I think you're beautiful.
Sorry I didn't say before.
I walk by here everyday.
I tried,
But there are reasons why
Why I refrain.
Some people would stare,
Be unsure,
Ask questions.
Because you have a peculiar kind of beauty.
One uniquely yours.
People ask who you are,
Say you're weird.
They throw you down,
Stare you down,
Feel your frown,
But I don't,
Because I see what is uniquely yours.
And don't worry,
'Cause I'm here.
When people say we're too similar,
As close as humans can go,
I won't care.
Let them stare.
Because sometimes life just isn't fair.
I love you, my girl.
Your beauty,
Your person,
My sight sees that
Say goodbye to the last second.
It ticked by.
It's gone.
You won't get it back.
It's a sad thought.
Youth isn't eternal.
Age is inevitable.
Our life leaves us.
Some have nothing,
Others have all.
But once it's done,
After every card's been played,
Think,
Wasn't it fun?
We live in a Cut-Off Place. We are alone on our own personal island. Our lawn meets the ocean. Our house is the floating remnants of livelihood. It's quiet now. Silent, almost. The buzz of the town was lost long ago. My wife and I were left alone when the rain came.
We were a newlywed couple when it happened, living on a small hill away from town. It was a place for travelers, the train being the main source of transportation. People came and went. We sat and watched. Like the wheels running across the track, like the smoke spewing into the air, like the horn's fading sound, life left us.
All the people were washed away.
It is beautiful.
It's been a long time
Since the colors were here.
Others forget, but I hold them dear.
Back when I was a girl, the world held hues you don't know.
Grasses were more than green,
Skies, more than blue.
Nowadays it's all singular.
One.
And you're through.
The crayon box was infinite
A long time ago.
It's variety held the earth.
And it's beauty glowed.
Now it holds sixteen
With only a few in between.
This technology drains of what I used to see.
And I'm sad.
And I'm dreary.
I'm alone in this world
As a little old lady who dreams of being a girl.
Until one day when another came along.
She told me her story and sang
Black is friends with White.
White is friends with Black.
They seem unlikely.
There are too many opposites to count,
But they've found a meeting ground
And have made a compromise.
Now they play on the playground
Hand in hand,
And see eye to eye.
Who is Arnold?
Please, tell me. 'Cause I don't know.
I've heard he's been following me,
But he never shows.
I've heard he's a writer.
I've heard he's a leader,
I've heard he's a power,
A shouter,
A screamer.
I've heard that's he's loud,
And I've heard that he's quiet.
I've heard he's the mystery man
Who lives in your closet.
I've heard he's a player,
And a narcissist too.
I've heard he's a moron,
A typist,
A clue.
Is Arnold a woman?
A man?
Or another?
Is Arnold a person who thinks he's your mother?
Is Arnold a person I don't want to know?
Is he a creeper,
A sneaker,
A sleeper,
A shmoe?
Long ago, there lived five beings: Pride, Gluttony, Anger, Religion, and Ignorance. These black beings all lived together on Earth. They hated each other and they let it show. There was fighting and arguments, but they never amounted to anything.
Until one day, when the other side appeared.
Five other beings lived on Earth, but hid in the background, listening to the others bicker. One fateful day, the white beings tried to stand up to the ten bullies.
Charity, Forgiveness, Love, Acceptance, and Positivity came out of hiding and confronted the other beings and expressed their best talents.
Love and Acceptance, hand in hand, came forward a
Dedicated to a dear friend of mine.
Day 365,000,000.
0 days left.
No more waiting.
Closing the Clockwork Journal, the dark knight rose from his bed. It was time to wake his princess. There was no other moment worth living for, but tonight. This was it. He had waited so long, but it's time.
The wooden door to his hut eased open and the cold-his cold- enveloped him once again.
Every twelve hours, this was his routine. His eyes snapped open-there was no in between sleep. No early morning grogginess. Just on, and off- then he left his home and made the long twelve-hour journey to the other side. Away from the darkness, the cold, and the
A young girl once asked a blind man, "Can you see?"
"Why, no, silly girl," the man replied. "I'm blind."
"I know that. Can you see?"
The man thought hard. He couldn't remember one moment when he had vision. "I'm sorry, my girl, but my eyes are broken. I don't understand what you mean."
