wrap it tight around your fingers curl your fist into silk-strong solidity raise it in the air and count the moths that flock to your light one, two, three; open your hand and show it to the world. hold it high no higher. wrap the ribbon further up your arms use it to hide your scars pluck the wings from the moths dusty gray and soft-fuzz glue them to your eyelids. do not use butterflies; that is a false sort of color. do not let yourself be fragile cover yourself in acrylic and hide your glass bones bury your fire-blown history in the coals of the forge call on your molten heart and start spinning. they'll try to break you. don't let them. hold tight to the cloth. don't let it choke you. it will try it will crawl up to your throat and wrap tight around your lips begging silence, begging submission— do not submit find some paint dip your fingers in smear it on your face drip red onto the pavement and make sure to coat your lips hold tight to your lover and do not let her slide away. tie the ribbon between your wrists a handcuff, almost, a bond a lifeline. tie it tight. feel for her pulse. paint her fingers red and kiss her moth-wing lids don't let her wash away in the tide. they will try to break your hold. they will try to smash your bones. they will try to paint butterflies on your cheeks bright colors and fragile innocence. they will put lampshades over your light and paint fool on your face in gray-green-blue. they are lying. remember, they are lying. go find your ribbon. find your paint and your moths and your lover mix them in a cauldron and bite down till you taste blood. this is how to start a home-grown rebellion.
  5. 1 point
    Looking at my journal, I notice that there aren't that many pages. This makes me sad, because it is a really old and used to be my dad's, a memory of the good old days, seeing the happy side of him that we rarely see now.
  6. 1 point
  7. 1 point
    To the doodler: You strike me as soon as I see you in the pew in front of me at church. Your coat is spread out to one side of you, and a scarf and gloves are tossed to the other side. You have a notebook and pencil in hand and I wonder if you are planning on taking notes on the homily. The sleeves of your plaid button-down are rolled up to reveal another shirt underneath. It is black, and I would say skin tight, but that calls to mind images of buff teenagers while you are scrawny and gray haired. You remind me of the archetypal genius who always forgets where he's put his papers. I the middle of mass, I see you doodling on the pamphlet of psalms and other music for the service. You draw some patterns that look a little like trees, but more like metal sculptures that someone trying to decorate their house in a way other people will think is tasteful would buy. The same pamphlets are kept in the pews for a few months, so the idea is that whoever sits there next week would use the pamphlet you drew on. I don't notice if you put it back or not. If you do, i wonder what the next person will think. Later, I see you drawing again, this time in your own notebook. These pictures look like pieces architectural plans: arches and buttresses without attached walls. I wonder how much your classmates shunned you in school. How much would I have let them to be a little more accepted myself? I know you only by one hour of your life, and already you stand out. Thank you for reminding me that there are an infinite number of ways to live. I may never see you again, but I'll remember you. Not forever, but maybe for a month, and that's a lot longer than I remember the average stranger.