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Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Nikita Gill or more commonly known as UntamedUnwanted. Nikita Gill is a writer, photographer, and digital illustrator from the UK. Her words are absorbing and resonating, often tugging something at the heart or memory. Only the future is certain of her destiny but I believe that her spell-binding words are meant to take her farther than she hopes for.

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"Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the doctors told us you had an illness. I sat there with your parents, listening to a man who said words like 'terminal' and 'leukemia', and counted the number of times he said 'patient' as if it were your name (Seventeen)." "Did you know that when someone dies their body weight drops quite suddenly? It is not really noticeable unless you have held them close whilst they are dying, praying to every god that you won't lose them. It is just a touch. But it's there when they leave you." "21 grams. That is the weight of a human soul."
-Obsession
Your Body is An Ocean: Love and Other Experiments by UntamedUnwanted Flowerlet by UntamedUnwanted Boys and their Goats by UntamedUnwanted
Tell us a little bit about yourself.
I'm a twenty four year old tree who likes her roots to grow stronger every time she gets taller. I love the idea of doors opening and the concept of spices in tea, and most of all, I love documenting my emotions in pictures, words and sketchbooks.
  
Where do you live and what was it like growing up there?
I grew up on oceans and seas. My father was a captain in the Merchant Navy and my mother was very much a romantic, married him very young and couldn't be away from him for six months on end. So instead, we travelled with him and I was homeschooled up until the age of ten.
  
The sea is magical. It is the perfect playmate to a child who loves the stories nature can tell her.

Fear Me 101 by UntamedUnwanted
What are you most passionate about? Do you remember what sparked this passion?
I am most passionate about my books. They are by far the only consistent things in my life. I think I became passionate about books when my mother began to read to me when I was a baby. I don't think I've ever been without a book ever since.

"Nope. I think you're beautiful, glittering object of honour. And the thing with honour is, it makes the world turn to stare in awe."-About Honour

Tell us what you wanted to be when you were:
5 - A painter
8 - A zoo keeper
13 - A good person

Where do you draw your inspiration?
The rain, great kisses, broken relationships, tragedy, laughter, amazing friends, travel and a heartfelt apology.
Baroque Fashion by UntamedUnwanted
Tell us how you found out about deviantART and how it has improved your artistry.
I found out about deviantart almost five years ago from a friend and have been so inspired ever since. The amazing people have taught me so much, and I feel like by watching them, and learning from them, I have become what I am today.

Do you believe in doing art for art's sake? If so, tell us why.
I guess what I really believe in is doing art for heart's sake. I don't think I have ever really done any kind of art which hasn't come from some kind of personal experience or story.
Turban Girl by UntamedUnwanted The Viel by UntamedUnwanted
"I was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul."  "I made the sadness a habit. I made you a habit."-In Threes

Name three artist's of the past or from the present day that have served as your muse.
Rembrandt is one of them for sure. His work is so incredibly inspiring, his models look like angels. Neil Gaiman. I think he's an absolute genius. Also, I am really really inspired by Oscar Wilde. His wit and charm and general take on life is amazing.

Name one deviant who never fails to amaze you and why.
LadyLincoln I think she is absolute inspiration with how beautiful her work is, and how stunningly she manages to weave words.

Where do you see yourself in the next 5 years?
I hope to have written and published my first book. And to be happy.
Shoe Love by UntamedUnwanted
"It's easy. A day is made of hours. And those hours are made of moments. Moments are so special, my sweet love. They are tiny, and they are supposed to be insignificant, but they are not. They are spectacular. In these moments, you are happy and sad. You smile and cry. And it is these moments that your life comes down to. You won't ever remember a whole day. But you will remember the moment you smiled the most, the moment you laughed the hardest, the person who made you happiest."-Moments

Assuming that photography/writing is what you wanted to do for a living-
Do you have any platform that will determine/ validate you as an iconic and successful photographer?
A lot of hard work, putting together an ebook and a book for traditional publishing as well. I have been lucky enough to be published in a couple of literary journals. Other than that, its just hope that someone somewhere will give me a chance.

What if in the next ten years you suddenly decide that photography/writing isn't for you, which other career do you see yourself in?
I am getting my Masters in Book Arts and Publishing and truly hope to be working as a publishing assistant to be near books.

Is photography/writing your current dream job?
It absolutely is. I have wanted to be a writer since I was twelve years old.
My Kinda Love by UntamedUnwanted Moustache Masterpieces: Walt Disney by UntamedUnwanted
Do your parents, family, and friends support your photography/writing?
My family wouldn't like me to do this as a career. But they do like whatever little I show them. My friends on the other hand, are extremely supportive.

"So when the sunshine girl met the rain boy, for a second, the world stood still. In that tiny little balcony, where there was only space for two, the sunshine girl asked the rain boy, "When was the last time you smiled?""-Never Again

What is your next 'must' have purchase?
A canon 50mm f/1.8 lens. Desperate to start clicking with that when I can sav enough to buy it.

