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About Varied / Hobbyist Core Member JennyUnknown Groups :iconsomniavi-photography: Somniavi-Photography
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Deviant for 2 Years
1 Month Core Membership:
Given by The-Fabulous-Ferengi
Statistics 1,116 Deviations 12,939 Comments 22,591 Pageviews

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PaW #52: Gneiss (Grand Finale)Pay no attention to the leeches
Though they crawl up this protolith
Sucking blood through igneous exoskeleton
The beggars will not eat today
But their lights shall be on
And in time, you may find...
That while the park may be full
When you’re in there
Scopophobia will be all but obsolete
‘Till the choreography is forgotten
I saw the vultures today
How emaciated, they have become
Ribcages thru the rind – under duress
Mayhaps your escape was convenient
This path is long and winding
And it will contort further if you persist
Do not bend with it
And stay familiar and overwhelmingly warm
Chattering like magma in its wake
A puppet dancing free of his strings
You have come this far
The point of no return cannot be seen behind you
Now swallow the poison
And embrace the tidal wave...
White wallsThese four blank walls, reality condemned
Je n'en sors jamais indemne
Don't hold me in its grasp
Don't make me face the past
Ne me vois pas, je ne suis là
que pour faire passer le message
One, two, three, thousand visages
All of them bearing oxygen
Attention à la marche avant
Sous une pluie de goudron et de sang
Mais au moins maintenant
Ces murs ne seront plus blancs.
2015-194 EvensongMy friend Rebecca Michelle TheEmptyChest asked if I were to write the story of my life, what I would title it. The title I was thinking of was 'Holding onto Hope' or something along those lines. But 'Evensong' would work well, too, or perhaps better.
Evensong, or Compline as my Roman Catholic sisters and brothers name it, is the closing prayer of the day before retiring. It is a time to reflect upon the day, what has gone well and what has not, what blessing I may give thanks for, and what misdeeds I need to confess to God so that I can sleep with conscience clear.
Psalm 91 is the psalm for Sunday evening. "The one who dwells in the shelter of the Most High and abides in the shade of the Almighty says to the Lord, 'My refuge, my stronghold, my God in whom I trust.'"
Psalm 91 used to bother me because, on the surface level, it is simply not true. God's people do suffer, and all too often they suffer specifically because they are God's people. Then I realized that those who suffer most
Help.No matter how hopeless you feel,
how alone,
or how invisible,
there is someone who is willing,
and waiting,
to help you tie every loose end,
repair every tear,
and help you through it all.
Sometimes it's a matter of finding them,
sometimes they have to find you,
and sometimes is just a matter,
of acknowledging that they exist,
and that you need their help.
So, no matter your circumstances,
no matter your mindset,
no matter how helpless you may feel,
please believe,
that you never have to go through anything alone.
In bothLife
Can save
Is appealing
In both
I'll be
With you
Brush Stroke Discoveriesthe sunset is not complete without tomorrow,
the flight of the bird is not complete without another flutter, and another;
a massage is not complete without enduring repeat strokes
the knots in your heart and the songbrush of your hands repeat and repeat:
a much deserved catharsis.

Lost, but not forgotten ♡

:blackrose: Amanda
:blackrose: Deathora
:blackrose: Crissy

Some writing pieces that I am particularly proud of...


Where Hours Sound by Oriodian
toxic radio(active)   They thought she was crazy.
   They believed that there was something wrong with her.
   They said that she'd just seen something from her imagination.
   (In reality, there was something wrong with them.)
   She ran her fingernails through her hair and chattered her teeth like battering rams; her eyes were stained with red veins and her skin turned ghostly pale. Her hair was something beyond tangled, brown from dirt splotches and red from dried blood. She had a cut on her leg and when she dipped her fingers into the pool, she had accidentally ran them through her hair.
   The men in yellow came back. The room was an unsettling shade of white and so were the lights. One of the men stood and stared at the woman. He was the one who said,
   "She's infected, all right."
   The woman slid her hair under her nails again. She hated the way it felt, but she found it so satisfying. Deterioration, <
Shot to the heart"I love you"
"Yes, I know"

Dark Desire by thelostgentleman#99 - Me The Love by hotterthanhellwoman
B-Side the FireI set the same song on reply.
I glue the button down
with blood and spit and tears
to make the track rerun because
right now (since how long, I can’t recall)
it’s been the only thing keeping me from
falling into vomit I am puking from my heart.
There are no words, just
the same acoustic refrain
as if it sends me far away
from whatever this
is supposed to be.
(“Reality,” they tell me.)
At least in my head,
I can’t get hurt and
I don’t wear a frown
quite as hard
as the PF Flyers
I’ve worn holes in.
I keep running but
I don’t know which way
to chase a daydream.
It’s like trying to catch the moon
at dawn.
I’m told we’re all
a little crazy,
a little sad,
a little weird and a little mad
But all I really am is desperate.
I just want to crack
these goddamn headphones in half
and climb inside the music notes
to find the Neverland I dream about
every time I close my eyes.

