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Literature
Forsaken Sister
I think about you every day,
Of all the things you did.
I wish I knew something to say,
To beat that demons that you hid.
Your words still ring here in my ears,
All the things you've said.
I know, for this you've waited years,
Suffered, yearned and bled.
For once I am here to comfort you,
To tell you of my love.
And always to assure you,
Here, you fit like a glove.
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Literature
Nihilism
Then pendulum had stopped,
And the clock has ticked its last tock;
Time doesn't seem the same here,
It stretches into eternity.
My life is awash with apathy,
Most mornings I can't bare to open my eyes;
I dream in monochrome,
And I won't give up until I can get this right.
Again I awake from emptiness,
Chasing shadows that slip through my fingers like sand;
A faint echo of something,  anything,
But it hardly seems to matter anymore.
I can still feel the dull thuds against my ribcage,
But the more I focus, the more it seems redundant.
Every falling grain of sand does its job too well,
Distancing me from what seems ever less important.
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Literature
Alcoholic
The taste of bile rises,
I can feel it burning up my throat.
Maybe this time I was successful,
Maybe this time it will be enough.
Enough to fill the hole in my heart,
Enough to silence the voices of my past.
Maybe now I can have some peace,
Maybe now I can be content with my lot.
One, two, three, four, more...
It can never cast away my demons.
When will I finally find the bottle,
The one that holds the off switch to my mind?
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Literature
A Letter to my Mother
To my dearest Mother,
There are so many things;
Things i must say,
Things i must do,
But how will they ever be enough?
i was once just an infant,
A defenceless babe in my crib.
You fed and protected me,
Kept me swaddled in Your arms.
Then with time came change,
And soon i toddled along behind You.
i always followed in Your footsteps,
i wanted to be just like You.
Again, time seemed to pass,
Life constantly changing.
You bestowed kisses on scraped knees,
Picked me up when i  fell.
And then came the teenage years,
So much i must beg forgiveness for.
There were fights and screams and tears,
So much advice often left unheeded
But i'm a young woman now;
i no longer need to be swaddled,
i no longer toddle along behind You,
i  no longer see why we fought.
i'm a young woman now.
Yet, i still need you every day.
Just as i always will,
Even after you're gone.
i hope i can one day thank You;
For all You have done through the years,
For all the love You gave me,
For all that You taught.
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Literature
The Girl in the Mirror
Every day I see her in the mirror;
I stare into her eyes while I paint my mask.
She moves with me, looks like me,
Yet I haven't recognised her in years.
We have the same eyes that receive a dusing of shadow;
Too small to be beautiful, with long thick lashes,
So dark they fade to black.
Eyes that shimmer with delight.
Her lips are the same shade as mine now;
A sweetheart shaped mouth,
The corners quirking upward in a teasing slant.
Lips that smile with joy.
A light layer of blush to define our cheeks;
High bones to accentuate our face,
Full cheeks to lend a soft caress.
Cheeks that flush with anticipation.
So many features that remain vaguely familiar;
Yet, I don't know this stranger.
And I can't help but wonder,
What she will do with my life today.
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Literature
Skindeep
How can you expect me to change?
Why would you want me to be anyone but myself?
For whatever reason it is,
I simply want you to know it hurts.
I am not like you;
I will never flash my teeth in a cajoling smile.
I will never laugh with abandon.
I am reserved.
I can never be like you;
I can't chatter and twitter to everyone alike.
I can't be boisterous.
I am quiet.
I don't even know how to try;
I will never take over a room with charisma  alone.
I will never charm all before me into submission.
I am guarded.
So why would you take from me the only thing I have?
Why would you forbid my only self expression?
