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About Varied / Student AbigailFemale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
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Literature
Mauve Mauve
I've written six and a half stanzas of pure drivel.
They don't bushel in quivering golden heads
like corn in spring
or a hundred tiny swimmers with shivering legs.
They're meant to tell you you've done okay
well, in truth they're to tell you happy birthday
but moreover I wrote them to say
that actually you're pretty swell.
I didn't use similes to show your effect,
I could have said you were like a travelling quartet
who visit once a month and make the air thinner
and knit up our insides ready for winter
I did attempt to show what you had taught
that I could be more than others said I ought
to be, that by your own aspirations
I suppose one could say you set me free
now I don't mean
to get ahead of myself
but it's just that I remember vividly
the first time you said
"I want to go and do something useful!
I want to love and aspire to more
than an ok job and a marble kitchen floor"
and my quiet sparrowed brain thought
Why isn't that me?
After I knew you for two more years
The why was gone
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Literature
Failing one's A level exams
pure unadulterated empathy: 
a cosmic whiplash 
a break backing crash of 
sexy blue whale waves rocking 
knocking at your neighbours doorstep
asking for a way home to a God who 
cares about chipped nails and unlimited texts. 
sex like a cancer, like a radio show 
the multinational equivalent to the bbc news 
and an oyster with the childhood blues
the longing to be better eats you up 
till the pulling inside you becomes enough 
and then the sadness leaves you and 
you don't know what to do 
it's not that my feelings are new 
the leaves still ochre the babies still cry 
the snails you tred on still ache and die 
maybe they're glad to go 
maybe if we let each other know 
empathy is not the ultimate conduit to destruction,
but neither is silence
neither is God
neither is dead snail either 
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Literature
A Duel- Burden Female
I remember emailing you as a scared little girl 
I feel like a woman now 
a scared authoritative woman 
birthed from the very colouring pens which raised me 
my hands are silver birch and elderberries 
a pun from my year 2 class teacher who smelled 
like soft bird feathers and had a face equating to an envelope
and kind, leathery hands 
my legs are stocks and shares my parents crafted
bought and sold on many European markets
where I learnt to order the bill in native tongue;
feet like hymns sung on spiritually dusty mornings 
alone in the French countryside tanning my legs to the bells below the hills
my torso is that of broken over zealous women 
oversized jumpers, boyfriends at a young age 
and that is all 
my neck is my own and I stretch it twice monthly 
I sit overreaching my window- crooning to the stars 
and they paint moles on it and I try not to laugh 
because it tickles sometimes
I text you now, and my
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Literature
Alex Crook
so heres a ditty for free
another cliched poem to stop me feeling empty 
you'll love me if I'm perfidious enough
the next few weeks are gonna be tough 
the next few years are gonna get better
really though. Are they. 
the summers will only get wetter
the leaves will raise like unleavened dough
i'll cry tears on books cried over centuries ago 
but hearts are connected and minds are a blaze
together we'll take hands and run through the maze 
the daisy's are pure and the girls have soft hands 
the boys are all tall and the trans chicks are grand 
the feminism is boisterous and the children in love 
tell me that Arcadia isn't enough 
learn to love the sweet moments that aren't what they should be
learn to want nout but air when you sit on santas knee 
i'm not going to compare us to the african orphanage 
but look yourself in the mirror and darling please pledge 
you will be the best person that you can be 
you will love every
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Literature
There Will Come A Time
there's a genteel hum like a washing machine, wish wheel 
a previously-thought-impenetrable-impossible reel 
of real time live action happiness. 
like all the edges on the pictures from the cameras
have all been rounded, the sweat stink bubblegum;
the smiles on everyone's faces are 100% pure
i'll tell you the door to knock on's not even a door 
staying open 24/7 it's even got a cheerful Indian man at the counter
whose experienced prejudice sure because life is suffering 
but he know longer finds London stifling 
and his family's doing fine
he's got the money to buy mid-range wine
 and the kids are growing 
up fast enough to tell the time
 (from their parent's phone)
its the wishbone of a televised reality 
that we only cried we wouldn't reach because of too much T.V 
too much eat this and 
your fat city of green coats 
cancerous an encroach on abject privacy maybe she likes being choked
its her pagan naked laughing boyfri
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Literature
The Whale of Time
Maybe i should talk about your hipbones 
your skeleton like glass 
but i'd rather discuss
how you taught me to cuss 
or the way your little fingers stretch in the light
or the way you're head throws back when you laugh 
or the way you still have that drawn on white scarf
you talk like a poet and you walk like a queen 
your eyes are full of places you haven't been 
and shakespeare, and beeswax, and shiny things. 
There's a girl in the river 
swimming in her socks 
theres a woman in the doorway 
listening to rock 
there's a cat by the road 
who loves the endless night
theres a funny one inside 
and she's a looker alright. 
like a spacious old auto mobile, you're in for the ride 
there's no rear-wheel drive
 in your bones baby 
the journey is the whole thing. When you sing
I swear people think the tooth fairy exists:
the air gets thin and everyone goes quiet. 
A year ago i watched an old man take off
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Literature
Same Love
and my friend she says
"I'm proud of you for coming out." 
just like it's the status quo 
like i'm a lesbian now
Hell I still want to kiss guys sometimes
doesn't mean I'm telling lies
when I say I like girls
you think I know what's going on?
You think I know how I feel?
Just yesterday I was planning my wedding meal
and I even thought about the vows
well now that's all come tumbling down
and my guy friend he comes up and says
"doesn't it bother you that you'll never have sex?"
They want me to say yes.
If you're bi then you can't decide,
you want to sleep around or you're in denial,
if you're a lesbian then oh boy we're proud
now get on every girl with whom you hang around and
if you're straight then why are you looking at me that way
you're not really gay
you're just confused, it's just a phase
yeah tell that to the girl who I've been crushing on for days
and well. How am I to know?
they say it's decided in our brains long ago but
I had a boyfriend once, loved h
