nuisances

75 Watchers24 Deviations

9.8K

Pageviews

Latest Deviations

See all

learning to love my thighs by nuisances, literature

Literature

learning to love my thighs

how i'm learning to love my thighs, like misfit lego bricks stacked piece by piece that don't quite fit. too thick, too wide, but when you step back to look they still make a strong foundation for the house that is my body. like the stretch marks that splay across them like a lightning strike. and yes they are thunder, and yes thunder makes noise, but it accompanies a beautiful, wild storm and i am done apologizing for who i am. even in spite of every scar that is a tally mark reminding me of a night when i hated myself. there is nothing admirable in the white lines left behind but there is something admirable in being able to say i survived. that regardless of our disagreements and regardless of how i have treated them, my thighs have never stopped loving me, and i can look down now and say this is how i am learning to love my thighs.

lighthouse by nuisances, literature

Literature

lighthouse

i have always been a lighthouse without a keeper. i am guiding the lost to shore but have nobody to call me home, nobody to clear away the cobwebs from my empty chambers. i am a comforting light in the dark but have nobody to repair my walls, nobody to make certain that my reserves do not go unreplenished. i have always been a lighthouse without a keeper. i watch ships get what they need from me and pass on by, and i wonder, where is my own guiding light?

enervation by nuisances, literature

expended by nuisances, literature

Literature

expended

I am being consumed by the shadows; They reach inside and gouge me out, And they leave me emptier Than the moonless sky. My heart beats too quickly And my mind breaks too easily, And I am washed away by the rain. You are impenetrable as stone, and Closed even when I need you, and I am trying but my wafer walls Have taken too many hits to keep standing tall. I am wavering, waiting, wanting, But I have been haunting all the places I've been instead.

critical by nuisances, literature

Literature

critical

my insides are screaming at my outsides that this is more than they can take. i feel so gaping wide and raw to the core of my soul— i feel so closed up tight and numb to the edges of my whole. there is no gentleness, no softness in this sudden descent. no light to brighten the dark corridors of my conscious. i am critical, red sirens flashing, code blue. i am critical; there is nothing left to hold onto.

hands by nuisances, literature

Literature

hands

we destroy and we burn, and we construct walls not to hold ourselves in but to keep everyone else out. we push ourselves and we collapse when we can't go any further. never stopping to breathe. never stopping to, consider the damage left in our wake; the broken glass shards buried beneath our skin. the blood, the rivers run red, the shadows that continually creep in. these hands were made to ruin, to leave behind, to forget. to keep going because you have no choice. we are turning our backs and collecting the rain water to grow new lives behind our eyelids, but where do we go from here? these hands were made to create the stories of our

the water ran over her, wickedly cold by nuisances, literature

Literature

the water ran over her, wickedly cold

she is a daughter of misfortune, hell bent on the way her bones splinter beneath the black and blue of her skin. she is a paradigm, not a paradox, and her blood all runs the same no matter where you cut it from. her laugh lines are synonymous with her worry lines, because humor is a crutch that she cannot stand without. you can never know her; her thoughts, her fears, her touch. (someone tried to show her love once, and she left their heart outside her front door in the night.) she is a sinner among mortals, and everywhere she looks is just another war lost. beware the girl with poison on her tongue, air in her bones and lead in her he

a tale for the souls of the hopeless by nuisances, literature

Literature

a tale for the souls of the hopeless

this is for the ones who look up at the sky to remind themselves how small they are, who hold on desperately because it hurts to let go. this is for the ones who are screaming behind a smile, and feel loneliness like a cold wind in their hearts. this is for the ones who just need an ear, a shoulder, a hand. to claim, to take. we are the ones who make way in the dark because the sun is empty and the light is void. we climb because we have no choice; what lies below is despair, but what lies above is uncertain and unseen. we are the shadows, and the stars and the hollow bones of wings. and every tear is a hope, a promise, that never came

tear away by nuisances, literature

See All

Featured Gallery

See all

learning to love my thighs by nuisances, literature

Literature

learning to love my thighs

lighthouse by nuisances, literature

Literature

lighthouse

enervation by nuisances, literature

expended by nuisances, literature

Literature

expended

critical by nuisances, literature

Literature

critical

hands by nuisances, literature

Literature

hands

the water ran over her, wickedly cold by nuisances, literature

Literature

the water ran over her, wickedly cold

a tale for the souls of the hopeless by nuisances, literature

Literature

a tale for the souls of the hopeless

tear away by nuisances, literature

Watchers 75

See all

Lizz-Willett

Lionnfart

papersymphonies

saevuswinds

CuzImaJellyfish

saltwaterhermit

skyfever

blanketings

RealityInActuality

PoetryOD

LittleDayDreamz

RJBG

Watching 5

PoetryOD

DearPoetry

MisfitableGrae

ohsparrowsong

diddlyhohum

Deviation Spotlight

a hospital bird with soot in her lungs by nuisances, literature

Literature

a hospital bird with soot in her lungs

she slept through a car crash that almost killed her. through whitewhite walls, and dreams where her lover dies. nobody thought she'd make it, but she woke up a few months later with flowers in her hair and ash in her airway; trying to remember how to start all over, but forgetting to remember how to live. fall slipped from her open eyes and winter crawled in for a long hibernation of not-quite-cold-enough-for-snow. to her the clouds looked sick and pale like they might let everything inside them out, but she opened up wide instead, spilling blood where there was none to be spilled. her heart slipped down the street and with unsteady ha