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LittleMissWriter7 on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/littlemisswriter7/art/Wings-682316678LittleMissWriter7

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LittleMissWriter7 on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/littlemisswriter7/art/Out-of-the-Darkness-681344075LittleMissWriter7

LittleMissWriter7 on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/littlemisswriter7/art/Swirls-681215545LittleMissWriter7

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Poetry favorites

DavidMnr on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/davidmnr/art/Floraison-blossom-793735893DavidMnr

Literature

if i could invent words

i would like to create a word for what one feels when they realize: if we were birds, the only cage we would be in are the ones we create ourselves. how many times have our wings been clipped by our own hands alone. christ, i'm sorry. dear past self: i apologize for trying to define you; for definition is the metaphorical cage to change. the only limit the sky has is how far we can see.

Literature

nothing left but the paranoia

they say crows never forget and i am terrified this is true. see, the other week, i hit a crow with my car & they saw. they saw, and if they remember, then they know, and if they know, they will come. here is the thing: i am terrified they can see me & i am terrified they can not. my thoughts lately are a spiral, a maze, with an entrance but no exit. i am lost. i am lost, and they know. last week, i saw a cat, eating a crow, and in my mind, i am the cat, i am the crow, i am the car that hit the crow, i am my thoughts lost in my maze, and what if they see me.

Poetry

Literature

interior design for broken homes

i. here in isolation, we begin the fallout. everything around us makes us pull the knives out. once i turned to you when all the world was making chaos sounds; now we run away and run our ships aground, entire days lost. what cost can be discerned of loss and lives set fire? churn my stomach into wreckage, lover. what will we have learned? ii. as the night evades, we are tyrants in our ruling places. color me so purple that the worries fall up into space. ardor isn't earned, it is the currency of loneliness. i'm spent. iii. i've spent the last three days in solitude, a quiet i can't place now that it's over; what a melody is overbearing noise! no choice stings quite like you, and no regret is louder than the truth. up on the roof, the rain gives all of us illusions: we are not what we believe to be revealed. iv. if i had to explain it— and someday i worry i will— i would first look for paper, pen, mercy. v. the blueprint of a heart is volatile; everyone knows but no one

Literature

Prayer

the last time I was in a chapel I got a nosebleed at the start of when peace like a river I don’t get nosebleeds I took it as a sign I retreat inside my skin not because it’s safer but because I know this temple was built to withstand the burning spirit that inhabits it these windows shatterproof these walls flame resistant at home I make my own stained-glass busted mirror —pools of silver crimson-dipped fractals of my busted fist repeated my mother always said I had too much fire in me I am a fire sign after all what did she expect I contain it within myself no, I try when I open my mouth embers erupt I catch the

Literature

Rats

I’m sat here in this heat, little one, trying to find the poison. It is the thread between me and you? The thick blood in our veins, slowly killing us even as it keeps us alive? When the time comes, if I can will I? You will not thank me, little one, you do not have to. To give one’s life is one thing, reputation and honour another. Can I do the right thing in the dark, when no one will see? Or am I no better than the rest? I keep asking why this is us, little one, or if this is us at all. In the 70s the rats escaped the cage only to lock us in it.

Poems Prose

KimberlyJolanda on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kimberlyjolanda/art/Impressions-815288905KimberlyJolanda

Martith on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/martith/art/Eari-font-820582015Martith

Literature

'nothing' is a raptor

*** Listen to me read this piece: When I tell you "it's nothing" you usually hear: the clouds are dark and rough like elephant skin and I'm caught up in the folds of an ear, tangled and desperate for relief but unsure how to flip myself an escape. You usually hear: the world is still turning on its axis and I am left breathless, breaking.... broken in more ways than I can count on my hands, broken in more ways than I can put a name to, broken in more ways than I can ever explain. It's not that simple, really. Really, "nothing" is a raptor dragging furrows down my sides, screaming unintelligible. "nothing" is horseshoes and handgrenade

Wings

LittleMissWriter7

Published: May 24, 2017

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Description

This is a Woodworking project I'm very proud of. The butterfly wings are an art form called eclectic, that means everything is different, and it gives the eye variety. I chose wings because they represent freedom to me, and who doesn't want to look at a representation of freedom every time they get their keys? I apologize for the bad quality of the photo, but I hope you still like it!

Image size

2592x1936px 665.09 KB

Make

Apple

Model

iPad Air

Shutter Speed

1/20 second

Aperture

F/2.4

Focal Length

3 mm