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Saul on the road to Damascas :iconx-mercy-dimwit-x:x-Mercy-Dimwit-x 1 0
Literature
Tiger
They always show it on the tv screen
"this is our last night together, this then nothing."
and you know they'll end up meeting again and loving 
each other unrealistically beautifully much. 
You know, we never think, 
Well what if it was me?
What if we were in love, 
and it was you moving to Santa Fe.
And the other guy has eyes like the sea 
and he talks like an English literature degree
and don't get me started on his witty repartee. 
And he's many other flouncy metaphors:
Point is, he's the good guy. And you and I,
we'll never be a thing.
But ignoring all reason, not even the stars, 
ignoring the reflections and memories of the past
despite knowing it will make it harder to part, 
We're still abandoning our head for our heart. 
Maybe it's the movies, the curse of the silver screen,
maybe it's because I'm always in your dreams, 
But we've agreed, one date, one day of fun,
and then we'll be finished, before we've even beg
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Literature
From earlier
 maybe it's too late to fight 
just lose yourself in the night 
go on I double dare you 
die. 
You don't really want to. 
 I am trying to write about God, 
and how big he is, 
but the Sad has reached my fingers
and that makes it difficult to type. 
I am trying to write about God, 
but the boy keeps coming into my head,
and keeping me from going to bed,
and talking to me sweet-like for two hours.
He's a sugar pod, he's cotton from it's roots 
I know what he is. I think I just want to 
love him, but I can't, because I am trying 
to write about God. 
A while ago, I wrote:
"God is everything. I put him in the center of 
my life and now everything is the best it could 
be."
Is it greedy to want God to engulf me 
twice?
Can he do that?
Probably. 
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Literature
Untitled
Stephane timothy clarke burns
I'll love you till you're eyes run dry
I'll love you till tomorrow night 
when facebook goes quiet 
God will lead you on with his light
and maybe we should have fight more
but we didn't. And my face is sore
from crying but you'll be alright
we'll be alright 
I will try not to text you goodnight
a crap end to a crap week 
you said but at least 
we're still friends 
and we've agreed not to make romantic amends
we'll stay friends
Stephane timothy clarke burns
I loved you like the stars 
But our time together has sweetly,
sadly, amicably past. 
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Literature
feeling infinite
oh God I've read so many poems
and I am reading a book and if it is sad
I am sad and if it is happy I feel what it feels
and there is a roundabout in my chest and it turns and it turns
the earth is spinning so fast and the moon controls the tides
and peter pan would never say good byes. I made it a thing
I slaved you to it for a week because I wanted it to be a thing
about me. I never say goodbye. But I hated it
and I suppose now it is time for me to admit that the all of my everything
is from books and movies and films and other people
and Jesus
and the hymns that people hum
when they forget that they're hymns.
I would like to read an article that says when the sun explodes
and the world rots
it will keep spinning, the gravity, the magnetic field inside will keep turning until it is just the tiniest ball of pretty much nothing and no matter how many goodbyes you did or didn't have the guts to say
no matter how many hellos you did
it will keep turning oh God it will turn till everythin
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Literature
Oh yay cliche love poem
maybe it started with the caveman
the psychological brute
of loves last stand.
taking each other by the hand
"an excuse to rot in pairs of two"
I wrote a poem about you
in year 6.  
I wrote about kissing your 'sweet lips'
before my first kiss.
I thought I met you 2 years after
but actually it was 4
and sometimes i'm not sure
if I have; but I will find you
I will call down every alley
every book store, nook and cranny.
I will search the globe.
And I want you to know:
I will find you,
and I will bring you home.
And when I do,
you will never, ever, be alone.
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Literature
I'll do it later
oh later you know its all just LATER
why you don't take notice of her, why you never say I love you
and you say it to me every night
you are not married to me you and an omelet a vagabond and old
old old thing. And I don't want any of it
stop getting angry at your computer and run with me
I'm in my running kit cant you see
and she cleans the house and cooks and makes you tea
and you just sit at the computer tapping your keys
and tinkering.
you are a word eater, a non-speaker, a tinkering old old thing.
don't sigh, don't lie. don't shout and never
YOU NEVER PICK UP THE PHONE.
What if you are alone
in the house and someone calls? Do you take any notice at all?
or do you just keep typing away at your computer
and sighing at the screen
and editing all the family photos but never putting them up anywhere around the house.
you are a city mouse
and a mistress and an old thing.
and sometimes you strop and sometimes you tell us great adventures
and you haven't got any friends and you've never b
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Literature
Norfolk
You are like electric, electric- 
flight on concord, a nuclear lagan
Inter-galactic super space dragon- 
are no match for the rate of explosions
in every one of my cells; 
Kissing you is like a thousand Trojans;
Your smile is the year when Roosevelt 
spent trillions of dollars on those that earnt
less than one a day. All so he could install
radios in their homes, just to say 
"G-d bless America. 
And G-d bless you."
Because your eyes were electric blue 
in the womb. And when you first saw the world, 
they shone so bright 
your pupils burnt as black as the night. 
And scorched your Irises the colour of redwood
pine and deep inside the forest-
so your eyes pool like a deep forest lake 
whose beauty is so astounding that not 
even the haze from a thousand stagnant cities
could put a but a smoky scratch 
on the pure white water-lilies
of your electric, electric 
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Literature
The Land Army
I told her.
She just said "oh my brave little soldier."
But said she wouldn't buy a poppy,
because she knew I'd make it.
I showed her my wrist.
She asked me "How many roses
did you try to kiss?"
we both smiled.
But we knew it was no rose thorn
that would cut like this.
I asked her if she thought
the folks would hate me.
She laughed and said
"goodness, you'll be fine!
what age are you living in, 1939?
When all the other soldiers
were going off to war?
With hearts of lions: Father told me
the songs they used to roar-"
Where have you gone,
Where have you gone,
Oh childhood days of green,
Where have you gone,
where have you gone,
My sweet-lipped lady dream!
Where have you gone,
where have you gone!
My mothers wide wise hands, oh
Where have you gone,
where have you, gone,
Last weeks final stand?

