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Literature
.
the dead rose of our love
has rotted in my veins,
your songs crashing against the concrete
inside my skull -
pieces drifting on still tides.
this distance is created
by being too similar, too much alike,
and this misunderstanding
is so profound it makes my eyes burn.
someone's body is buried
on a road untraveled that we implied
somewhere between then
and now.
i still don't know if
this is my grave
or yours, love,
but i think it's the wrong colour.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 44 7
Literature
agony in yellow.
his fingerprints lingered
mockingly on the edges of the stains
on her windowpanes
and she slept in diagonals,
haunted, uneasy,
with insomnia lying parallel
beneath the bedsheets -
she could have sworn she saw
the ocean dancing hand-in-hand with
insanity
before waking empty-mouthed
in a bathtub too stiff
to hold a corpse, her limbs
blurred in cold porcelain
in the place dreams go
to die.  
see, there's a lacklustre shade
in sunshine boys -
she knows a stem of toxicity
burns in his veins,
but she suspends her disbelief
each time, she lets the smoke
from his half-used cigarettes
devour the space between them
until there's nothing left
but old wounds
festering
beneath new tattoos.
(don't you wish you could blame someone other
than yourself?)
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 31 6
Literature
The Ever-Under.
She drifts in a place between worlds, a weightless entity floating on silky water. It feels like she is falling, and yet somehow flying in this land that is nowhere and everywhere all at once. There is no day here, only times when faded light dances above her eyelids and the sharp scents of antiseptic, sterile surfaces penetrate her nostrils - a living death punctuated only by the beeps of a heart monitor. There is no night here either, only a dark abyss of silence that always comes before her dreams.
It is fitting, she thinks, that at this borderline between worlds she dreams only of a Sea Serpent - a creature of the deep that surfaces rarely to taunt the imagination of those lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it. In her dream, she stands at the shore of a black lake that she does not dare to touch. Swiftly, the serpent rises from the depths; he glides to meet her, his silver scales the only light filling the void around her. Ink ripples in his wake, swirling thickly like molten metal
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 12 5
Literature
i'm/mortal.
swirled in rust, a cosmic spark
awakens - i hear
forests breathing, their dreams coiled
like wishbones
clenched in fingers; a heartbeat stutters
across this vast expanse
in time with the collision
of wor(l)ds.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 31 12
Literature
borderlines.
i watch you tread gently
on the edges of yourself,
remaining in the penumbra
between all and nothing -
a sub-atomic mystery
unable to be solved.
yesterday, you couldn't decide whether
to fuse or fold back together
and instead curled inward
underneath your own spine like
a rose crushed in a fist,
only the fist forgot to show up and
roses don't grow in hospitals.
some days, love, you are almost
radioactive enough
to be a half-life. i think this
is the saddest thing of all
because on those days i find myself believing
you might just make it.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 48 15
Literature
unrequited.
you must swallow your heartache softly,
sore-throat,
lest it should ignite
this tongue with sparks of passion. oh, nobody
said it wouldn't burn a hole
from pharynx to trachea -
but i promise you this, heart:
the acidity of confession will
sting your eyes
more than the sight of her
ever could.
(so gulp down the nausea and hold fast)
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 30 7
Literature
so let us melt
i.
she must have been a beacon,
off-colour orange glass, tilted,
splitting herself in two -
he wonders
how many times she has
melted only to reshape
herself anew, each sinew
a promise snapped in two,
each smile a dying
candle.
ii.
learning to catch
fireflies in jars is an
art form of trailing sparks
down strong shoulders
and weak collarbones.
they burn, his lips and
fingers scorched
but he drowns in her light;
together they paralyze
behind glass.
iii.
if the universe was formed
from dancing spirits, they'd be
entwined orange flames
creating light for each other
in a world of darkness.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 37 12
Literature
heaven is frozen over.
i swallowed the earth; let it stick
in my throat, wondering if
comets are the tears of stars -
a lonely kind of beautiful. oh,
the shadowed angel of my dreams
must have stolen their grief
and made it her halo,
those stone lips cold
but perfect. like cruelty
was not in her blood but was
her blood and every time sharp
asteroid edges cut her skin,
she bled ice instead of liquid.
i must have been
the rings of Saturn,
orbiting this resplendent being
of no kindness and
no grace.