What do you want to ask the next interviewee?
Was there ever a moment where you decided you wanted the world to stop spinning because you couldn't keep up?
It is Wonderlandishly Stormy, Alice by UntamedUnwanted
What do you have any pastimes besides writing and photography?
I like to sketch and paint. I also play the ukulele a little and sing some, which is always fun.

What's the craziest thing you have done lately?
Spur of the moment, grabbed my camera and took the first train down to the very end of the route. There, I found three interesting people to ask their stories and take photos of...it was a great way of being inspired.

"Eight percent." "Didn't I tell you to stop?!" "That's how much you think there is left of you to love."-Thirty Three Percent
I Carry Your Heart with Me. by UntamedUnwanted
Zaadi-iman asks: If you could use one word to describe your personal style of art what would it be?
Confluence.

What can't you live without?
My books and my camera. I highly doubt I would survive fifteen minutes without either.

Share with us your greatest fear
Falling in love with an indifferent, cynical person who feels no empathy for anyone at all, and doesn't see the beauty in just BEING.
The Tree by UntamedUnwanted
"You see, she knew that the trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. But what he did possess was the determination of Joyce mixed with the sheer undaunted, witty, spirit of Dickens."-Hemingway Would Hate This

Your latest obsession.
Cooking! I think there is something about cooking a good meal for people you love that is incredibly rewarding. Especially if there is cake involved. How do you say no to cake?

The theme song to your life would be? Why?
"When the Going Gets Tough", the Easy Virtue Orchestra version. Because it's the first thing I think when something horrible happens.