You wear your soul behind a veneer of amicability,
I wear my soul on my skin...
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Literature
Words Unspoken
There are so many things I want to say,
So many things I want you to know.
I don't know where to start,
I don't know where to end.
If only I could put what I feel into words,
Pour my heart out and never stop.
I would whisper my secrets to the night,
Hoping the breeze might carry them to you.
But I have no words to speak,
No secrets I can whisper.
I would speak my piece with confidence,
Declare my intentions and misgivings.
But I tremble at the mere thought,
I have no faith in my own voice.
I would shout from the rooftops,
Bare my soul to the world, so you would know.
But my voice is small and sticks in my throat,
I can't seem to catch my breath.
There are so many things I wish I could put into words,
But never will.
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Literature
My Wish
I wish to be like the fire;
I wish to be wild and passionate,
To burn down all obstacles in my way,
To warm despite the chill.
I wish to be like the water;
I wish to be calm and free,
To go wherever my heart wills,
To change course at a simple whim.
I wish to be like the wind;
I wish to be gay and whimsical,
To be a thousand different colours,
To play forever.
I wish to be like the earth;
I wish to be strong and dependable,
To be unshakable,
To always stand firm and true.
But most of all...
I just wish to be me;
I wish to be human,
To be broken and flawed beyond comprehension,
To always be imperfectly me.
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Literature
Monsters
Oh, sweet child,
What I would not give to have what you have;
That naivety, that innocence,
That obliviousness to the harsh truths.
I would give anything to go back;
I wish I could run and play again,
I wish I had no more worries,
I wish I could laugh for the sheer joy of it.
But most of all...
I wish the only monsters were the ones under my bed,
The ones hiding in my closet.
But, Sweetheart, monsters are real...
...And they look like people.
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Literature
The Soul
Parched and cracked and barren;
An everlasting desert stretching into eternity.
No creatures roam here anymore,
Only the winds dare to trespass;
Stirring up dust from times long passed,
Taunting this land with memories best forgotten.
What this place would not give for some sign of rain,
Some sign of the life that once flourished here;
It was once a paradise, you see...
Once, there were lives built here, too bountiful to count,
Once, there was beauty here;
Buds of the sweetest scents and most vibrant hues,
Trees with leaves like jewels, glittering in the sun.
Once, this place had a splendour that was unrivaled;
Magnificent waters meandered their way across the plains,
Forging ever forward, unstoppable.
Lives were built here...
What this place would not give for the return of those unforgotten  ages,
What this place would not give for but a moment;
It was once a paradise, you see...
But that time is long over,
It is all buried under a layer of dust and decay;
The buds have long sin
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Literature
Child of Words
I cannot paint you a picture,
Cannot bring tears to your eyes with vivid colours.
Each stroke of a brush by my hand,
Taints the beauty of paint on canvas.
I cannot play you a haunting melody,
Cannot break or build your soul with fluid notes.
My fingers fumble across keys and strings,
All that is left are hollow harmonies.
I cannot take the stage,
My act fools no audience,
With voice so hollow and eyes transparent,
I would do no role its just deserved.
But...
With words I paint a picture,
Create entire worlds with simple phrases.
I need no brush or canvas or paints,
Only some inks and twisted thoughts.
And my words flow as fluidly as any melody,
Sentences mingling into harmonious stories.
I need no keys or strings,
Only pen and paper as instruments.
And with characters of my own design,
No flaws or tells are seen.
For on paper there are no hollow voices or transparent eyes,
Only pulsing pictures in the mind of a reader.
Now you see that to other art I am partial,
As to that of the writt
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Favourites

