literary-device

i don't need no fucking name

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The Girl and the Rats by literary-device, literature

2-9200 by literary-device, literature

Colors by literary-device, literature

Bridges by literary-device, literature

Poem for my Mother by literary-device, literature

Literature

Poem for my Mother

May your hair grey and grey but never fall out and the ones that do fall, may they grow back thicker than ever. May you never have to see your scalp in the mirror again. May your eyes heal, nearsighted farsighted, it’s 20/20 for you. May you see things you’ve never seen. May you see things you’ve never wanted to see. May they haunt you. May they change you. May the world conform to your beliefs, then. May your sons never have sickened and balded, never have cried to the wretched clumps of hair on their pillows in the lonely morning. May your husband not get angry from the little things, don’t touch thos

Girls Like Clay by literary-device, literature

Literature

Girls Like Clay

Today could be any day, I won’t talk specifics. But not this day. Not this day. In the morning, before I made him leave with the vagrants, I told him about swans. I dreamt of hiding, and everywhere I went, there he was, tall form, with a look on confusion on his face, “Raped you?” How odd, then, to now be in a safe place, to have a real bed. I am not the girl whose head he shaved. I am a hard stone. I am no longer interested in soft curves. I am made of angles. I shot him twice and his eyes closed, head fell back, and his hat fell off. I thought of apples and arrows and I said, “Your hat fell of

Why my hair is so short by literary-device, literature

Literature

Why my hair is so short

I can’t look at your face so I’ll scream to your kneecaps: these are the scissors he used. These are the hands that held them, the fingers in my hair, the words in my ears. This is the sound of the razor, the whir of the motor. My breath in the silence. The scissors. My hair on the floor because this is what it means to be owned. The hands. The fingers. My rapist on the street with a guitar, each touch. The words. You will not be beautiful, you will just be mine. The sound, each precious lock, the smoke, the clots, my hair still on the floor. My breath in the silence.

Girl, 17, Drowns in Bathtub by literary-device, literature

Poem for Jewgirl Sluts by literary-device, literature

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Meanings of Fish by literary-device, literature

Literature

Meanings of Fish

"Fish," he says. An oval with a tail, a shark with an open mouth and rows upon rows of teeth, a mermaid with long, flowing blue hair, a shrimp/lobster/crab, a goldfish named "Susan", a beach at night with stars, a bird under water, sea anemones, the ocean and waves, tanned, muscular surfers with their bleach blond hair and fake smiles, girls in bikinis, a boat, a long, slender thing with fins and gills floating in the water, foam and salt, oil spills, a seagull with a twitching thing it it's beak/mouth/pie hole, a candlelight dinner with dead seaflesh as the main course, Earnest Hemingway. He smiles that smile that makes you want to kick hi

Firenze...is always cool... by literary-device, literature

Things to Never Tell My Father by literary-device, literature

Literature

Things to Never Tell My Father

When I was five and you sent me to my room without dinner, I pretended I was Joan of Arc with a bedsheet as my flag. I knew about sex before 4th grade when you told me. I've known since I saw the two big kids fucking in the bathroom of my elementary school. I was never really Jewish. When I found a dead squirrel I lit it on fire with matches I found in the kitchen. A tribute to those false gods you told me were so bad. I'm attracted to authority figures and anyone who I think is better than me. You gave that to me, that feeling of worthlessness that makes me want what I can't have, what's bad for me. I had a dream where

For Naki by literary-device, literature

Literature

For Naki

Rin sat atop his horse and surveyed the land from over a cliff, a dissatisfied look on his face. "Lord of Dethwysh? Lord of the dung piles, more like." He spat over the edge of the precipice. "M'lord?" a timid voice called him from a behind. "The Monsieur would like to see you, now." Rin sighed. The Monsieur was the king, or surveyor of all the lands. To disobey him was surely death. "Wonder what I've done, this time." Rin rode with his servant to the palace with all haste. "Hurry up, Dionysus," he said to his horse. "We can hardly afford to keep royalty waiting." They reached the palace quickly enough. Rin dismounted and ran up

Tattered Wings by literary-device, literature

Literature

Tattered Wings

The gravel crunched under my feet as I made my way though the driveway and to the church steps. The air was cold and wet and it smelled like summer. I reached to the side steps and climbed up, pausing as always in front of the great stone doors of the church. I wanted to walk in and beg forgiveness at a pew, but I couldn't bring myself to taint the purity of the sanctuary of God with my presence. Instead I stood in a small alcove that looked like a pew and began my silent prayer, my head bowed and my eyes trained on the ground. A small cough alerted me to another presence and my head jerked up suddenly. "Is anyone there?" asked a voice,

A poem by literary-device, literature

Literature

A poem

This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is ((still)) a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a poem. This is a p

Road to Hell by literary-device, literature

Breaking Commandments by literary-device, literature

Literature

Breaking Commandments

He thought He could let the get away with the little things. Like using His name in vain. He didn't hurt them anymore, just sat back and watched as they built Him temples and killed anyone who didn't follow His laws. He wasn't sure when it went wrong. When they broke His commandments while writing new ones. He watched His "messengers" rape and kill two young men who's only crime was to love one another. He saw world leaders preaching peace while likking thousands of innocent people in poor countries. He looked on as old while conserative men who hadn't a care in the world besides being re-elected speak out against abortion, no matter w

Cigarettes by literary-device, literature

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the frailties of breathing. by rai-rai-raygun, literature

Literature

the frailties of breathing.