I’d like to suck a couple dro
We're Not Bad KidsDrowning in cigarette smoke, sighing away the seconds,
siphoning out the life in our limp limbs, heads
lolling to the sky, asking for the stars we can barely
see to give one last wish,
our skin pale like dead fish
bellies. I can see the sickness spreading
through our broken hearts,
our broken starts as we try, again and again,
to be free. Who wants to live when
conformity dictates that death is the only truth we can find?
We call each other "bros" but we're really a suicide pact;
we try to act
like there's something funny about being out here in the woods,
in the man-made clearing of cement,
not looking for pleasure but searching for that
final release. It's easy to laugh
when you're trying not to feel.
And they call us "bad kids",
a bad generation,
children of darkness,
loving the sound of life's whip
thwacking across backs, especially our own.
But we lack that sense of humor we strive so hard to emulate.
We're not bad kids.
We're just sick as hell
and missing home,
dangling al

What It Takes To Fly by yuumei
Immortal Theory6.
My brother believes
in reincarnation
as history repeats itself,
or at least that's what he slurred
on the anti-psychotics that made him
One little man didn't know
there existed a continent
between him and a spice trade,
so the world got bigger: or at least
that's how I imagined it,
coloring brown smiling Indians
dining with prim little pilgrims
in kindergarten.
By second grade I knew
Native Americans died of diseases like small pox,
pictures in the textbook of sad weathered faces
wrapped in government-issued blankets,
but it wasn't until I read a book about a teenager
from Spokane who lived on a reservation
that I asked: Was this the greatest country
Those blankets became sinister,
and by sixth grade I was suspended
for saying genocide.
In college,
they told me I was right but
the debt already had me.
Do you think of entropy?
The empath and the narcissist in an eternal battle
for the human spirit. Neither wins,
only greed, only chaos,
only t
Your Ego is Bigger Than Your AccomplishmentsI hide behind
a shield of false humor.
I make a careful cut
with my dull, double-edged blade
named "friendliness"
and hope you won't recognize it
as the attack
I've had to make it be.
Your blows knock me back,
but they deal no damage.
(You've got no weapons;
how could you hurt me?
Why do you even try?)
Instead, they build my rage
frenzy, berserk,
and you should thank your lucky stars
our god is patient and forgiving
or you would already be dead in the streets.

Gateway to the West by JacquelineBarkla
SilhouetteShe looked across the bedroom, across the hurricane whipped sheets of the bed to the window where the morning sun shone in brightly.
A silhouette. The outline of a girl, against the bright sun. Detail was faded and obscured by the light, the form still there but still not as real or solid as it had once been.
Her friend. Her lover. How could she be sitting there, looking at this marvelous element of her life, so close and yet... already gone? Tears were in her eyes, going nowhere, simply pooling as if they, unlike the girl in the window, would not, could not leave.
She wiped the tears before they had a chance to run down her cheeks. She was doing her best. But she knew that soon the silhouette would turn and become a real woman once more. And when that happened, it would be the start of a horrid process that would look... oh, so normal... but inside would be screaming that it was unnatural, that a piece of her was being ripped from inside, torn out and taken, leaving nothing but a gapi
home sweet homesome days when
the clouds are hanging
       l   o   w        
and there’s a cold that
seems to settle
into the very fabric
of my skin
[from my sun drenched freckles
down to my curling toes]
my mind will  w a   n  d   e   r  
amongst shadow darkened
corridors and shady
looking back-alleys;
it’s content with the
p.e.a.c.e that the
darkness brings
because it quiets the faint
t re  mb l i   ng 
that disturbs my bones
and lets me sink
back into my
hollow oblivion
home sweet home.

