ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
What to do when you're depressed:
When life's too hard,
when you're too stressed.
Can you shake your head,
make it go away?
Yes you can, but day by day.
What to do when you're depressed:
Count your blessings,
when you're blessed.
Not everyday can you escape the fog,
so when you can,
thank friends, thank God.
What to do when you're depressed:
Slow down, relax
and love life less.
You don't have to enjoy
the summer sun.
October chill is just as fun.
When life's too hard,
when you're too stressed.
Can you shake your head,
make it go away?
Yes you can, but day by day.
What to do when you're depressed:
Count your blessings,
when you're blessed.
Not everyday can you escape the fog,
so when you can,
thank friends, thank God.
What to do when you're depressed:
Slow down, relax
and love life less.
You don't have to enjoy
the summer sun.
October chill is just as fun.
Literature
When I Come to See You
When I come to see you
I’ll bring sparkling wine
And we’ll spill it on the floor.
I’ll be ready for your smile.
When your arms are round me
With my belly pressed to yours,
I’ll close my longing eyes.
I’ll be ready for your soul.
And in the early morning
I will open out our fingers
And silently I’ll go.
Deep breath.
Not ready yet.
Literature
love your mistakes
I've fumbled around with hearts before,
and let them fall. Cracked fingernails, walked into
doorframes, bumped into people and hesitated too long
to open my mouth. Moments passed me by, often.
Occasionally, I was brave, and fell hard on my nose.
Was bleeding and embarrassed for the pain;
and the proof of it, the blood.
Said "sorry, but," or didn't say sorry at all, ate my feelings
or starved myself for them, carried my guilt around with me
until it made me sick and lose my appetite,
drowned my hand soap in the toilet,
didn't stretch after exercise and was sore for days,
kept my distance to those reaching out to me.
Pushed my pain asid
Literature
Faces
The clock on the the wall ticked as I sit, tapping my pencil along to its rhythm. I could sit this way for hours, listening, every fiber attentive to my surroundings. Hearing everything. The faucet in the bathroom was dripping, always, every fifteen seconds. The street one floor down and to my right has a steady slow traffic, whoosh, whoosh. Fathers returning to their families after a long day at work, kids on bikes, single mothers trucking a weeks worth of groceries home. A dog barks down the street that intersects with mine. I'm one house down from the corner of Pine and Cherry. Such usual, common names for streets in a quiet rural area.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
Comments14
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
The title of this one really grabbed my attention.
There are some poems that I'll keep reading over and over until I feel that I've came close to how it is meant to be read. Some are written to be specifically read with a certain flow. It's sort of like a dramatization or even revealing the feeling or ambiance of the work. Well, from my point of view anyway. That's how I write a majority of mine.
I really enjoyed the flow of this one. Nicely done.
There are some poems that I'll keep reading over and over until I feel that I've came close to how it is meant to be read. Some are written to be specifically read with a certain flow. It's sort of like a dramatization or even revealing the feeling or ambiance of the work. Well, from my point of view anyway. That's how I write a majority of mine.
I really enjoyed the flow of this one. Nicely done.