(and the chill bites earth
making the screams echo)
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 43 15
Literature
the weight of words.
got your voice in my head,
words etched;
fingers pressed -
your pale palms were
warmer than liquid goldlight.
bright-eyes,
are you scared
for me or of me?
i know my words speak harsh
but they hit soft,
my secrets are not your burden
to bear after all -
please don't cry, see
i've been promising my windowed
life i'll stop looking from
the outside-in but
you made me realise that
first i have to break
the glass to re-build.
too long, i've been
asking if these wounds
will make me or break me
but now i know
it is time to decide
on an answer.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 30 6
Literature
in which the sky learns to trust the ocean.
i.
a twisted bone, a tail feather
and two broken wings do not give
us flight - an echo
in the wind is asking why we
are not making ourselves crows,
falling to somewhere that is
nowhere,
oh, these blades of grass
are worth more than this life
yet still i freeze in the
wind's breath
and wait
for you.
(i can't say i love you,
i don't know what love is)

ii.
we trace our veins in reverse,
all unmarked skin, invisible scars
and devoid of our own reality.
(tide said to the moon
                            undo me)

iii.
we are ashes of our embers;
a blank-slate, a swallow's mouth
inhaling regret -
i remember her
as the seeds of no-growth,
as dehydrated tears and faceless smile -
perhaps i should reverse-inverse
my polarities again so we can
align, but i
suspect this firefly hope
will be the death of me long
before i get the chance
(to what, she asks)
iv.
i can touch the cold h
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 42 21
Literature
stellar seduction.
Soft-light,
the earth has plucked you
out of orbit;
shattered your silver mirror
to to see his own reflection
brimming tidal
in your eyes. he has claimed
your crater-edge bones and
for a handful of moments,
called it his right.
perhaps, he fancied
himself a luna-lover,
or desired
an eclipse in your
soul so you only see
him.
your mother, she warned you
of first love and broken hearts,
since aren’t they the same thing,
after all?
this universe cannot make you
listen, and wait -
hear how the cosmos
hold fast to their breath, stardust
stopped, galaxies motionless;
they know, i know
the inevitable is coming.
for the earth revolves reverently
around Apollo’s light,
and the moon
dances dizzily in earth’s wake,
but never, never will the
earth orbit the moon,
or love
you.
(this stellar seduction will not last)
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 38 8
Literature
fairy-dust bruises are still real.
and i
did not realise some
scars are minus-matter,
if it can't be seen
now
then it's not there. but oh,
there was a time this
skin was covered
in fairy kisses that
took on the appearance
of bruises, and i was  ebony  /slashed/  violet  
disaster dreams
shaped like two hands
at the neck - see, i
told them the story, trembling
like
a dragon's broken wings
without realising
some wounds can only be given
at certain ages and humans
can only become toxic
when reaching adulthood.
she said, stop telling this fairy story,
it's all a lie,
and i did not realise
telling the truth
is the same as
dishonesty
when your innocence has already been declared
guilty.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 27 14
Literature
i could never say goodbye.
we are silvered
hurricane edges and
magenta fingers
clutching childhood
remnants - our roots
twisted together
like beggar's hands:
desperate at the
knuckle but strong
at the joint.
you have a swallow's
soul and are
migrating away from
our secret garden
with wings of endless
ocean dreams and feathers
made from my heart tendons.
(think you ripped them
many times without
realising)