I want to talk to you by AquaSixio
That Chinese girl you passed on the StreetI am not American--
I am just that Chinese hostess cook and cleaner number
4 approved by Lady Liberty.
Honor the slant-eye
Honor your ancestors
I am not exotic
I am not a piece of ass, all good daughters paint their
lips in sweet sour sauce.
I raised my brother and sister while my mother spent days and nights
washing dishes.
I feed dim brother and radiant sister Spam with onions and baby bok-choy;
My mother told me I was Second Mother.
all good daughters obey
Honorable father left for a white woman three times divorced with rabbit eyes
      honor your ancestors
      honor the slant-eye
My mother, the Iron Dragon;
made me promise never to marry a man
born in the Year of the Rat.
(Silently I mourned the death of Honorable father)
Fortune cookie say--
If you want a happy-ending
      Visit Panda Express and
go fuck yourself Confucius!
Road TripI put a bullet in her head, but she keeps coming back to my front door. That's my fault.
But what isn't my fault, what I will never accept as my fault, are the things she leaves on the doorstep for me to find after she staggers back into the lake. They're photographs and diaries, addresses and phone numbers.
It's always something horrible--the first photograph was of four men in hoods surrounding a little girl on a plinth in a large stone room. They had cut her vertically along the belly, and her face was distorted. Another time I decided to go to an address; it was in Pittsburgh, a long way from my home. All it was, was an abandoned project. Barren floors and paint peeling from the walls, broken windows and the smell of mold and excrement. Then I stumbled on a trap door and found a pit to the old sewer line below. It stank of burning hair.
And the diaries. Oh, God. The things some people have seen.
But yesterday she left me a set of keys. I'd long since given up screaming at he

the monsters crawling under my bed by chriseastmidsObscura by Avine
Office Crime SceneThey were found slack-jawed and glass-eyed
Skin pale and waxy
Last breaths frozen in the air
Like dust caught in sunlight
The coroner's report read: Death by PowerPoint™
on endless loop on endless loop on endless loop
The projector is still on
Confessions1. I have a cactus that I constantly cut my fingers on,
And a plant so soft I always reach to stroke its leaves.
They sit side by side on my windowsill,
A miniature orchid pushed off to the side,
Its purple flowers glowing.
2. The day I gave away my wheelchair
I cried until my throat was raw,
Rough sobs shaking my whole skeleton.
I still don’t know if it was in relief
Or in fear.
3. I remember every time my mother
Has called me vile
And meant it.
The echoes haunt me,
And I’ve never told her.
Never told her that I remember.
Never told her that I believe her.
4. I love my father.
I hate him at the same time.
He’s done terrible things.
But I know he loves me.
I know he tried.
I think he wants me to love him,
To forget about the hate.
I’m not sure I can.
5. Sometimes I go looking for help.
I always end up crying
Before I find it.
I stop searching.
6. There are some things I’ll never do straight away,
Like laundry and vacuuming and painkillers.
Like admitting I

The Serpent and the Sphere Pendant II by diana-irimie
Sparkly and Bright Necklace by borysbrytvaRandom S-Dragon sale by Rrkra
  • Mood: Emotional


Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
I am 21 year old artist, writer, composer, singer-songwriter and jewellery maker.

I don’t really have one particular area of interest yet; I just enjoy creating and will give anything new a shot ;)

:blackrose: Have a look in my Etsy shop! (okay, not currently active but I do plan on reopening it at some point)

:blackrose: Like my Facebook page!

:blackrose: Subscribe to my YouTube channel!

:bulletblue: Earn a daily deviation
:bulletblue: Get some of my writing professionally published (rather than self-published)
:bulletblue: Many other things, but those are the main ones that matter here ;P

Please do visit/ comment/ like if you enjoy my work :meow:

Published work:
No matter how dark the night gets, there will always be that tiny little spark waiting to blaze with life in the dawn...
Through a deeply emotional series of photography and poetry, explore the world of an individual with mental illnesses and how they are learning to overcome the accompanying difficulties.

:bulletblue: If I favourite but don't comment; I love it and just can't think of any constructive or decent feedback ♡
:bulletblue: You do not need to thank me for the llama, favourite or donation.
:bulletblue: I do not watch-for-watch or fav-for-fav, so please do not ask me and then get offended when I say no.
:bulletblue: Even if I do not thank you for favourites (I generally don't thank my watchers because I can't keep up with the numbers), I do really appreciate all of them!
:bulletblue: I do not generally participate in "tagged" journals.

WARNING: If your favourites are full of naked women instead of art, especially if you do not have any deviations of your own, then I will most likely block you. This is an art site, not a porn site. My work carries a message, or maybe a little fun. Not jack-off material for some random stranger on the internet. And no, I will not send you nudes: Stop asking.

However, if you appreciate my work because it is art, then I am very grateful! Feel free to leave any comments and tips that you wish :aww:


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TheFlawedOne Featured By Owner 7 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave.
oviedomedina Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Thank you for the favorite and comment Jenny!
SheDares Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem :heart:
stormfeather-cat Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Gorgeous photos~ Thank you for the llama as well... I hope one in return is enough, and dearly wish that you have a great day! :D
SheDares Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Anything is good enougn ;P
And thank you so much :hug:
TheKerwinator Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2015  New Deviant Professional Writer
Thank you for the fav!! :D
SheDares Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
You're welcome x
TheFlawedOne Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the watch!
SheDares Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Just... :hug:
You need it.
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