Cracked and scarred, others think you are a monster,
A fighter,
A warrior.
Your body is marred by scratches and scorch marks.
You wear these injuries not like blemishes,
But as decorations. Like so many paintstrokes-
Lines sweeping across the backs of your hands to the crook of your back-
Covering what was once there.
You hate to fight.
The child, the animal,
Crawling on all fours, explores new things with its wide, wet mouth.
The fighter, the beast,
Rearing up on two legs to fight, sees threats in the eyes of each stranger.
You, the creator-
Sitting in the shade, tell tales of new heroes in wide worlds.
No longer a child, no longer a beast
It’s a Friday night,
And there’s a cat on the sidewalk.
The sky is so dark it has no color,
Stars peeking from behind cloud blankets
But ducking back behind cover.
The moon is a fluorescent nightlight-
Not enough to illuminate the room,
But enough to light the way.
Lamppost, rusted over
And innocent bird becomes a corvid
As shadows melt into her wings.
A conversation of chirps and yowls
To the undersized cat on the sidewalk below.
A man crosses on the other side of the road.
Superstitious, afraid of luck,
The feline remains alone.
It curls its tail, licks its paw,
Nonchalant.
The night is just a night,
numbers have to luck.
A
When Rowan woke up, it was already late morning. She winced at the uncomfortable brightness filtering through the window into her bedroom and momentarily contemplated pulling the covers over her head and going back to sleep. Unfortunately, her stomach probably couldn’t go that long without attention. Rowan groaned. Food it was, then.
Her purple hearing aids were on her nightstand, right next to the textbook Rowan had been studying the night before. The girl turned away without touching either, adamant that no one should have to deal with fire incantations before breakfast, even if the person in question did have a practical exam the ne
Cracked and scarred, others think you are a monster,
A fighter,
A warrior.
Your body is marred by scratches and scorch marks.
You wear these injuries not like blemishes,
But as decorations. Like so many paintstrokes-
Lines sweeping across the backs of your hands to the crook of your back-
Covering what was once there.
You hate to fight.
The child, the animal,
Crawling on all fours, explores new things with its wide, wet mouth.
The fighter, the beast,
Rearing up on two legs to fight, sees threats in the eyes of each stranger.
You, the creator-
Sitting in the shade, tell tales of new heroes in wide worlds.
No longer a child, no longer a beast
It’s a Friday night,
And there’s a cat on the sidewalk.
The sky is so dark it has no color,
Stars peeking from behind cloud blankets
But ducking back behind cover.
The moon is a fluorescent nightlight-
Not enough to illuminate the room,
But enough to light the way.
Lamppost, rusted over
And innocent bird becomes a corvid
As shadows melt into her wings.
A conversation of chirps and yowls
To the undersized cat on the sidewalk below.
A man crosses on the other side of the road.
Superstitious, afraid of luck,
The feline remains alone.
It curls its tail, licks its paw,
Nonchalant.
The night is just a night,
numbers have to luck.
A
When Rowan woke up, it was already late morning. She winced at the uncomfortable brightness filtering through the window into her bedroom and momentarily contemplated pulling the covers over her head and going back to sleep. Unfortunately, her stomach probably couldn’t go that long without attention. Rowan groaned. Food it was, then.
Her purple hearing aids were on her nightstand, right next to the textbook Rowan had been studying the night before. The girl turned away without touching either, adamant that no one should have to deal with fire incantations before breakfast, even if the person in question did have a practical exam the ne
HA! Thought I'd forgotten, did you? I've got to do Lunette after this, which may take a few decades, but at least I've finally got this down.
~lirbunniesbow (https://www.deviantart.com/lirbunniesbow) asked a bunch of questions. My characters are answering them.
---
1. What's your full name?
It's Deric Harvey. Don' have a middle name.
2. Do you like dairy products?
Don't much care for them, but they're alright, 'cept cheese. Can' eat cheese.
3. Do you find Elmo interesting?
What is this…'Elmo'?
4. I like cookies. Do you like cookies?
Kiddo, I've got better things to be doin' than buying cookies.
5. Anime is Beast. Do you watch it? You should watch it. If you don't
So, Mom needed a new guitar amp cord and Dad wanted to go get more fish, and... the ferrets they adopted are currently named Phoebe and Wrigley. One of our cats is scared of them and the other is very purposefully ignoring them. They're very lively, and cute. I feel bad, though. They belonged to a boy who had to give them up for reasons that aren't really our business, and apparently he was crying when he had to give them up. The ferrets are reeeaally cute, though, and Dad's wanted ferrets forever, so I'm glad we got them. They keep crawling under the blanket and trying to find their way out, and climbing over each other. Mom thinks they have
~one-out-of-thirty (https://www.deviantart.com/one-out-of-thirty) randomly tagged me, so here goes.
Rules:
1. You must post these rules (very, VERY Important )
2. Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post, and create ten new
questions for the people you tag to answer.
3. You have to choose 10 people to tag and post their icons on your journal.
4. Go to their pages and tell them you have tagged her/him.
5. No tag backs
6. No crap in the tagging section about "you are tagged if you're reading this."
You legitimately (AKA, really, truly with all honesty) have to tag 10 people
1. Which season? (summer?winter?fall?spring?)
2. If you could go any where in the wor