come Autumn we will
split into separate
shockwaves from the
epicentre of our
beginning, but like
a tectonic plate i
will wear these
fractures of you with pride.
(and maybe we'll drift
back together someday)
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 31 17
Literature
here are the words i have left.
these fields of rainbow roses
have too many bloodstains
today; their stems were
severed too soon -
cut short. saltwater drips
in the dust as each
precious life is
gathered, collected
in vases and death counts
that taste
sour.
flags droop
to half-mast, loved-ones
choke on memories that
linger like flowered
perfume, bittersweet
and cold to the touch;
it only takes one
hateful man to kill a field
of flowers, to cruelly
take what he never
owned,
and yet
the seeds
those flowers left behind
are growing
into something beautiful.
i kneel in the broken garden,
and wonder how a world
full of hate
could still hold
so much love.
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 49 10
Literature
there was something in the air that night.
when she kissed me, the taste of ashes
invaded the cavern of my mouth and rested, heavy
against the seabed of my lungs. i heard the shipwrecked sailors there
cry out,
angry they had been disturbed
without consent.
my mouth did not ask for an invader, my tongue
bit itself trying to scream protest but was silenced
by the smog on her breath.
i don't smoke,
but if i did i'd say she was the best packet of cigarettes
you could buy. problem is,
we poets make so many metaphors out of smoking we forget smoking
kills. it burns. it makes your windpipe
fold in on itself like the broken limbs of a
dead, blackened oak. it makes you feel good and
silences
the protest.
my protest was still there when she kissed me,
when she touched me and
i wish
i'd said something then
instead of living with a layer of coal dust on my skin
that's invisible to the rest of humanity.
i wish i could clean it,
set fire to it, burn it off but you can't set a pile
of ashes ablaze;
i was the fossil fuel and she was
a three in
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 114 39
Literature
The Town that Angered Sky. (anthology)
I. a church with no God.
a dark outline of an
ancient steeple reaching skyward
against the night sky,
an outstretched needle
wishing to prick
the clouds and unleash the floods
within. yet, it does
not rain.
it is silent, both outside
and in with lines of uniformed
pews that once held
crowds of residents dressed
in tight-fitting, stiff-to-the-touch
Sunday best. now they
are empty, even the preacher-man
has abandoned the comfort
he once found here.
the walls themselves seem to hold
an atmosphere of wildness to
them, almost as though whatever
dead God once resided here is
angry. almost as though He is
the one who cursed this
untameable place, this jungle
and in doing so,
doomed all the beasts within it.
II. lion-king.
he has inherited this
broken kingdom,
this wretched land
that comes with a
crown of thorns -
the beasts have pledged
themselves to
follow him. each a
desperate face that
knows they are bound
to this ill-fated
patch of earth that
didn't know it wasn't
supposed t
:iconXSwan-SongX:XSwan-SongX
:iconxswan-songx:XSwan-SongX 17 0

