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Sports"Chloe, do something!"
My mind comes rushing back to the stuffy sports hall
My class are staring at me expectantly.
I look at the old, dull basketball at my feet,
And half-heartedly throw it
Out of court.
I hear a chorus of 'boos'
"Nice one, loser"
"Gee, what a throw"
Sarcastic comments are hurled at me as the other girls run past,
Their long, tanned legs barely covered by the regulation PE shorts.
I look down my pale, thin and bruised knees.
At least I'm small enough
For the shorts to cover the trail of cuts
On my thigh.
I retreat back into the corner of the court
Waiting for the bell to ring,
And send me to an hour of maths.
As I walk out of the changing rooms,
I hear cackles behind me:
"Can't even throw a ball"
"I don't think she's ever made eye contact, like, ever!"
I run away with tears pouring down my cheeks.
Holding a pack of gauze
To the line of
Running down my arm,
I replay the sounds I heard
During sports class.
The voices change,
For a way
To tell you
That I love you
I know it's odd
All these years
As I look into your eyes
I see my life
A life with you
And I can't wait to share it
I love you
I have always loved you
And I will love you forever
Please tell me that you
That you'll take care of me
That you'll never let anything hurt me
The razor lays lifeless in my hand
Not a sound
doesn't love me
FamilyCan you remember the night when we first met?
It was freezing. And dark too, but you could still see me, crouching on the pavement underneath the broken street-lamp.
I was crying, do you remember that? How you came up to me, a stranger, and you gave me your new hoodie. And a hug.
You wiped away my tears
And you asked me why I was so sad.
I told you everything, my whole life story. All my pains, all my insecurities, all the things that eat away at my insides until I'm hollow.
You kissed me, when I stopped talking. It was so soft, so gentle. You gave me your number, and told me to call you if I ever felt like crying again.
And I did.
A few saturdays later.
Do you remember?
We went to pizza hut, in town. I wanted to order a salad, but you told me I was perfect.
It was sunny that day, so warm and cosy. Especially with you.
We spent 6 hours together, lying on the grass, then we had to part.
But do you remeber all the other times?
When we danced in your room to My Chemical Romance
Until we p
everything is a threat.
My coat flung over the chair
is a man slouched,
waiting for me to wake
The pile of clothes in the corner
is a murderer crouching in the dark
waiting for me to sleep
The sound of cars outside the window
is a single car
for my light to turn on
The creak outside my room
Is a rapist
about to push the door open
The wardrobe is a monster
The shelves contain guns
The mirror is staring at me
The rug is a hole in the floor
waiting to swallow me up
I wish I wasn't so afraid all the time
I wish I could sleep
But I can't,
So I wait
For the darkness
Drive"Are we nearly there yet?" Michael asks
His head pounding
His eyes closing
The parents sigh
Their minds on the map,
The road ahead
The pressure to reach home before nightfall.
His eyes rest on the falling droplets on the window where he rests his head.
The cars behind
Blow their horns
Preventing Michael from falling into the
In which he is so familiar.
The cars beside theirs,
Identically stranded on the motorway
Each provide a different story,
A different life
A different past and future.
Michael's eyes wander into each of the square windows
Drinking in the wonders
Of Human Life.
A young woman,
Rests her eyes in the daily jam
On her way home from work.
A teenage girl
Her father at the wheel
Listens to her white Ipod classic
Her arm against the window
A man laughs on his headset
An old woman
With the bags under her eyes.
So many lives
So many stories
He rubs his eyes
Trouble LurkingI look through the greasy windows of a small, out-of-town diner, full of middle-aged lorry drivers working the night shift. They are tired, lonely, a pain to look at. But the image of the creature serving them coffee is suffice to endure the sight.
She is small, and young, with a tiny figure. Her large brown eyes carry hope and eagerness, and the corners of her mouth are upturned as her customers bluntly ask for a refill.
These minute details help me to build a vague idea of her story. I'm thinking...
New to the area. She works nights so she can use her days for auditions and rehearsals.
I sigh at the stereotype.
As the dim light flashes against the shine of her hair when her head turns, my heart leaps. The red strands are long and soft, aching to be stroked.
I bite my lip and resist the urge to push open the double doors and step onto the cheap, green linoleum tiles.
The seconds tick by like hours, until she retreats back into the kitchen. I finally let out the breath I have been hold
The Bracelet ProjectI saw this on tumblr... I thought I'd share it with all of you.
“The Bracelet Project.
Each disorder has a color that corresponds to it.
Anorexia is Red.
Bulimia is Purple.
EDNOS is Pink.
Depression is blue.
Self harm is Orange or Black.
Fasting at the time is Green.
Suicidal is Yellow.
Overweight/Obese is Turquoise.
Anxiety/Panic disorder/OCD is Teal.
Adding 1 white bead means you’re trying to recover.
If your bracelet is half of the color that your disease is and half white it means you’re in recovery.
You can also make the strand the main disorder you have then add beads to your lesser disorders, or if you have EDNOS, if you have more anorexic or bulimic tendencies then you can add a red or purple bead.
If you see a girl in public wearing one, you are supposed to make eye contact and point to your bracelet. If she nods then you know she is part of the bracelet project.
Spread awareness about the bracelet project.”
mine is blue, with a red, pink, black and
I step out into the road,
Hear a screech of tyres,
I'm told I'm lucky to be alive,
I tell them all they're liars.
Laying alone on a hospital bed,
They tell me the cancer hasn't spread,
They tell me I'm lucky to be alive,
I tell them I never want to survive.
I'm told they got here just in time,
But the overdose was a plan of mine,
They say one more hour and I'd be dead,
Couldn't they leave me alone instead?
Jeff NilsenI'm truthful when I write,
Maybe it's the only true moments I have in my life
When the writings get shared I know someone else knows the truth too.
The thoughts that linger in my head
Reverberating as I try to beat them down
Only flow neatly when I have a pen in my hand
And a hope in my heart.
I know that when someone reads my writing
They know ME, they know who I am without a covering
It feels good that my English teacher
Knows me, better than anyone in this school
Only because he has read a few of my better pieces
Telling me the poet we based our poetry on
Would be proud and under that an A+
I know I got to him with the story of a past that made me
Who I am as I sit in his class and fake smiles
He knows that I was beat
That I've attempted to take my life
And he smiles warmly at me
And tells me that it is an excellent piece
I think maybe this is the best I have ever felt about writing
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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