ode to the lost girl in my head by kamcalste, literature
Literature
ode to the lost girl in my head
remember the wild child
she slept in this skin -
breathed this air and tasted
magic or madness or something kin.
she was always the best at playing dead but
maybe this time, she’s gone for real. I
promised I would beg, borrow, or steal and
now I’m sentenced to life in prison for chasing a cure
for a wound that was never going to heal.
the old, sacred words we used to know -
by heart, by heartbeat, by heartbreak
- have faded into fuzz, so, seeking stimulus,
we sunk into the frozen depths of heartache
we were always the worst at bringing out the best
in each other and I think tomorrow, we’ll be better
but the best parts w
it was the calling she never heard until
she felt its touch against her lips; the burn,
the searing pain in her throat, a sudden, sharp
reminder -
"you are alive, this body is yours, and there is more
than meets the eye in this world." More to this girl who holds
the cosmos in her heart next to her third aorta valve
and lets the clouds in her head become everything,
but
everything is empty.
once there was a thirst, a hunger for the new but now
novel experiences wash across her skin like stale bathwater,
replacing cleanliness with old scars
scabbed over a dozen times until they become a part of the landscape -
as familiar as breath, as blood
Summer Girls (Unfinished) by kamcalste, literature
Literature
Summer Girls (Unfinished)
The day was as hot as any in mid-July. The brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly above her head was beautiful, but she was beginning to wish some clouds would cover it and ease the baking heat. Matilda sat cross-legged on her porch, her back pressed against the screen door to avoid the sun creeping across the deck. She could feel her shirt clinging to her spine, soaked in sweat. She was wearing her favorite summer dress, the thin-strapped blue one that fell to mid-thigh. It made her look nice, sweet and unassuming, and better yet it was far more comfortable than jeans or shorts would be on a day like today. There was a faded, well-love
Eighteen Months (Expired) by kamcalste, literature
Literature
Eighteen Months (Expired)
the sweetest taste
turns sour on
your tongue,
and all of the
wonderful words
you want to say
curdle behind
your teeth.
but, unwilling to go
and take yourself
to the store
for a fresh carton
(so unfamiliar,
and what if they are out?
and what if that one expires
too?) you still
put the carton
back in the fridge,
steadfast and thirsty.
because the hope
is enough to keep
you reaching into
those chilly depths
again
and
again.
I bathe in your
second-hand smoke
as the night greets
the dwindling day.
Cricket sings his
lonely song
and I murmur you
a lullaby of my
day’s events
and what tomorrow
might bring.
The sun touches,
then dips below
the tips
of the mountains.
Your fingers trace
the curve
of
my
spine.
Day shuts
her eyes
and sleeps.
(And I am yours.
And you are mine.)
Monogamy (And Other Scary Words) by kamcalste, literature
Literature
Monogamy (And Other Scary Words)
I didn’t have the best upbringing. The earliest years were idyllic. I spent my childhood in the care of my mother and her partner, and my days were filled with easy childlike joy. Christmases, Easters, soccer games, nightly dinners, family-favorite TV shows. There are dozens of snapshots, both mental and physical, that weave a fabric of peace, happiness, love, and joy. Yeah, my father and my stepmom were alcoholics, but that was a distant worry for me. I had no control over it, and besides, I only saw them twice a month, so what did it matter?
Then the unthinkable happened. My mom’s partner took off, seemingly at random, and left
I spent eons
trying to fix the one
tiny, little, insignificant
spot on the bathroom mirror -
I spent so long that ages
passed, from old kings
to new presidents to
newer aliens, and we,
collectively, decided to
jump to the moon -
We dug for ancient
secrets underneath the
gray dust and rock until
we found the truth of
being…
Then I realized the spot
was a scratch, a ding, a
dent in the surface of
the reflective glass and
I felt
Really, really stupid.
It’s cold, but not cold enough to feel like February. I’d forgotten how quiet it gets here. I’d forgotten how tucked away this house really was - plopped and precarious on a hill in the middle of suburbia, surrounded by rows and rows of town homes and nearly identical houses. The house across the street is actually a mirror image (I remember going inside when I was a child, to play with a long-lost-and-forgotten friend), except it’s painted pale peach instead of peeling periwinkle.
Not periwinkle, really. Cerulean? No. Blue. Just blue.
“I don’t really like this feeling I’m getting from this place.&rd
World encrusted in
pure white, the frigid
specks of light falling
from heaven like so
many stars. It’s cold,
but the heat of your
breath so close to my
skin is enough to
make me forget. And
when I shiver, you hug
me tighter, and when I
laugh, you smile, and -
the morning sun rises
and the cars begin to
roar and rush along
the road turning
white to brown and
powder to slush and
you back into the
serious, focused
unsmiling cynic that
I love too much to
let go of.
ode to the lost girl in my head by kamcalste, literature
Literature
ode to the lost girl in my head
remember the wild child
she slept in this skin -
breathed this air and tasted
magic or madness or something kin.
she was always the best at playing dead but
maybe this time, she’s gone for real. I
promised I would beg, borrow, or steal and
now I’m sentenced to life in prison for chasing a cure
for a wound that was never going to heal.
the old, sacred words we used to know -
by heart, by heartbeat, by heartbreak
- have faded into fuzz, so, seeking stimulus,
we sunk into the frozen depths of heartache
we were always the worst at bringing out the best
in each other and I think tomorrow, we’ll be better
but the best parts w
it was the calling she never heard until
she felt its touch against her lips; the burn,
the searing pain in her throat, a sudden, sharp
reminder -
"you are alive, this body is yours, and there is more
than meets the eye in this world." More to this girl who holds
the cosmos in her heart next to her third aorta valve
and lets the clouds in her head become everything,
but
everything is empty.