Favourites

Literature
indigo
you don't know how it started, but you know how it will end:
with a flash. with a bang. with a breath. and in your prediction you remember the beginning now, because it floats back up at you from the wishing well of your memories. from that very first day you met him you felt warmth, and at first you wrinkled your nose.
you wish - god, do you wish - that you hadn't, because now you look back to what life was like three years ago when your color was white and he turned it indigo so softly, like petals. you look back and you can almost feel the sharpness of your knuckles smashing into his stronger palm, skin smacking hopelessly against skin because he told you that you could take your pent-up anger out on him and it wouldn't hurt. you look back and you remember how gentle his voice was when he told you he could tell what you were feeling in the pressure of your pencil lines. how, for a while, his number was saved in your phone until somehow that ten-digit code was replaced by millions of
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 23 16
Literature
the glow fell but i fought instead
one.
the candle almost
died. she doesn't
let herself forget
that, the way it
whispered, the way
it trembled when
she did. this time
when the words
flick she lets them
go; she never let
those two years
eat away at her
hope. she was left
with crumbs of shrapnel
caught in her throat:
they almost
exploded again, but
god, did
the sun
set her free
(she still burns, a little,
she still waxes with
wavering, she still is
afraid to taste faith
but she never fades
away again)
two. 
you still smile and it
gets to me, your eyes just
flutter with life and i
wildly survive, and it is
lovely. you say you
trust me and it means
everything. my voice
crumbles sometimes but
i grit my teeth and
keep bounding: i have
learned to stay on my
toes now and this is
how it goes. my
metaphors make you
remember; we find
each other in the
freeze-frame
beauty. and i
might not have all that
charm at my fingertips
but the slivers
shine through.
three.
they hol
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 26 8
Literature
so you leave a space!
she takes her finger and rubs it right up against her jawline until the thin skin cracks beneath. the pain isn't panicked: she is slow, calm, methodical, working her way up to the subtle jut of her cheekbone and turning her nails slightly inward to unearth the wind caught in her pores. she flattens her palm and runs it lightly over the left side of her face, feeling the surface of her cheek rasp against the smoothness of the dip in her hand. she thinks of white butterflies, still flying and alive in september, tossing themselves like leaves over streams of asphalt.
from time to time, she glitches asleep. it's like she leaves her body when her eyes close - she dissociates in the most fantastic colors; she hallucinates in the pitch-dim dark. she walks the fine line between humility and bravado, scintillating like the sun. she dreams of planets and gods, of soft fall fog flecking against cool glass, of flying. she shatters back awake, she sways, but she always goe
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 21 4
Literature
on deadly calm and heavy quiet
you say it like an afterthought, like it's
something you forgot, and it trails
behind your heels
yet it isn't sympathy - you say it
sweetly but it doesn't
comfort me the way
i need you to.
in my chest, there is a thunderstorm.
you can't see the lightning, but i tell you
it's loud, i say "there's a hurricane
in there" and you just
blink in response, so i
write again, i spill up.
i take the clipping from the
magazine you ripped for me
and rub the newsprint between
my fingerpads like a willow:
because what this is is a
name drop, because what this is
is a butterfly, because
what we are is my-throat-hurts and
i-can-see-your-left-hand-from-where
i'm-sitting and you-are-watering-
the-ipomoeas and "its-really-beginning
to-feel-like-fall."
because i'm scared, and the only thing
that can comfort me now is
words i call my own.
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 28 12
Literature
rainwicked
i look up
at the skylight and through the
rainwicked mistslicked glass i see
the moon. i press the tip
of my nose against the
window and it is softly
cold. i stare out
at darkness. there are
dewdrops beneath my
fingernails and oceans
in my eardrums and
puddles in the crevices
of my wrist; in the
bottom of my stomach the
sudden thunderstorm melts
into a steady downpour. my
hair hurricanes around
my face: when i wash it
tomorrow i will feel
new again. i heave against
my words and at first they
skitter down in droplets but
with a little more grit they
cascade halfway down the page.
i miss the peak of the
full moon by only nine
minutes. it is a clear
night outside;
i am calm.
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms
:iconpeaseblossoms:peaseblossoms 17 2
Nebula Stock 6 by cosmicspark Nebula Stock 6 :iconcosmicspark:cosmicspark 305 14
Literature
potato bruises
{she was a sunflower girl with a satellite smile and
bruises constellating cornfield arms, i wondered
what sort of wars waged behind closed doors}
i apologize again and this time the music stops for a beat and i’m left
choking on the silence- someone said something about anxiety meds-
someone said something about heartburn- my mirror says something about decay-
some days i think about it all until i cannot think- until thoughts ache.
‘what’s wrong?’ you ask; i can tell
that you’re holding your breath.
there’s this girl i say she’s a sunflower girl with a fairytale smile and when she looks at me my heart skips a beat
because there are bruises along her arms that look like deflowered potato fields
and her eyes always look sad somehow, sad but tough; i can tell that she hasn’t given up
this girl, she’s an angel, listen to her voice as she sings you a symphony of noises that pass by unheard, she’ll tell yo
:icona-girl-named-divine:a-girl-named-divine
:icona-girl-named-divine:a-girl-named-divine 49 20
Literature
pompeii / dust
i have met him or versions of him
hundreds of times. this is not a new
story. this is a very old story.
the story that after seven years
our skin is anew. the story that
some time from now my skin will no
longer remember what your hand felt like.
but the story does not take in account the heart, 
the brain. i will not forget and
it is my death sentence.
this story is honest and it is when
i have truly been pompeii.
my insides were ripped out and put on display
and the body that i made for myself was no longer
beautiful. the burning city was not beautiful. my pain
i only pretended was poetic and i was choked on
the ashes. ashes to ashes. part of me died
when you hollowed me out
and i am not quite
the same.
this story is not quite the same.    
:iconStreamwhispers:Streamwhispers
:iconstreamwhispers:Streamwhispers 11 3
