|For presents, random donations and buying gift-art |
Occasionally llamas too.
Points for adoptables also go here.
(393 for random giving)
having bought prints for:
Zulfara - not sure it has arrived yet
and a birthday present for Captain-Random
*count is total, including commission revenue and purchased points
Special thanks to CameronKobe for being awesome
•artist • writer • web developer •
• human nebula • trans-dimensional multiform • Magikarp wrangler •
2014 - Bachelor of Information Technology
2013 - Diploma of Website Development
2013 - Adobe Certified Training in Flash/ActionScript 3.0
2012 - Certificate IV in Web-Based Technologies
2012 - Certificate III in Information, Digital Media & Technology (Web Technologies)
7 Poems in 7 Hours in 7 Days10 PM: 6/10/14SeeThroughtheMist
My mind is a blank sheet of paper.
It longs to be filled with words that, when strung together, creates this masterpiece. Whether it is the definition of Chemistry vocabulary, examples for Algebra, or even a recipe from Culinary. I want and wish so desperately to make something happen, but I can't. I suppose I have writer's block again.
All I know is that there is a tingling in my fingers and a feeling in my breast that will go unsatisfied. That I will miss these cramps in my hand and the burn in my eyes as I keep going, keep writing. Yet it seems that, like this piece of paper, it just won't fill unless I make it.
I have black-stamped words flowing in my blood stream full of ink and I am blinking similes as my tears carry metaphors; yet I smile with personification at the horrible feeling of the thumps of onomatopoeia in my chest because I know that even though I'm drowning in my own question marks, I breathe exclamation points and- like this piece of fucking pap
5'7'', 176 LBS (170 CM, 80 KG)5'7'', 176 LBS (170 CM, 80 KG)chromeantennae
it’s six-seventeen in the morning
and the water is just getting hot again
(my mother wakes up at ungodly hours)
and as i wait to turn on the shower,
i catch my own reflection
looking back at me.
and i take this time to look in,
instead of merely glancing.
light azure cotton assures me i’m in shape
before i remove it over my hair
looking like a bird’s nest
combined with everest.
i drop the shirt to the tile
and run my hands over my torso
north, flowing like the nile river.
my brown skin doesn’t move against the traction
and i suppose that means it’s tight to the muscle
or the bone, or whatever it is
(i was never good with science or
biology or really physical education.).
but my eyes run over my hair,
my own eyebrows, expressive
as they rise and fall. move and contort,
they're the main reason
that i've never been able to hide
how i feel.
or appear sad when i'm merely thinking.
ears not all that wide
Mastering MeIn another universe,TwilightPoetess
I have green eyes, curly hair,
and paint smeared across all my fingers--
a war cry of artistry
instead of needlepoint scars.
The pooch of my belly
and the lumps in my thighs
might be from anything else
but the insulin I inject four times a day.
I grow up a child, not a parent,
the master of my destiny
not running away but running toward;
I'm a little bit taller
in spirit and stature,
in all the ways that matter
when darkness creeps under the door
and phantoms howl.
I shave my legs every day
instead of once every month
once every three months
once every only now and again when I feel like it
and I'm confident--
a goddess with the stars
around her neck
instead of pearls--
in any type of heel.
In another universe,
I still trust myself
behind the wheel of a car;
I have mastered winged eyeliner
and smokey lids;
I gave up chocolate
or whatever it is
that brings on migraines
just because I could,
just because it's better for me,