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To a friend7
Hello new friend,
I know I just met you today
but I can tell that we've got a long future ahead of us.
I met you at recess.
I was sitting over in the corner, you know,
where I always sit near that big maple tree.
I was building a house of twigs
and one of the older boys came and kicked it down
and told me to play somewhere else.
So I did.
And I didn't cry.
ok, so maybe I cried a little, but it was ok cause
that's how I met you.
I just closed my eyes and there you were.
sitting in front of me
on the blank white sheet of my mind.
You are so smart, friend.
I don't know what an imbecile is,
but it was nice of you to call those boys ones.
You remind me of a character from my book.
Let's build a house of twigs together, friend.
And we'll be the only ones with the key.
I have a sleepover tonight, friend,
so I'm afraid I won't be able to talk to you.
I love to talk to you before bed.
I would like you to know that you are wonderful company.
My other friends don't understand y
Who the hell is Bucky?After he dragged Steve out of that lake, Bucky should have run. He was the Winter Soldier. He was a ghost story. A shadow. And if SHEILD or HYDRA found him, he'd have to hurt people. But he didn't run. He hid in the woods in a place where he could see Captain America laying on the sand, bleeding. He watched as people came and found his limp unconscious body, watched as they strapped him to a wheeled board that reminded Bucky too much of the chair he'd been strapped to after a mission.
"But I knew him."
"your work has been a gift to humanity"
"You will be the new fist of HYDRA!"
He scowled, shaking off the voices. He shouldn't have these memories. He'd been out of cyro for too long. He should get back to HYDRA for debriefing. But he'd failed his mission, and he didn't want to go back. So instead he threw one last glance over his shoulder at the man who had called him 'Bucky' and promised him until the li
Sleepovers and Stars (a Doctor/Master fanfic)“Are you ok?” The voice was gentle and soft and unconditionally kind, but the Master refused to reply, or even look up. He knew who it was, anyway. There were only two people on this bloody prison of a ship. He was curled in a ball in the corner of the room where the Doctor had locked him up after the untimely destruction of a small but densely populated moon. He’d sworn up and down that he had nothing to do with it, and his fellow timelord probably would have been able to forgive him if he hadn’t found a very specific set of wires that had just happened to be missing from the generator that ran the moon’s asteroid shields stuffed in his pocket. That had been a bad night for both of them.
And of course, the result of the Master’s destructive tendencies had been that the Doctor had left him in a blank and silent room to ‘think about what he’d done’ (Which was never going to happen, since it was impossible to think over the sound of t
Letting GoIt's like a little girl
cupping a feather in her hand on a windy day
She holds it between two fingers, telling herself
that she's going to let it fly away like the creature it came from
fly away and dance in the wind.
But fingers don't seem to want to let go- they preen over the little grey and yellow patches instead
and avoid the bits that are matted with red.
The little girls knows
what that red is, but she won't let herself think about it.
It's like when that little girl
takes home the feather held carefully in her pocket
and places it
in an old
under her bed,
where it sleeps until a few years later
when she finds her forgotten treasure,
climbs to the tippity top
of her favorite climbing tree
and finally lets the feather fly away.
It makes her cry
how it gets stuck on every branch on the way down.
It's like a 10 year old boy
fingers rigid around a tree branch
while his feet hang down in the air.
His friends aren't even there to egg him on,
To a Best FriendFriends know when you're happy
Best friends know when you're faking it.
Friends ask you questions
Best friends answer for you.
Friends are friends
Best friends are sisters.
Friends know your past
Best friends dictate your future.
So, to my best friends, the one who knows me better then anyone,
You're the Downton to my Abbey,
You're the Doctor to my Who
You're the apples to my honey,
and my life would stink without you.
You're the sonic to my screwdriver,
the weeping to my angel,
the doctor to my companion,
the hero to my sidekick,
and all the brightest starts in my galaxy are your's.
You're the Leah to my Luke,
the Star to my David,
the Ladder to my Jacob,
the Artemis to my Holly,
and the Max to my Flock.
You're the Katniss to my Prim,
the Britain to my America,
the Fez to my Bowtie.