Organic portrait 15 by elolaillustrator Organic portrait 15 :iconelolaillustrator:elolaillustrator 263 27 Space Sky by Dyoun77 Space Sky :icondyoun77:Dyoun77 9 2
Literature
Para la Rosa
Before the toast, I’d like to offer up a bottle of wine
it’s not the worst or the best that money can buy;
it’s routine and tastes of loves that I used to know.
It starts with notes that bloat with sun and summershine,
with petals and leaves abloom high upon the trees
and I almost swore I could taste her in the atmosphere,
but a love like her is disposed to anywhere but here—
it is a feeling I have long-since come to know.
I followed her and bounded up to the stratosphere
and didn’t notice that the world was changing below.
My hands were weak, I tried to somehow aloud speak her name,
but a love like her deaf to all voices plain—
it’s a story that I have been long-since loath to have known.
I took a drive to some dive over in Chinatown
I took a seat at the counter and ordered a drink
a cup of sake to release the bonds of my shattered luck,
for a love like her is never to ever give up—
it’s a fact I think I knew before she spoke.
So I
:iconCherry-Oh-Sundae:Cherry-Oh-Sundae
:iconcherry-oh-sundae:Cherry-Oh-Sundae 11 7
Literature
If our bodies are made of stardust~ A Poem
If our bodies are made of stardust, 
Then why did you call me ugly? 
You're girlfriend and me, 
Are made of the same material 
If our bodies are made of stardust, 
Then why didn't you consider my feelings? 
You could've asked me to the dance you know? 
You knew how much it mean't to me 
If our bodies are made of stardust, 
Then why don't I count in your eyes? 
Everybody counts every single star, 
And I'm supposed to be included 
If our bodies are made of stardust, 
Then why did you leave me? 
Stars travel in a constellation, 
And you threw me out 
If everybody's bodies are made of stardust... 
Why isn't mine? 
:iconlightbleueyes:lightbleueyes
:iconlightbleueyes:lightbleueyes 21 28
Literature
Abnormally Normal
“Morning, sleepy head.”
I turn to my right, rubbing my half-closed eyes. Seeing Carson smiling sweetly at me, I can’t help but smile back.
And so begins my typical day.
I shower together with Carson, scrubbing each other’s backs. After choosing my outfit for the day and his as well, we dress quickly and start to make our favorite breakfast, coffee and toast. We munch on the crispy toast and tease each other about how bad the other’s cooking skills are. To be honest, we both suck at it. Then, we decide on who washes the dishes using a simple game of rock, paper, scissors.
Soon, it’s time to get out into the world. We walk the same route each day, hand in hand. The grocery shop owner, Bri, waves to us and tosses us each a loaf of bread. Turning left at the next corner, we pass by a small café and the waiter Dan nods to us curtly. Another ten meters away, Allie, my best friend shouts to me and runs to my side, jabbering away about how the boy next
:iconWindMeister8:WindMeister8
:iconwindmeister8:WindMeister8 12 12
Literature
Safe Haven
Somewhere in between
Sunday morning coffee
and finding a cool spot on my pillow,
I feel the warmth of your breath
on the back of my neck,
the weight of your arm and leg
wrap around my body
and your love pulls me in.
I  could lay here forever
anchored on our boat in the harbour.
The storm is over
I am finally home.
4th September 2016
:iconSupach:Supach
:iconsupach:Supach 62 58
After the Ball by La-Chapeliere-Folle After the Ball :iconla-chapeliere-folle:La-Chapeliere-Folle 226 7
Mature content
Friendship Begins After Work :iconteenagedirtbag96:TeenageDirtbag96 4 0
*** by annieparfi *** :iconannieparfi:annieparfi 62 1
Literature
Apple Pie
Elizabeth watched as the moon cast the herb garden in hoary splendor. She stood betwixt the rows of silvered leaves and saw roots rising as if the herbs were eager to be picked. Elizabeth’s hands were cold. Her arthritic fingers teased roots from their earthy beds, gently making sure all parts of the plants were intact – they were layered into a well-used basket made of willow, its weave loosened by age and use.
There had been many herb gardens throughout Elizabeth’s life in many different places. She loved to grow things. She was an Earth Mother and fruitfulness followed her in many shapes and forms. Each day brought forth more progeny and communication with a variety of things. She spoke to her ants, her bees and to her apples. Apples were her favorite fruit.
Elizabeth continued to pick, as ghosts from her past watched her. A frost dusted her hair, the plants and the rich, soft earth – that yielded to her light tread.
Early winter was not the ideal time to gat
:iconshelleypalmer:shelleypalmer
:iconshelleypalmer:shelleypalmer 10 5
Tanned- Hommage to Gil Elvgren by lulemee Tanned- Hommage to Gil Elvgren :iconlulemee:lulemee 187 25 Columbia Reverie by lauraborealisis Columbia Reverie :iconlauraborealisis:lauraborealisis 108 28 Summer tomatoes by JoaRosa Summer tomatoes :iconjoarosa:JoaRosa 241 41
Literature
Harlot
These wounds are bitter nights--
         every line marks the memory of
         another faceless man
         each with the voice of her father