"I guess you can't then..." The girl sighed, defeated.
She spent her whole life searching. She learned many languages and toured many countries during her mission, but none brought her to who she was looking for. One day, when she was old and retired, she sat on her front porch, feeling the soft breeze blow through her hair and listening to the soft c
I dream of a world
Where there's no gay or straight.
Only love,
And no hate.
I dream of a world
Where skin doesn't matter.
It's the inside,
The glowing light
That makes the world brighter.
I dream of a world
Where there are no smokestacks spewing,
No train tracks using
What the companies are schmoozing.
I dream of a world
Where everyone is heard,
Where no one is deterred,
Where no one is absurd.
I dream of a world
Where we all can unite,
Where we all can ignite
Our power of flight.
I think you're beautiful.
Sorry I didn't say before.
I walk by here everyday.
I tried,
But there are reasons why
Why I refrain.
Some people would stare,
Be unsure,
Ask questions.
Because you have a peculiar kind of beauty.
One uniquely yours.
People ask who you are,
Say you're weird.
They throw you down,
Stare you down,
Feel your frown,
But I don't,
Because I see what is uniquely yours.
And don't worry,
'Cause I'm here.
When people say we're too similar,
As close as humans can go,
I won't care.
Let them stare.
Because sometimes life just isn't fair.
I love you, my girl.
Your beauty,
Your person,
My sight sees that
Say goodbye to the last second.
It ticked by.
It's gone.
You won't get it back.
It's a sad thought.
Youth isn't eternal.
Age is inevitable.
Our life leaves us.
Some have nothing,
Others have all.
But once it's done,
After every card's been played,
Think,
Wasn't it fun?
We live in a Cut-Off Place. We are alone on our own personal island. Our lawn meets the ocean. Our house is the floating remnants of livelihood. It's quiet now. Silent, almost. The buzz of the town was lost long ago. My wife and I were left alone when the rain came.
We were a newlywed couple when it happened, living on a small hill away from town. It was a place for travelers, the train being the main source of transportation. People came and went. We sat and watched. Like the wheels running across the track, like the smoke spewing into the air, like the horn's fading sound, life left us.
All the people were washed away.
It is beautiful.
It's been a long time
Since the colors were here.
Others forget, but I hold them dear.
Back when I was a girl, the world held hues you don't know.
Grasses were more than green,
Skies, more than blue.
Nowadays it's all singular.
One.
And you're through.
The crayon box was infinite
A long time ago.
It's variety held the earth.
And it's beauty glowed.
Now it holds sixteen
With only a few in between.
This technology drains of what I used to see.
And I'm sad.
And I'm dreary.
I'm alone in this world
As a little old lady who dreams of being a girl.
Until one day when another came along.
She told me her story and sang
Black is friends with White.
White is friends with Black.
They seem unlikely.
There are too many opposites to count,
But they've found a meeting ground
And have made a compromise.
Now they play on the playground
Hand in hand,
And see eye to eye.
Who is Arnold?
Please, tell me. 'Cause I don't know.
I've heard he's been following me,
But he never shows.
I've heard he's a writer.
I've heard he's a leader,
I've heard he's a power,
A shouter,
A screamer.
I've heard that's he's loud,
And I've heard that he's quiet.
I've heard he's the mystery man
Who lives in your closet.
I've heard he's a player,
And a narcissist too.
I've heard he's a moron,
A typist,
A clue.
Is Arnold a woman?
A man?
Or another?
Is Arnold a person who thinks he's your mother?
Is Arnold a person I don't want to know?
Is he a creeper,
A sneaker,
A sleeper,
A shmoe?
Long ago, there lived five beings: Pride, Gluttony, Anger, Religion, and Ignorance. These black beings all lived together on Earth. They hated each other and they let it show. There was fighting and arguments, but they never amounted to anything.
Until one day, when the other side appeared.
Five other beings lived on Earth, but hid in the background, listening to the others bicker. One fateful day, the white beings tried to stand up to the ten bullies.
Charity, Forgiveness, Love, Acceptance, and Positivity came out of hiding and confronted the other beings and expressed their best talents.
Love and Acceptance, hand in hand, came forward a
Dedicated to a dear friend of mine.
Day 365,000,000.