once there was a thirst, a hunger for the new but now
novel experiences wash across her skin like stale bathwater,
replacing cleanliness with old scars
scabbed over a dozen times until they become a part of the landscape -
as familiar as breath, as blood
Summer Girls (Unfinished) by kamcalste, literature
Literature
Summer Girls (Unfinished)
The day was as hot as any in mid-July. The brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly above her head was beautiful, but she was beginning to wish some clouds would cover it and ease the baking heat. Matilda sat cross-legged on her porch, her back pressed against the screen door to avoid the sun creeping across the deck. She could feel her shirt clinging to her spine, soaked in sweat. She was wearing her favorite summer dress, the thin-strapped blue one that fell to mid-thigh. It made her look nice, sweet and unassuming, and better yet it was far more comfortable than jeans or shorts would be on a day like today. There was a faded, well-love
Eighteen Months (Expired) by kamcalste, literature
Literature
Eighteen Months (Expired)
the sweetest taste
turns sour on
your tongue,
and all of the
wonderful words
you want to say
curdle behind
your teeth.
but, unwilling to go
and take yourself
to the store
for a fresh carton
(so unfamiliar,
and what if they are out?
and what if that one expires
too?) you still
put the carton
back in the fridge,
steadfast and thirsty.
because the hope
is enough to keep
you reaching into
those chilly depths
again
and
again.
I bathe in your
second-hand smoke
as the night greets
the dwindling day.
Cricket sings his
lonely song
and I murmur you
a lullaby of my
day’s events
and what tomorrow
might bring.
The sun touches,
then dips below
the tips
of the mountains.
Your fingers trace
the curve
of
my
spine.
Day shuts
her eyes
and sleeps.
(And I am yours.
And you are mine.)
Monogamy (And Other Scary Words) by kamcalste, literature
Literature
Monogamy (And Other Scary Words)
I didn’t have the best upbringing. The earliest years were idyllic. I spent my childhood in the care of my mother and her partner, and my days were filled with easy childlike joy. Christmases, Easters, soccer games, nightly dinners, family-favorite TV shows. There are dozens of snapshots, both mental and physical, that weave a fabric of peace, happiness, love, and joy. Yeah, my father and my stepmom were alcoholics, but that was a distant worry for me. I had no control over it, and besides, I only saw them twice a month, so what did it matter?
Then the unthinkable happened. My mom’s partner took off, seemingly at random, and left
I spent eons
trying to fix the one
tiny, little, insignificant
spot on the bathroom mirror -
I spent so long that ages
passed, from old kings
to new presidents to
newer aliens, and we,
collectively, decided to
jump to the moon -
We dug for ancient
secrets underneath the
gray dust and rock until
we found the truth of
being…
Then I realized the spot
was a scratch, a ding, a
dent in the surface of
the reflective glass and
I felt
Really, really stupid.
It’s cold, but not cold enough to feel like February. I’d forgotten how quiet it gets here. I’d forgotten how tucked away this house really was - plopped and precarious on a hill in the middle of suburbia, surrounded by rows and rows of town homes and nearly identical houses. The house across the street is actually a mirror image (I remember going inside when I was a child, to play with a long-lost-and-forgotten friend), except it’s painted pale peach instead of peeling periwinkle.
Not periwinkle, really. Cerulean? No. Blue. Just blue.
“I don’t really like this feeling I’m getting from this place.&rd
World encrusted in
pure white, the frigid
specks of light falling
from heaven like so
many stars. It’s cold,
but the heat of your
breath so close to my
skin is enough to
make me forget. And
when I shiver, you hug
me tighter, and when I
laugh, you smile, and -
the morning sun rises
and the cars begin to
roar and rush along
the road turning
white to brown and
powder to slush and
you back into the
serious, focused
unsmiling cynic that
I love too much to
let go of.
Fantastic Feature Tuesday #42 by forestmeetwildfire, journal
Fantastic Feature Tuesday #42
Please this news article so it will reach a larger audience!
This is a weekly feature of amazing literature that I come by during my
travels across deviantART. This is only a small sample of a vast amount
of wonderful pieces of literature written by absolutely fantastic
writers. Each deviation was carefully selected from a writer's gallery
based on structure, impact and word usage. I will never feature the
same person twice (though this gets harder to keep track of
now that we can change usernames), so check out these lovely writers now while you can!
:thumb366039964: :thumb325395898: :thumb356274349:
:thumb321581886: :thumb292839451
Tomb Raider Reborn Contest Winners by Ayame-Kenoshi, journal
Tomb Raider Reborn Contest Winners
Tomb Raider
Add a Comment
Chaseby *Hamsterfly
Square Enix's Senior Art Director Brian Horton, says:
"This piece has great impact, you can feel the motion and intensity and it deserved the number 1 spot. Great work Hamsterfly!"
In addition to having his work sold internationally as a print in the official Tomb Raider store, *Hamsterfly has also won:Tomb Raider XBOX 360 Console$6,000 USD8,000 deviantART PointsDeviantART Hoodie of Winner's Choice*dA PRO Digital Artist Backpack1-Year Premium Membership to deviantART
* Depending on availability
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+Laraby *KatieMiriL
Square Enix's Senior Art Director Brian Horton, says:
"It wa