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Literature
Title Goes Here
I tell you I don't know her
when you ask if I've seen her around.
I tell you I've never gone out of the country,
when you ask if I've been to Saigon.
I met her in India, watching
a snake handler charm an albino cobra
in the middle of a dank alley
that stank of unwashed men.
She told me he used a trombone
to put the snake in such a trance.
I tell you I've never been
when you ask about the egg rolls from the Chinese place across the street.
She and I ate lunch there.
Everyday we sat in the corner booth,
where the broom handle once fell
from the supply closet and into her rice
scattering it across the porcelain counter top.
I tell you it's a paper cut
when you ask about the scratch on my arm.
It was her kitty, the last time
I was at her house.
She had a stomach virus and asked me to bring her
some won ton soup.
I told her not to drink the water,
the amoebas would make her sick.
She told me her grandfather was having his cataracts removed
When I asked her she why she was leaving
in the mid
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Literature
Translation Please
Put that in the boot she says
while I manhandle her overstuffed suitcase
into my car
You need a lift to your flat she says
while we climb six flights of stairs to my apartment
Bin this she says
Handing me a moldy block of cheese
Pass the crisps she says
and the biscuits
She takes the pringles from my hand
Reaches to the shelf above my head
for the box of oreos
I love you she mumbles
Half asleep, head resting on my shoulder.
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Literature
Take Three
The tennis ball hits the door.  Back and forth, an unfaltering rhythm beats consistently against chaotic thoughts.  Emma sits; denim clad legs, one bent at the knee, stretch along cold tile floor. Short blond hair falls in her face, she is long past trying to keep it pushed away from the light brown eyes currently fixed on the returning tennis ball.
Each time the ball hits the tile on its way to the door, a pair of blue eyes blaze before her; and each time it clunks solidly against the metal she feels the open hand hot against her cheek. When the worn felt covering hits her hand and she hurls the ball back with all the force she can muster, she is once again at the receiving end of a stinging blow—leaving a mark that refuses to fade from Emma's memory, even as the swelling on her face subsides.
The ball finally rebels against the abuse it has taken and strays from its path, landing not back in Emma's hand, but amidst the overflowing laundry basket.  S
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Literature
Josephine
Winchester .22, bolt action rifle
Steel and wood, hammer and trigger,
barrel and bullet.
Older than my father, an ancient himself.
Josephine went from my
grandmother's hands—to mine.
My grandfather pulled her from the closet,
shook the cobwebs from her,
as grandmother fell back to dust.
Handed her to me, told me she was mine.
She'd hidden there, behind flannel and denim
Since the first tremors shook my grandmother's hands.
Stood on a whitewashed porch, grandmother's mutt dog at our feet
sunrise smell cut with the bitter tang of oil and grease
Tightness of the trigger foreign against my finger.
Lined up the sights, coarse bead on a post
Held steady against the recoil that never came
Unprepared for the report that shook a crow from his perch.
Cold steel warmed, bolt pulled back
Shell flipped out, hit a work-worn knuckle as it
Wiped an unacknowledged tear from a face as old as time.
Winchester .22, bolt action rifle
Polished not quite like new, leans against a bedpost
Waits for anoth
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Literature
Toaster Love
Your love is like a toaster
Hard metal surface
reflecting everything, keeping
yourself hidden behind
cool steel.
I am raw soft bread
sneaking past defenses
finding sight past your
polished outside.
I see the rusty coils of
your love as they turn
dull orange and heat us both.
I come out burned, soul
blackened—harder and more
fragile than I went in.
You remain the same,
coils go back to dull
scrap yard brown
shined surface hiding
you from the world.
Your love is like a toaster,
it burns my outside in.
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Literature
Nightsong
I can't help but see your eyes when I look at hers
and sometimes when she touches me I feel your hands again
She is not you—she does not hold curiosity in her glance
She cannot spark wonder in a jaded heart
But fire burns the wake of her caress
Fingers branding where they land
on skin that has not yet shed your mark
We sat one day—she and I, under a blanket soft as her skin
while Orion led Taurus across the canvas of the sky
we sat—whispering the nightsong to each other
Later on I thought of you—how we would sit
on the grass—legs tangled, dark hair flowing
into light—and listen to that same nightsong
I feel your eyes in hers, hear your pulse course through her veins
I see your song find my ears again
She is more than you and me,  more than we could have been
She will not wait for you to let me go
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Literature
Samantha Carey Take One
Sam is five years old, standing in a cold waiting room. A nurse walks by and asks where her mommy and daddy are. Sam tells her mommy is in heaven and daddy went to work.
Sam is thirteen and today is her birthday.  Her dad paid for the best party of anyone in her class—but Sam knows it was his assistant that did it—her dad didn't even remember it was her birthday.
Sam is eighteen and graduating high school today.  Her dad isn't in the audience. He hasn't spoken to her since the night she told him to go to Hell.
Sam is twenty three when her father makes a surprise visit to her apartment and finds her with Karen.  He leaves without saying a word, and the next day she gets a letter from his assistant, telling her that her father has cut off her allowance.
Sam is twenty eight and her dad is two years dead; threw himself off a bridge. She's getting married—and misses him so much she hates him for it.
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Literature
Untitled
“Could be worse I guess.  At least it's not Ulysses.  But Cary would have been pretty awesome.”
“You would want to be named Cary Grant.  Bur Kara is perfect for you.  To bad it's not Kara Thrace.”
At this, Kara breaks into a grin that makes her deep brown eyes twinkle in a way most find irresistible.  It's something about the expressive eyes and rakish smile on a pretty young girl that drives them to distraction.  Lanie Charles is no exception, she too has fallen for Kara's roguish charm and quick wit.  But that doesn't mean Kara needs to know the effect she has on Lanie, in fact the blonde carefully schools her features, masking her desire behind a cool blue stare.  Kara runs a hand through ragged short hair as she replies.
“That mean you're gonna start calling me Starbuck?  Y'know, I could probably pull it off... bet I could even make a damn fine Solo.  I have
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Literature
Five Things A Park Bench Saw
A little boy ran by with a glove and bat, calling backwards for his dad to hurry up.  His step bounced—didn't seem to touch the earth—his dad smiled as he followed.
A young man brings a girl here one night.  They sit side by side and talk, she shows him Orion, the big dipper.  His hand slides over hers—and they don't talk again for a while.
A young couple laugh as they walk by, hand-in-hand.  A little boy clings to his mother, while a little girl sits on her father's shoulders, giggling as they go.
An old man limps past, one leg heavy, holding tightly to a cane.  The child with him laughs and runs ahead, calling for his grandpa to hurry up.
Every night, a young couple walks by, hand-in-hand.  They look at the stars for a while, and fade off like the fog every dawn.
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Literature
She Sings My Body Electric
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt
or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and
vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish
to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each
other.