--where her skeleton had clawed at the stars in her eyes
until the sky went black with cloudy unconsciousness
And she worships her physique--
         every curve holds the fingerprints of
         caressing delinquents an hardened criminals
         each with an agenda of his own

--where she molded her frame from broken ivory
until the marrow could flow into every artery
   
Her body is a temple
and even Jesus was once a man.
:iconxLycaen:xLycaen
:iconxlycaen:xLycaen 12 7
Literature
Wanderer
Quiet streetlights
Dim in hindsights
Just to pass on their ways
And the night who is sleeping about me
From the high place
Where the gold rays
Never touch or give joy
Will I watch and be thankful to see
I have been wanderer, researcher
I have been ill of my time
Yet for these day cycles, I will find
More than is merit, and more than is mine
Just the small things
Shards and slidings
Off the back of cold stone
Like a gem with its flaws all in sun glow
Through my cracked eyes
Aged past surprise
But I still enjoy so
For the song in my heart may still blow
I have been burier, worrier
I have been lost for so long
Yet for these day cycles, I am content
That where I am now is not wrong
For I have been wanderer many a life
That one would call short and unsure
I hide in the slip of a cruel irony
With nothing like so much ice water
All their kindness
Slight and sightless
Mixed and muddled it is
Like the tears in an ocean fast running
Hands for poor tools
Empty thread spools
Cast aside with my fat
:iconMonocephalized:Monocephalized
:iconmonocephalized:Monocephalized 14 7
A Mermaid with Koi by Curly-Artist A Mermaid with Koi :iconcurly-artist:Curly-Artist 189 6

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Twinkle Nadine (No kidding)
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
South Africa
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I think about you every day,
Of all the things you did.
I wish I knew something to say,
To beat that demons that you hid.

Your words still ring here in my ears,
All the things you've said.
I know, for this you've waited years,
Suffered, yearned and bled.

For once I am here to comfort you,
To tell you of my love.
And always to assure you,
Here, you fit like a glove.
Forsaken Sister
I know that the rhyming in the poem is quite terrible, but it is for my big sister, so I wanted to keep it childlike.
Our mom had her when she was still in her teens and subsequently gave her up for adoption. Her new family was not the most loving and nurturing. Luckily she found us (some years ago) and we took the long journey to get to know each other. Somehow she just fit and we love her dearly.
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Then pendulum had stopped,
And the clock has ticked its last tock;
Time doesn't seem the same here,
It stretches into eternity.

My life is awash with apathy,
Most mornings I can't bare to open my eyes;
I dream in monochrome,
And I won't give up until I can get this right.

Again I awake from emptiness,
Chasing shadows that slip through my fingers like sand;
A faint echo of something,  anything,
But it hardly seems to matter anymore.

I can still feel the dull thuds against my ribcage,
But the more I focus, the more it seems redundant.
Every falling grain of sand does its job too well,
Distancing me from what seems ever less important.
11 deviations
The taste of bile rises,
I can feel it burning up my throat.
Maybe this time I was successful,
Maybe this time it will be enough.

Enough to fill the hole in my heart,
Enough to silence the voices of my past.
Maybe now I can have some peace,
Maybe now I can be content with my lot.

One, two, three, four, more...
It can never cast away my demons.
When will I finally find the bottle,
The one that holds the off switch to my mind?
Alcoholic
I've recently toyed with the idea of writing a series of poems on my family. This one is for my step loser.
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:iconteenagedirtbag96:
TeenageDirtbag96 Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks much for favouriting my piece 
Reply
:iconshelleypalmer:
shelleypalmer Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave!
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:iconazuline-furcula:
azuline-furcula Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2016
have a lovely day.
Reply
:iconlunadarkness15:
Lunadarkness15 Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2016  Student Writer
Welcome to FlawedLiterature ! :wave:

I hope you have wonderful time with us. :hug:

If you have any questions/suggestions please don't hesitate to ask! :w00t:

The founder,
Lunadarkness15
Reply
:iconcometscollide:
CometsCollide Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much.:)
Reply
:iconlunadarkness15:
Lunadarkness15 Featured By Owner Jul 31, 2016  Student Writer
Welcome. ;)
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