Like the SummertimeHe was like the summertime. Here and then gone.Old friends who had parted ways, and hidden flames within their hearts.He talked of a life unworried about anything, and I idolized his devil-may-care attitude.Granted a night on the back porch swing long after the world has begun to dream.Shy smiles exchanged and idle hands touched, but nothing more given. Not even a kiss.Then he was gone again.Three seasons passed until he returned, and I had changed.I held onto my innocence, but embraced the fire of recklessness.I was forever burnt by it.Heated kisses and a confession of secret love blooming in four years time was the best I had to give.I refused to give you my purity, just as the birds refuse to yield their song at dawn.Summer melted away into a sudden chilled freeze.As I stood and observed, I noticed your false ideals peel away to reveal who you truly were, like the leaves falling from the trees in autumn.In the spring of my life you brought rain and despair.Yet in that
Dear DA, Is Our Art Not Beautiful?Dear DA,Is our work not beautiful? Left and right I see artists who slave over a camera, sketchbook, and keyboard endlessly in order to share the beauty of their creations and express themselves in the best way they know how. DeviantArt is a place for artists to find sanctuary and companionship with fellow artists, and yet we somehow become victimized. Some of the work focuses on the human body in its most natural state, our blank flesh canvas used to portray, inspire, and create. Like good little deviants many of us put warning on our works so that those who chose so may look away without incident, yet even then that’s not enough.It’s truly amazing, it is, the hypocrisy that lies on this site. You say our work is inappropriate, yet your homepage is filled with pornographic pictures and sleaze. While, yes, there are quite a few that fall under the category of “artistic nude” many fail to meet the criteria that merges skin with art and are only used to objectif
Emotional AbuseDaddy, please stop shouting.I love you, and I hate to see you mad.I don’t know what I did this time.Please, stop yelling, dad.I know you’d never lay a hand on me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scaredOf your constant venomous words that can never be repairedYou’ve supported me as I grew up, and stabbed me in the back all in oneYou’ve told me to chase my dreams while tying my laces together so I couldn’t runYou’ve yelled until your face turned red, and even broke a few thingsAnd your declarations of hatred cuts my heart and stingsI know you don’t mean it, I know you’ll apologize soonBut that can no longer mend the emotional lacerations you have hewnSo I’ll wait for you to stop, although I keep doubting.Daddy, I love you. Please, stop shouting.