From : I Sing The Body Electric  by Walt Whitman
I see her in the midst of youthful beauties
Dark hair turning light with age
Among them all I pick her out
Her, with intense laughing eyes
amplified by tiny wrinkles surrounding them
Her, of the serious smiling mouth
That time has only bettered
She exudes such appeal
In the slow, confident walk
The high tilt of her chin
When she speaks, all stop to listen
Voice soft and rough
loud and silent
I stand transfixed
I wish long and long to be with her
I wish to sit with her
That she and I might touch each other.
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Literature
Torrent II
Sometimes I think
I don't like where my mind
goes
but it always goes to the
same place
same person
so I must like it
must want it
but I shouldn't and
maybe that's why I want it
but all I know is
I want it
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Mature content
Torrent :iconcarperawr:carperawr 0 3
Literature
Insert Pithy Title Here
I remember when I was little and
Love was simple
I loved mom and dad
Gramma and Granpa
and every Sunday in church
they said we ought to love everyone
But as I got older
I realized they didn't mean everyone
because they really don't love anyone
so how could they know what
it is to love someone
and now that I know that
I shouldn't love everyone I
find out that noone
really loves anyone
because noone even knows what love is anymore
so how could they love when they
don't understand it and they
try to define it by
tying it up and throwing it
in a little box and saying
'yeah this is love, love
only really comes in one form
and even though I'm saying you should
love everyone what I mean is only love
people that fit my mold' and they say
one thing while they shoot another
and I wish I was three again
when I knew all that I'll ever need
to know about love and didn't
know that there are so damned
many rules about love and who and where
you can love and dammit can
someone tell me when it got
so f
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Literature
Prathor's Paradiso
I know this is the last time that I will see my Ocean
We may not be parted forever
But it can never be the same
When I come back
I will be a visitor
vacationer
NOT the girl that lives five minutes away
who runs here
to watch sunsets
and avoid reality
if only for a moment
And in that one moment
I can absorb my senses fully
in this
in people milling around
in salty breezes
in brilliant colors too bright to look upon
When I come back
If I come back
The sand will have forgotten my footprints
and I myself but a distant memory to the waves
They will have new people
to calm
to inspire
new writers
new artists
begging the muses for inspiration
right there, where I sat
I will fade from the memory of my Ocean
But it will not fade from me
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Literature
Four In A Corner
Four in a corner
Two in a row
Enough to make eyes boggle
To make lust flow
Four in a corner
Two too cute for words
Blue eyes and blithe smiles
I’m screaming yet unheard
Two in a row
One last love lost
Two new hands to hold
But held at such high cost
What’s one to do
Naught but cry
When such heavenly creatures
Tell such devilish lies
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Literature
Kittens Drink Fear
Kittens drink fear
faster than Diana runs in the sky.
They suck it in through their noses,
absorb it through their ears.
Every doubt, every worry,
every wide eyed, white knuckled
shaking, quaking, moment
goes from the kitten to his claws;
sharpens them like daggers,
ready to plunge into his prey
into your heart.
Every nervous confession
further narrows his eyes
until, like a snake,
he is poised to strike.
Whispered pleas for help,
silent crying in the night;
turn him darker than shadows.
Muted screams and desperation
feed him. He grows larger with each
adrenaline fueled urge to flee.
Now fiercer than Blake's Tyger,
he stalks you, finds you in dreams.
With a vicious roar, he opens his jaws,
Rows of gleaming teeth line the primrose path to paradise.
In one fell gulp you are gone;
fear is not enough to feed him anymore.
The once kitten is loosed on the world
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deviantID