Lost in coffee rings and thoughts, I know I am not myself. And I cannot keep time with this rapid fire reality. Flash-floods are not my idea of romantic; you cannot be this ghostly presence behind me, choosing my hands only when yours are lonely. My fingers are always freezing without your own to hold them and the knot in my shoulders that only you can remedy has been the reminder that I have not seen you for five months and three moons. There is no reason for sides of the bed when only one is ever filled, so I have claimed the middle ground (lately I've been sleeping on the couch, in the free

Infuriating by lakteed, literature

Literature

Infuriating

I’m sending you this line to show that my Revulsion has crossed itself into Love. And I’d like if yours did too so that I don’t have to go back to despising your existence within my own. You drove your insults into the depths of a certain, complex organ in my interior design and it’s not quite as simple as that. You pulled my hair to the point of seduction and glared with the intensity of a ‘thousand burning suns’ after feeling the Thousand Island dressing I poured down your shirt. You took your little helicopter into the skies and broke my heart’s Sound Barrier. The only blood line in my anat

Lust is a Drug by OneVioletRose, literature

Literature

Lust is a Drug

My endorphins are your amphetamine pumping up and spilling out of this reckless romance. You have little time for ketamine racing through sensation faster than you stumble into my room and out again, half finished, bearing twice the smile you had this morning. It’s almost like I’m on ecstasy asphyxiated by my clothes with your tongue inflating my lungs further than they can go. (My rib cage is only small enough to contain my deflated heart.) You find my weakness is with alcohol that hauls me down grimy ditches with no intention of regaining control.

They Call It Slut,She Calls It by pyro-pain, literature

Literature

They Call It Slut,She Calls It

Opening the zipper With her teeth, Ignoring the whispers From the room over Some outraged girls shrieks "Did you see her Just drag him in like that? What a slut!" The girl she speaks to replies "I know! She probably as HAIDS Or something!" These girls say this Like they're virgins, They're not, I know that for a fact She has the button undone By this point, They're halfway down, The fun is halfway there She's not just a player, She invented this whole game Hope he Can handle the heat Boy in the next room Highfives his pal "Glad someone nailed that, Not that it's hard or anything" His pal laughs "Say the man Not

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To Kill a Swan by literary-device, literature

To Kill a Swan

literary-device

About literary-device

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Artist

United States
Deviant for 19 years
www.myspace.com/dothatmoonlightdance
She / Her

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My Bio

Current Residence: somewhere in new york state.
Favourite genre of music: klezmer. punk. rock 'n roll.
Favourite photographer: la cheshire wolf.
Personal Quote: your art sucks. also, i'm an octopus.

Favourite Visual Artist

sometimes andy warhol and always mitchell cross.

Favourite Movies

paradise now. everything is illuminated. pan's labyrinth.

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

cake. crass. leftover crack. gogol bordello.

Favourite Writers

milan kundera. john irving. janet fitch.

Favourite Games

duck duck goose.

Tools of the Trade

i make art to get girls.

Other Interests

knitting. versification. pabst blue ribbon. rattails. and not much else.

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literary-device

Oct 29, 2007

seriously, guys (first regatta results)

0 min read

i'm on the sarah lawrence college crew team because i LOVE it. NOT because i'm terribly good. but it's okay because apparently neither is anyone else on the women's novice team. 350  Williams College- Boat A 00:13:02:97       351 Wesleyan University- Boat A 00:13:04:09 349  University of Massachusetts - Amherst- Boat A 00:13:20:74       356  Schenectady County Community College- Boat A 00:13:24:18       348  University of Vermont- Boat A 00:13:33:96       359  Binghamton University- Boat A 00:14:02:51       355  Middlebury College- Boat A 00:14:10:90       347  St. Lawrence University- Boat A 00:14:20:31       353  Cazenovia Colleg

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literary-device

Oct 12, 2007

freak report

0 min read

motomacattack (9:17:28 PM): hey there! i saw some of your photos on DA and wanted to say that i really like them TheToastFactory (9:17:55 PM): oh hey thanx TheToastFactory (9:18:00 PM): the ones krystle took? motomacattack (9:18:21 PM): yea TheToastFactory (9:18:21 PM): sweet.  she's a really good photographer motomacattack (9:18:43 PM): yea motomacattack (9:18:50 PM): and your body is beautiful TheToastFactory (9:18:46 PM): thanks! motomacattack (9:19:21 PM): i don't want this to come out wrong but you have lovely breasts TheToastFactory (9:19:33 PM): hahaha thank you TheToastFactory (9:19:37 PM): i don't get that one alot. motom

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literary-device

Jul 29, 2007

some people have really bad luck

0 min read

so, last week i went to new jersey to visit my lovely friend (i mean BFFE!1) krystle who i see all of once, maybe twice a year.  and it was all good the first day, she picked me up, we got lunch, i met some of her crazy jersey friends.  fun times. but then on the morning of the second day i started having trouble breathing.  i can't QUITE tell you what happened, but i ended up fainting on her floor.  we decided it might have something to do with allergies and it was concluded that i should get out of the house.  i made it to the front porch before fainting again and (apparently) turning white (due to the fact that at this point i was having

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Profile Comments 138

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Elperdido13

Nov 29, 2009

Wow, I love how realistic your poetry is. No writing about BS for you! ;D

krystletwystd

Oct 6, 2008

Thanks for the +fav darling!

thank you!!!

xxxx hey nachos

Hey punk! Are we still on for Saturday? I'll beat your ass! Find you in the city, bitch!

krystletwystd

Aug 22, 2007

oh gods! maybe if you wear some of that hippie deodorant. >_<

ps. I r TEH #1 FANZORZ OF U 2!!!!!11

krystletwystd

Aug 18, 2007

Chiquita bonita, you're gonna have to tell tu mama that I'm just not ready for that step in our relationship. I got no problem sneaking in and out of your window at night to see you, but meeting the parents? Outside of an emergency hostpital setting? I dunno...