Literature
s|end transmission
There is too much static on the radio.
The sun shines begrudgingly every idle summers day
but never enough to find you
lurking among the specters of the sighing dusk.
I call out to you beyond midnight
in a moment of delicate autumn dewdrops
fearing that our infinity
will conclude upon the dawn of a desolate winter,
and I think that
if I could just prevent my heart from freezing
in the arctic weather before me
I might yet discover you,
standing there waiting for me
to wield the broken wings
of a rambling little dove
and take the flight upon myself
to meet you there
where you glow pale and translucent in fractal moonbeams
against the white hills of ice and whispering ever-green
of the forests dying breaths.
I rest my sleepy head on the flames of flickering leaves;
I indulge the musty sweet fragrance of change
the blossoms of death springing forth from the ashes of incinerated canopies
emerging, alive after the deadline consumes our untouched yesterdays.
I press a numbed ear to the distan
:iconLittleStarKid:LittleStarKid
:iconlittlestarkid:LittleStarKid 8 2
Mature content
Carmine Confessions :iconemaciatedandepitaphs:EmaciatedandEpitaphs 13 1
Literature
stalk grotto
dance on this grave;
those arches are sacred.
the carbon you are
is fragrant jade and arms entwined.
let the vines split
in surgical rhyme.
keep the time with your heels
plunged emphatic. soil and
tendon part ways for hypodermic
embrace.
race, like a pulsing nightlife
doused in gas injections. my scepter
clatters in the back alley;
you have my number
tonight.
if you dig,
my guise hurts for earth
brushed aside. back of your hand
in a silken glide. i cry
the tears of lost languages
fucked by inadequate tongues.
retrieve the pace;
i'm inanimate, love.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 13 8
Literature
nary edicts
i've been idle,
idealess and champing that
bridle with fervor,
my sighs are the fire
that burns out all notions
of creation.
oh god, i've made myself
tired.
so these limbs, they bend
far enough for the gulls to take note,
loud enough for the forest
to quiet. every breath, calculated
drinks from the grail
of muses' stance. i am a vessel
of foreign genius.
i am blood,
lesser than the sum of all
seas. on
the topic of the tops
of trees: i can't breathe.
i am in creases of your
heightened tone tucked softly.
you are a genus
godly.
so drink my idle impure,
the allure of ex-grandeur speaks
for my breathless core.
breathe my tire aloof,
tether it to your fingers
as they dance rows upon rows
of divine revelation.
press your nailbed white:
meaning is here.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 9 2
Literature
tidesighs
summing up the summer's thump
in cardiac dimensions,
i am hardly worth
the tension that
my art attracts.
smudged out on
high gloss surfaces
with pious interspersions
of thievery.
receive what you can
and steal everything else.
when i have folded all your ears
into the dull gold of appreciation,
reminisce about the times you've felt
that low hum before. remember
my size when you see the vastness
my regurgitations once took
long before my tongue learned
to kiss my palate.
receive the truth and leave
my adequacy in these pages.
recall every fall
and rise of fission,
talk in tones of writ decision
and garnet.
if you speak carats out
your facets can't
deny,
if you would listen
to yourself
you'd see why.
this is why the chest rises
when your body cries:
there is no more room
for language escaping your head,
aching between kissing ribs.
listen for this.
listen for charybdis, whispering
breath into the sleeping siren.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 7 2
Literature
techtonics
there's an ancestral line
drawn in my body that you
cannot be privy to,
scars from the interludes
of history that shaped this
skin into patient cities
and drew up a crown
from my abdomen.
as they fall back, i let my back
bend like shy dimples at the bottom.
they say stress finds no victim
quite like the spine - my blood fills
between my vertebrae like habit,
like fever breaking my hereditary pyre,
like ache stretching from one rib
to its neighbored embrace.
when that tide
catches my teeth, sharpens them
to fangs in hastened eras
and then drags them down,
i bid the water to waver
my soulfire. prithee clamber
through each chamber of my darkening
archways to redeem what thin threads
of self linger. candor in the form of
rote muscle spasms, if you call this
temple i would scoff.
look, my filaments dissolve
and scurrying collarbones
opt suffer over suture.
look, membranes can't shift weight
when i speak. listen, these knees
have buckled for all time to come.
look, maybe it is already the en
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 10 7
Literature
seahowl
i am never getting younger,
every moment is a sobering
attack on my dissension.
my intent, i failed to mention
is a room of clothes on fire
and a car that's half-submerged.
i've been asking truth of shamans
and recording their implosions
in the wax of failing stenographs;
my avant-garde aversion
to the sweetness of the truth
is seen through by every person.
so lady pull my clothes
until the seams aren't any more sure
of their continuing bond
than we are of future torture
of the sound of both our names,
we can't hide or seem impartial.
though this never should have furnaced
we will only ever torch
in such degree as not expressed
by simple digits or incense.
mars aligns with other orbits
and his march is thus expressed,
venus throws a fucking smolder
as she leaves, over her shoulder
and he cannot see but red.
surely all of love is dead.
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord
:icongliitchlord:gliitchlord 16 7
Literature
((( infinity
it’s the feeling of clocks and fingers clicking and pretty girls with bright eyes of the solstice, just like the boys from your hometown, time is running out but there’s no urgency, you’re radiant, you’re alive, it’s a stream and you’re the trout on it, skimming the surface, a dozen dazzling colours in an emission of drowsy divinity. you feel the pebbles, smooth like carved midnight, on your bare feet, water up to your ankles, cold like oxygen, your lungs aren’t refrigerators, your lungs are storage rooms, filling up with enough love to grab the titanic’s corpse and help her relive, to save ophelia and maybe date her too
i really need to read hamlet and t.s. eliot but for now what you’ve created is enough. warm sedatives that make me think of the horizon folded into origami and cellotaped to the walls of this cavern, barefoot and half-naked daydreams we are bittersweet imagery, you never sugarcoat and you are a new-age tragedy, you
:icona-girl-named-divine:a-girl-named-divine
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XSwan-SongX
Ash
Artist | Student | Literature
United Kingdom
Ash / they/them / UK / a collection of stardust