For a moment her face was a salute.
Then she stood me up, all resolute,
pulling my sleeve down with careful thought,
she smiled at me, and said "Go forth."
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:iconjakesexception:
JakesException Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2012
Many thanks for the +fav.
Reply
:iconsparrowfox:
Sparrowfox Featured By Owner Nov 10, 2012   Writer
I think I meant to watch you a long time ago, I don't know why I didn't so now I will, okay? Okay.

Also you have a great name.

That's it I guess.

:heart:
Reply
:iconx-mercy-dimwit-x:
x-Mercy-Dimwit-x Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2012  Student General Artist
Okay? Okay. Cool.
Thankyou! I got it from a dream. I'd been brainstorming for ages on a name, and I had a dream where I was a member of a band called Dimwit and the kaleidoscops, and everyone was telling me to go up and start playing and I stood in the middle of the seats ( it was in a theater) and said "Mercy!" (As a kind of joke because everyone was pestering me) And then suddenly I was right at the bottom of the seats and I whispered to myself "Mercy dimwit, that's a good name." And then I woke up :D
Where's your name from? :heart:
Reply
:iconsparrowfox:
Sparrowfox Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2012   Writer
Oh my goodness, that's really great. Well mine isn't quite as dramatic, I'm afraid. I actually just love foxes and sparrows...so I just squished them together into a name haha.

But I've also had this idea for a children's book or something of a fox and a sparrow who are best friends besides their differences and have all sorts of forest adventures together (with underlying themes relating to human nature and society). I might make a little picture book of them sometime, we'll see.
Reply
:iconx-mercy-dimwit-x:
x-Mercy-Dimwit-x Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2012  Student General Artist
okay that book sounds like the greatest cutest thing ever please make it I will buy it and love it and read it to all of my friends :3
It's a really good name though it works :) I love the forest adventures :') And it could be one of those wicked books that the grown ups read and there like hurh hurh see how this is a metaphor for this deep issue in society how clever hruh and the kids read it and there like OOH THEY MET A BEAR IN THE FOREST. :3
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