The spring to my step,
the sole to my shoes,
the light to my eyes,
and the beat to my heart.
and though you can be
The Goliath to my David,
Whovergent Chapter 3: choices That night was the hardest one in a long time for both Theta and Koschei. Theta had planned on sleeping over at his friend's house tonight, since Koschei's father was a faction leader and had a large house right near the Erudite compound, but now he couldn't bare to even look at the other boy, never mind stay over his house for the night. Instead, he stayed in the school dorm for the night. Everyone else was going home for their their last night before initiation, but Theta's parents were always busy with work and the younger kids-they'd be there in the morning to take him to the choosing ceremony. It was probably better anyway, he thought as he lay in his double bed in the corner of the empty room. His parents were always able to tell when something was bothering him, and he didn't want to talk about it, not now.Tomorrow, he would be an initiate, and more importantly, he'd be saying goodbye to his best friend forever. That is, if Koschei would even talk to him to say goo
Whovergent Chapter 2: TestsFire and Water. They danced in Koschei's dreams that night, each momentarily beating him back into the other until he didn't know which was better, or even where one ended and the other started. When the dream started, he was standing at the choosing ceremony, with the 16-year-olds of all the factions sitting behind him. In front of him lay a semi-circle of bowls, each one filled with a substance representing a different faction. He would cut his hand with a knife and sprinkle his blood into the faction he would choose. Then his hand was outstretched, and there was blood dripping down his wrist onto the carpet, and Erudite water and Dauntless flame were on either side of him, in huge metal bowls, and his hand didn't know which was to go. Cool water, or hot fire. Bravery, or Intelligence. Was he smart enough to choose a life of certainty and studies and Theta by his side, or brave enough to choose uncertainty and danger and loneliness?
"Choose." A voice sounded behind him. It was cold a
Whovergent Chapter 1: Beginnings"Theta, I'm bored." Silence. The younger boy poked the older's arm, but his friend just brushed him off, leaning in even closer over the book he was engrossed in. "What do you want to do?" No response. "Thete, come on. What do you want to do?"
"I'm doing it," mumbled Theta grumpily, finally looking up from his book. "I will never understand why you can't seem to appreciate a good book." The teen had a pale but handsome face, with deep brown eyes, fairly high cheekbones, and brown hair that stuck up in an odd way. He looked even taller the usual next to his almost child-like friend. "Books are fine, but wouldn't you rather be out, well, I dunno, having fun? Exploring? Maybe exploding a few things?" The lighter-haried boy stood up and looked down at his friend with green-brown eyes, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. Theta was very familiar with that grin. It was a sign of impending trouble.
"No. Be quiet."
"Who am I going to disturb?" He scanned the library where they sat. It was
The butterfly in the GhettoMost beautiful things stay
away, out of reach.
On the other side of the fence,
where the world’s still a good place.
Butterflies don’t live here.
The bird song is a distant echo
just out of reach.
But there was one,
a yellow butterfly floating over the fence
like a ray of sun.
It leaves a trail of gold behind it,
as it flutters down,
to land on the cold grey ground.
So out of place,
like a dot in a sea of stripes.
Just like me.
Go, I told it.
here’s not a good place.
There’s no such thing as a good day
in the ghetto.
But it stayed
for a moment.
like the feeling of hope,
warming in your heart.
Then fluttered back over the fence.
backlit against a turquoise sky.
Some day I’ll follow,
cast off the barbed-wire,
cast off the pain.
cast off the chains I have to wear,
just because of who I am.
אני גאה להיות יהודי
I’m proud to be Jewish.
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, yes i do.
i may not see the moon, but
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
That Gay Boy Sitting Next To YouLook at the gay boy sitting next to you,
the one who you kick, physically torture and verbally abuse.
Look at his eyes that were once vibrant with life,
and keep in mind that you and your friend's were the one who stole his light.
You called him a sin and condemned him to hell,
every day he walked through the school doors, he was greeted with your intolerant yells.
With your injustice , you treated him as terribly as you pleased,
and when you were through with your torment, you treated him like some sort of disease.
Was religion your actual excuse to act like an ass,
or was there something that you refused to see past?
Because that gay boy who sits next you daily in class,
is the one who knows your present, future and past.
He knows where bullies come from, so don't hide fully behind Christianity.
Because when you go home, you yourself are showered with profanities.
The same fist you used to beat the blue eyed boy,
is the same fist that your father uses to wring around your neck
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
surgeryi promised not to scar
my skin. so i cut out my
brain and hurled it into
just like cancer, the worst of me is dead.
WonderI wonder how I got here
I wonder which way's true.
I wonder at the raindrops,
I wonder why they fall the way they do.
I've got so many questions
and so little time.
In this crazy world
I can find so little reason or rhyme.
If hope's a bird with feathers
that perches in the soul,
then I'm a lonely traveler,
walking a winding road.
But at least I've got my questions,
my answers and my songs,
for if life's a lonely highway, at least there's still wonder in us all.
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More