"When you consider things like stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?" - Virginia Woolf

I'm hoping to become a professional poet one day, for both spoken and written word. Passions for writing include: people, the world, politics, the LGBTQ+ community, mental illness, colours, oceans and stars. Especially stardust.

20/10/2015 ~ I got a DD! Thank you all so much for your support! <3 ~

09/09/2016 ~ R.I.P Mary, I hope you got your wings <3 ~

03/06/2016 ~ Another DD?! Thank you all again! <3 ~
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:iconpoisonedseaserpent:
PoisonedSeaSerpent Featured By Owner May 23, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
happy birthday 
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:iconsandyrockdragon:
Sandyrockdragon Featured By Owner May 23, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday!
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:icona-girl-named-divine:
a-girl-named-divine Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Pengu La Bounce Pengu La Bounce  hey, i miss you, how've you been? Pinguboo 
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:icongracefulgrave:
GracefulGrave Featured By Owner Oct 11, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Hello I am new to Deviantart!
I am Rachel Wilson, man do I ever enjoy introducing myself.


If you want to watch, then that is wonderful! Because I may not be perfect at drawing or doing art, but doesn't mean I can't learn in the process and not stop doing what I do my honest best on.

Oh before I forget, I am looking for people to join my new group called RandomArtsFamily. You may join, your more than welcomed to. I really want people to join because I want them to just have whatever it is they are good at into the group, because whatever it is, it's fine. The more people join, the merrier. I don't care what it is, just come join, because whatever it is you do, it's already beautiful and amazing.

Alrighty I gotta go, be yourself!
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:icona-girl-named-divine:
a-girl-named-divine Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
I have so many poems of yours in my notifs and so little time! :noes:
can't wait 'til I get enough free time to read them all & leave you cute little comments, haha <3
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:icontheevilovelords:
TheEvilOvelords Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for joining our group! :D
May we be graced by your presence for a long time :meow:

Sakurai Amy
Founder of The Writer Gang
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:icontheevilovelords:
TheEvilOvelords Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
And thanks for the watch as well~! :happybounce:
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:iconxswan-songx:
XSwan-SongX Featured By Owner Aug 15, 2016  Student Writer
My pleasure! :)
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:iconmewtwoonaflyingape:
MewtwoOnAFlyingApe Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2016  Student General Artist
I've read a few of your poems, and let me tell you, you have a lot of talent! I really like your word choice, the way that your poem seems to always have the same rhythm on each line - it's just mindblowing.

I want to read all your works but I just took a glimpse at your gallery and I don't know where to start! ; - ; They're all so gorgeous at first glance and - I can't.

I just wanted to tell you how inspiring and awesome your poetry is. Keep up the good work! :meow:
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:iconxswan-songx:
XSwan-SongX Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2016  Student Writer
Thank you so much for your kind words! Heart 
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