carperawr
God
United States
Current Residence: Louisville, KY
Favourite genre of music: Old ass country and Underground garage punk action bashes.
Favourite photographer: Autumn de Wilde
Favourite style of art: Pop
Operating System: Vista - POS that it is
MP3 player of choice: iPod, sack of shit that it is
Wallpaper of choice: The Trinity
Favourite cartoon character: Quack
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:icongiannapergamo:
GiannaPergamo Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2008  Professional Traditional Artist
fuck you, sarah

it's gianna

remember

you like to call me and be an asshole
Reply
:iconcarperawr:
carperawr Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2008
Sorry. I suck at paying attention. And I would NEVER be an asshole... ... xD
Reply
:iconsadistangel413:
SadistAngel413 Featured By Owner Dec 18, 2007
I LOVE YOU!!!
Reply
:iconsadistangel413:
SadistAngel413 Featured By Owner Dec 12, 2007
Yay! I finally stopped being lazy and actually sat down and read everything!

Keep writing!
Reply
:iconsadistangel413:
SadistAngel413 Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2007
I FOUND MY CHICKEN KART!!!!!!

*GLOMP* ... Sam can't be mad at me for glomping you because you're nither blind nor deaf

I <3 you!!!!
Reply
:iconcarperawr:
carperawr Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2007
I FOUND MY JUJU MCJEWY!!!!

You can't glomp blind deaf people? I'm pretty much blind if you steal my glasses. By pretty much, I mean completely.

I <3 you MORE!!!
Reply
:iconsadistangel413:
SadistAngel413 Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2007
Sam said I wasn't allowed to glomp Dean because he was deaf ... but I think I wasn't allowed because I always wanted to run up from behind him, and glomp him. She told me I'd either cause him heart failure, or that with my luck, he'd end up being a black belt or something, and kicking my ass...

I think I also almost glomped a blind lady in the mall or at a store or something like that around her, and that's why she told me I wasn't allowed to glomp blind people.
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