My apologies if your art work didnt get approved for the last two weeks. I was away on an emergency, and still kind of am atm. Im trying as hard as I can.
Please bear with me TAT
p.s. Welcome all new memebers!
|More Journal Entries|
What Writers AreWriters are people fromWhat Writers Are by jul320
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
Hearts DemisedHearts Demised by lilachiccups
She woke up into a family of love.
Forever surrounded in a cast of devotion, superior embraces and a heart full of emotion.
She never knew the life outside the walls her family had constructed. A world filled with nothing but shadows and thieves.
She was different, they told her. A light that could brighten the world from a cloudy day...
A light the shadows and thieves might silence and steal away.
A flower in a feild of weeds,
meant to succeed in a world of make believe!
She dreamed with a sparkle in her eye
as the pen in her hand fought quickly to scribe. Everyday the beating organ that inspired her to create
grew and grew till it could hold no more!
...But her walls were suddenly ambushed
wracked to rubble and stones!
She was different, they said.
But this time, the little girl was quickly seized as they hid the light that shown...
She wore her heart out on her sleeve, clear for those all to see.
Big, bright and so willing to give a home to those who cried out, wishing to believe.
White HoleSometimes I stop midstride in my tracksWhite Hole by wannabeliterate
and marvel at the view of liquid gold
melting into cumulus clouds of grey
and blue until I forget what else
I thought I'd had to do.
While the morning light washes into
the misty valley, as fresh and new
as it ever had, I find myself lost;
a barnacle clad rock,
perturbing the anonymous tide
of the other suits and ties brushing by.
But in truth I'm not the rock -
I am the leech - easily seduced,
easy to lose my shell of countenance.
So I turn my face into the icy wind
and collar up I let myself be pushed
along a world line with a future light cone
so dim, I can't see how to live in.
Ten-Thousand PSII built us a temple.Ten-Thousand PSI by wannabeliterate
A tomb under the sea.
It's our temple of silence,
In bottom feeder darkness,
under ten-thousand psi
of sadness, unfathomably deep.
Down here, flatfish alone
scurry over peels of skin
and cracks of shells
with nothing but sea within.
Attended by flounders,
generations turned to dust,
succumbed and piled up -
miles upon another
of genealogic confetti.
Not far from here, just
a little further underneath,
I'm sure there rests the carcass
of our first common ancestor.
So be on your way and leave me
alone, you drowned me already.
Now set me free after all, to swim
with my protozoan paramecia
brothers and sisters.
You and me, we've evolved from
one cell in the sea - but all
that has multiplied a million fold
is our ability to oust and to bereave.
our walls are too thinsitting togetherour walls are too thin by tubefed
you can hear my heart hitting
against my chest like a broom to the ceiling
& the neighbor upstairs
begins to scream
the wind breaks a hole in my skull
you can hear my thoughts:
words whispered in paper rooms
& you have a cup to my ear
i am 16 now
but sometimes we forget that
we are not teapots or socks in the wastebasket
& the holes in our heads are not signs of well-worn affection
passion is a sinA faith-healerpassion is a sin by tubefed
A bastard child--no father, no son, no holy spirit
No virgin mother
just passion as a god
lets the writers get it wrong
A Stranger'I would promise you until always ends, but I want to live forever.'A Stranger by poetic-headache
dripped off his thin lips.
something like saliva
and coughed-up calligraphy.
dancing to the surface:
a parody of laughter--
pallid and festering.
'you're a stranger, so why should i care.'
'you'll vanish today,'
to sticks of flesh and bone.
'not for the first time, i hear--or the last.'
a harsh white sky.
spume and spray
like a too-taunt sheet.
longing for dreams.
pulling me down.
shining and smooth:
like the last moments
of falling asleep.
'i want you to stay a stranger.'
PleaseI'm bashing on your doorPlease by HystericalNapoleon
The lights are on
I know you're in there
Why won't you open up to me?
Please, I just want to help
I know it's cold outside
You're worried that if you come out
You'll get frostbite
But I'm there to loan you my coat
So please, I just want to help
You've been hurt to many times
You're hiding in your fortress of cynicism and sarcasm
But I can see you through the window
I can see the real you
Please, I won't judge for being who you really are
|Hello, all members of Insomnia Artist |
I hope everyone is having fun and enjoying their time
This is just a very simple reminder ^^
The gallery has now been divided into Folders, please make sure that you do submit your work to the right folder of where it should belong to.
as its name implies; here is where you'll submit any work that has to do with manipulating photos
you're a writer; then this is your Folder! ^^ long Stories, short stories, poems, fanfiction- etc
for anything that has been drawn and colored digitally, with a tablet or even a mouse
pencil, water colors, markers, or any other traditional medium ^_^
if the folders above did not match with your work; then submit it in here! ^^
As for the Featured folder; this is where the I-A staff will feature the best of works done by our dear members.
Your ArtWork must be made at night
Only up to 2 submissions per week
Any kind of work is accepted, but please do follow the code
Be nice towards each other!
Thank you for reading
Featured 100th Member: