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Novel Excerpt: StarbucksThere are places in the world that feel like home. Rarely are these places actually anyone’s home - but you walk by them, or into them, or you see them from afar, and your realize - this is my home.Novel Excerpt: Starbucks
That’s how I felt about the Starbucks on the corner of Main and Pine Street. Every time I walked through the double glass doors - I knew. I knew by the smell of the coffee and the warmth of the music and the feel of the people. I knew that I wanted to spend my late nights and early mornings at this Starbucks, I wanted to fall in love at this Starbucks, I wanted to wear a green smock and pass happiness, in the form of caffei
by ~PeachyPrincess123
SisterloverfriendbeautyLet me be yourSisterloverfriendbeauty
Sisterloverfriendbeauty Let the words
Run together Like so many Creeks And lakes And rivers Running like children To the sea
Know that I feel for you You, my
Brothermusehappinesslove
Let us forget tradition Let me kiss you and Let it mean nothing
Just a movement A quick brush Of insecurity And poetry From
A sister Who is a friend who is a lover Who is occasionally a beauty
Who is always yours.
by ~PeachyPrincess123
Something Like LoveWhen you go Please don’t leave me behind Please let me go first, Don’t hold the door open Don’t hold my hand Don’t stop and ask me if I’m feeling alright Let me walk to the edge of the ocean And let me breathe in one breath of fresh air And I promise, I’ll be with you, when I’m ready But I’m not ready, yet. I’m under the rubble of a million Faces that have faded Into obscuritySomething Like Love
When I need you I’ll tell you And we’ll go And you won’t ask questions And I won’t provide the a
by ~PeachyPrincess123
The Last of the Sock PuppetsThe last of the sock puppets Left without a note He walked away with a wistful smile And maybe he said something But I didn’t hear him I didn’t even notice he’d left Until he was so far down the road That I couldn’t see him Or even remember what he looked likeThe Last of the Sock Puppets
In the first place
And that was that
I didn’t cry for him For his googly eyes
And yarn hair I just sat around And tried to remember What had made me so sad That day
When you sang me a song About blood and bruises And shards of
by ~PeachyPrincess123
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| I am apparently to "tell deviantART about myself." Well, what would it like to know? I write (poetry, prose and songs) I sketch and I play my guitar not very well. I hopefully have a novel coming out soon, and I have a lot of magnificent people who try their hardest to help me keep my feet on the ground. I'm occasionally amusing and I like to talk and I love to pretend to be people I'm not. And that's about it. Life seems considerably less substantial when it's been condensed into a textbox. I'm sure I'll go on, though. In the end it's not that big of a deal. |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: [Now]here
- Interests: Whatever is happening in my imagination.
- Favourite movie: The Royal Tenenbaums/Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
- Favourite band or musician: The Mountain Goats/The Bright Eyes/Neutral Milk Hotel
- Favourite genre of music: Indie (I really hope that's a genre, because otherwise I just made myself look highly silly.)
- Favourite artist: Andy Warhol
- Favourite poet or writer: Too many. Too little time.
- Favourite photographer: Likewise.
- Favourite style of art: The good kind.
- Favourite cartoon character: Daria
- Personal Quote: You take the fun out of dysfunctional
- Tools of the Trade: Pencil, semi-functioning brain, extreme knowledge of useless trivia, "redhead" attitude.
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