0 days left.
No more waiting.
Closing the Clockwork Journal, the dark knight rose from his bed. It was time to wake his princess. There was no other moment worth living for, but tonight. This was it. He had waited so long, but it's time.
The wooden door to his hut eased open and the cold-his cold- enveloped him once again.
Every twelve hours, this was his routine. His eyes snapped open-there was no in between sleep. No early morning grogginess. Just on, and off- then he left his home and made the long twelve-hour journey to the other side. Away from the darkness, the cold, and the
A young girl once asked a blind man, "Can you see?"
"Why, no, silly girl," the man replied. "I'm blind."
"I know that. Can you see?"
The man thought hard. He couldn't remember one moment when he had vision. "I'm sorry, my girl, but my eyes are broken. I don't understand what you mean."
"I guess you can't then..." The girl sighed, defeated.
She spent her whole life searching. She learned many languages and toured many countries during her mission, but none brought her to who she was looking for. One day, when she was old and retired, she sat on her front porch, feeling the soft breeze blow through her hair and listening to the soft c
I dream of a world
Where there's no gay or straight.
Only love,
And no hate.
I dream of a world
Where skin doesn't matter.
It's the inside,
The glowing light
That makes the world brighter.
I dream of a world
Where there are no smokestacks spewing,
No train tracks using
What the companies are schmoozing.
I dream of a world
Where everyone is heard,
Where no one is deterred,
Where no one is absurd.
I dream of a world
Where we all can unite,
Where we all can ignite
Our power of flight.
Hi there! All you really need to know about me is that I'm a very serious writer. I love doing my thing. I'm quirky and I'm weird and I don't want to be any other way! Embrace the weird! :D
NOTE If you're interested in becoming a writer, or you already are one, and you have a story you'd like some advice on, I'd be glad to help. I'll edit one short chapter, short prologue, poem, or anything else writerly-brains can think of. I'm interested in reading some of your talent! Just note me a bit about yourself, your piece, what you'd like me to do with it, and a link to the piece. If it's already been posted, give me the link. If not, you can copy and paste it in the note. I hope to hear from you!
P.S. What I want in life is to reach my goal of every person knowing that they're wonderful. Because of this: YOU'RE WONDERFUL
Favourite Visual Artist
Georgia O'Keefe and Vasily Kandinsky
Favourite Movies
Any movie by Hayao Miyasaki
Favourite TV Shows
Sherlock!!!!
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Adam Lambert, MIKA, and Jamie Cullum
Favourite Books
All of them...?
Favourite Writers
Stephen King
Favourite Games
Anything non-sport related (lol)
Tools of the Trade
To write a good story you need: A large vocabulary, a nice computer, and a great imagination.
Other Interests
Writing, appreciating, and listening. That's just about all I do.
Please, dA. You have to help me. You see, my stepdad just offended me. He thinks that literature and books are not art, not an art form, and are not widely considered as art. If you believe books are beautiful in any shape or form, please comment. Tell me something about how a book has changed your life. What makes words beautiful?
Watching Ghost Hunters again… This show just makes me happy. They're so scared of noises that only they can hear. "Another big male voice! AAAAAH!" But the audience watching the show is like "what? All I heard was weird, tension-building music." Then they see stuff, but instead of showing us what they see, they point into a dark spot where the camera can't capture anything. It makes me laugh, critique, and laugh. 'Tis quality television.
Come on, Supreme Court!! Let's go! Let's go! Let's go! Stop thinking in the past. Take a step. Take a chance. And let everyone marry. Let everyone love and be loved. There's no reason why two men or two women shouldn't get married.
Save some happiness and freedom. Overturn Proposition 8.
Yeah, I know! Summer's been nuts for me. I've been doing WAY too much in far too short a time, but I'm having a blast doing it, so that's ok. I finally got a Tumblr. Some girls that were at my college writing program convinced me to do it. Ugh....I love it and hate it so very very much.
Oooh, you have a tumblr now? What's your name? Mines lordlucy.tumblr.com (Our yaoi dealer from school convinced me to get a tumblr XD) I've been doing way too much as well. Spent some time at a music camp, went to Germany, went to Cape May, and all while having colour guard rehearsals every Wednesday. Band camp starts Monday D: