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Literature Text
Who am I?
Hullo! I'm SpiderwebWisher.
I was born on January 19 (you're not getting my age) into a creative family (in which, my mother is a writer, a teacher and a storyteller, my father is a singer-song writer, and musician, and my aunt is an artist and art therapist) that had just evolved itself from a family line of lawyers, businessmen and government officials.
What do I do?
Well, I consider myself a writer, even though writing is just a hobby of mine. I like to write fiction stories, and poems every once and awhile.
Why am I here at TheMediaCritic?
I'm here to help other deviants get the feedback and motivation they deserve. I do that for the same reason I stay here at deviantART; I came for the art, I stay for the community. Many of the members of LiteraryPublications is also part of this, and I'd like to support them as well as UnThai in this (as they feel sorta like family to me).
Did I write all these questions myself?
Yes, yes I did.
Hullo! I'm SpiderwebWisher.
I was born on January 19 (you're not getting my age) into a creative family (in which, my mother is a writer, a teacher and a storyteller, my father is a singer-song writer, and musician, and my aunt is an artist and art therapist) that had just evolved itself from a family line of lawyers, businessmen and government officials.What do I do?
Well, I consider myself a writer, even though writing is just a hobby of mine. I like to write fiction stories, and poems every once and awhile.
Why am I here at TheMediaCritic?
I'm here to help other deviants get the feedback and motivation they deserve. I do that for the same reason I stay here at deviantART; I came for the art, I stay for the community. Many of the members of LiteraryPublications is also part of this, and I'd like to support them as well as UnThai in this (as they feel sorta like family to me).
Did I write all these questions myself?
Yes, yes I did.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
Please Don't Go
Its the simplest moments we take for granted
Just lying together on the bed
Taking in the silence
The presence of the other
My hands roaming over your skin
The alarm is set thirteen minutes from now but we don't talk about it
We ignore the thought
Because we both know it wont last
The sound I hate the most
The alarm ringing
Signifying the end of our time together
We look at each other
That small smile
Trying to hide the pain
But its there
'Lets get going eh?’
I attempt to brighten the mood
The journey is silent
Small talk muttered between us
As we approach the station
I hold your in my arms one last time
It will be for a f
Literature
Ceteris Paribus
In an eon
You and I will greet the choate moon
Surrounded by her fairy dogs
warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails
who howl some foretelling tune
decoded only by the whistling winds
within my once listless room
I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow
we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo
We are stomata of the umpteen,
swimming in each other's dulcet drippings
of halved and pitted French tongues and ears
Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness
where Ceteris Paribus
In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know
how in the glow of one night tide
the firmament of all
folded into my limitless room
You and I part in sweet sorrow
t
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