"It wasn't your face I was calling beautiful. It was your anonymity in your words."-Online
Naked by UntamedUnwanted Bi by birth, proud by CHOICE by UntamedUnwanted Frozen Time by UntamedUnwanted A Different Perspective by UntamedUnwanted
My Personal Favorites from Nikita Gill:
ObsessionIt takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day.  Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.
You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.
Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the doctors told us you had an illness. I sat there with your parents, listening to a man who said words like 'terminal' and 'leukemia', and counted the number of times he said 'patient' as if it were your name (Seventeen).
The blood bank says one unit is four hundred and fifty milliliters and I watch as they put the needle into my ar
Body Speak, Mouth Don't."I need a favour. You got a minute?"
No. No I don't.
My heart feels ripped out of my chest and trampled on too often.
My ears open to screams in the morning.
My eyes close crying every night.
My mind always turns dreams into nightmares.
My lungs contract too soon for me to catch my breath.
My worries far outweigh my years.
My brain feels overworked, overwrought, so tired.
My stomach cramps every night and I curl up in pain.
My knees weaken often but I'm still standing.
My mouth goes dry and I can't speak.
My hands dampen because I have too much to think about.
My bones feel weaker than they ever have before.
But I don't think it's anything to be worried about, really.
So,
"Sure. How can I help you?"
Cinnamon Souls"You're mixing water in your coke again."
"I know."
"You do that when you worry."
"I'm always worried."
"No, you're usually cinnamon-in-your-tea worried. This is water-in-coke worried and that is seriously beginning to freak me out."
"I know."
"..."
"What?"
"What are you worried about?"
"You're going to think it's stupid."
"Try me."
"Well...do you ever wonder about the kind of guy you're waiting for?"
"I think we all wonder about that guy, love."
"I've been thinking about him more often than not lately. What he would be like, I mean."
"Oh. Well...if it helps any, I know what mine would be like."
"Really?"
"Sure. He will be tall, so I have to stand on my toes to kiss him. He will be kind so I can tell him anything without fearing him judging me. He will be strong so he can carry me when I fall."
"Wow. Sounds like you have this figured out. I guess we all have some idea about what our soulmate should be like."
"You know what yours will be like then?"
"Who, me?"
"No, I'm talking to the li
About Honour"Ever worried about what the world thought of you?"
"Nope. I only worry about what I think of me."
"What do you think about you?"
"That I am a broken-eyed, converse-reject-wearing wise ass."
"Really? And what do you call yourself?"
"I call me proud."
"Oh."
"What do you call yourself?"
"I am the grade school version of the heartbroken girl, who can't play the guitar so she strums a ukulele instead, who can't paint so she draws terrible pictures in graphite that keeps giving way."
"I see you doing it again. Put the fucking pen down right now and stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Doing that."
"What? I was just writin-"
"You're cutting yourself to pieces with shark-toothed words again. Just because a sword is a beautiful, glittering object of honour doesn't mean it always has an honorable purpose."
"Do you really think I am a sword?"
"Nope. I think you're beautiful, glittering object of honour. And the thing with honour is, it makes the world turn to stare in awe."
Skinny Wordslook:
he was winterish blue eyes and an autumn scarf dressed in an stupid pink summer sweater that made no sense on a spring day. His shoes were converse, the kind of the skinny intellectual who had just enough money to buy one pair of decent shoes. she never really liked skinny intellectuals, yet did find herself considering them sometimes, in the way she considered coffee that was tongue scalding (horribly and without excuse).
it is odd then, that she still doesn't regret his monsoon flavoured kiss, the kind that made your tongue bleed with its passion, its heat.
understand:
he drew in uneasy catches of breath as he snored in the heat of the summer night, nights when she would stay up and listen to cars that passed by, pretending they were a waterfall instead of the cold harsh truth of metal against concrete, just so she could sleep as soundly as him.
she took his breathing for granted.
deny:
he spent hours lost in the dry unending silence of his typewriter, of h
In ThreesI was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.
I was armed with shards of strength, a misplaced sense of determination and the kind of bravery that only the damned can have. Words haunt, especially when all you have to your name is a broken little mind, a need for validation and an honest fear of losing someone you love. I was twenty. I wanted to make sure that the world around me realised I existed, I wanted to shine for my sake,
Moments"You know what, my love? I think I'm going to give you the twenty third of March."
The little boy looked up at me from his cereal and tilted his head slightly, as though pondering this. Then, he frowned. "Mama. That's not possible. How can you give me a day? Days can't be gifts!"
He got that incorrigible logic from his father. I smiled and wiped my hands on the dishcloth, moving to sit besides him. He was at that age where his eyes were huge, questioning and innocent, that age where pain was sometimes only healed when measured in love. I ran my hand through his thick, dark hair. "Yes, you can."
The spoon filled with milk and chocolate cereal clattered back into the bowl as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "No, you cannot. Da told me so."
"Yes, you can. I'm giving one to you, aren't I?"
"But how?"
"It's easy. A day is made of hours. And those hours are made of moments. Moments are so special, my sweet love. They are tiny, and they are supposed to be insignificant, but they are not.
HappyYou looked. I glanced. We met. I smiled. You smiled back. A sentence here. A metaphor there. A memory we both found beyond repair. I shared. You listened. You shared. I heard. You paused. And then I kissed you.
We're happy.
Fingers pressed skin. Then danced apart. I teased. You laughed. You joked. I grinned. Stairwells were dreamcatchers. Stars were destinies. Guitars became epiphanies. More words. More memories. More to admit. More to regret. You were damaged. I was broken.
We're happy.
You stopped smiling. I didn't laugh. Words began to go unspoken. Regrets emerged. Fingers didn't touch. Lips faltered. Stairwells were nightmare holders. Stars were dead light from the skies. Guitars became dust ridden.
We're happy.
Words became unspeakable. Memories were untrustworthy. Your eyes told lies. My hands betrayed me. We broke apart before we had a chance to be. I became distant. And you...you were gone.
I'm happy.
Now repeat until you believe it.
A History of ImaginariumWhen we were young, we believed. In myths, in legends, in stories beyond the wildest imagination of the best story teller in the world. Tomorrow always held surprises, new stories, and new worlds for our imaginations to explore. Everything began with 'Once upon a time' and ended with 'Happily ever after.' We lived in a land where we all owned pet tyrannosaurus rexes, maybe a few dragons, a sword that rivaled Excalibur and faeries and pixies, who just happened to make great playmates. Fae food for some reason always seemed to be so much better than your average meal, and who needs an adult to talk sense to, when you could have a talking lion?
But time passed us by. And things changed. We grew up, much to Peter Pan's dismay. And things became what they would never become if we believed. Things became boring.
Reading became insipidly real, about average people with average lives. And what was worse, we enjoyed that much more that the fantastical tales that our imagination wa
Online"I have a problem."
"You always were a worrier."
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
"Not if it's going to worry me as well."
"That's precisely why you should know it."
"I really think I'll pass."
"But-"
"No."
"…"
"Thank you."
"But…this time it's a really big deal."
"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"
"What did you think the first time you met me?"
"That's not a problem, that's a question."
"I know."
"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"
"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"
"Shut it, smart ass."
"Then answer the question."
"I thought you were beautiful."
"See, now that's impossible."
"And why is that?"
"Because the first time you met me, it was online."
"It wasn't your face I was calling beautiful. It was your anonymity in your words."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that in the vast abyss of the seas that form a web of people, you were the one who sat alone in a life broke
Never AgainThe rain boy had sworn that he would never again smile. His eyes always soaked the oceans with tears from his past and his heart was always dark and locked to anyone who could try and help him. His world had become so bleak and dark, that he stood in rooms of people that were a blur past him and a guitar that just no longer played.
So when the sunshine girl met the rain boy, for a second, the world stood still.  In that tiny little balcony, where there was only space for two, the sunshine girl asked the rain boy, "When was the last time you smiled?"
The rain boy was startled for a second at someone talking to him, but he answered anyway, "I think…it was ten years ago."
"Is that because someone broke your heart?"
"It is because more than one person broke my heart."
"Oh." She paused for a moment, but looked up again, her eyes dancing like star like diamonds "Well, just because someone broke your heart, it doesn't mean that they should become the hero of your story."
"I've
TearsShe was the girl with eyes of burnt amber. But her eyes weren't always that way. It came from hiding a truth so harsh that her beautiful eyes had turned dark. She swore she could never fall in love.
He was the boy with a face shaped like a broken heart. But his face wasn't always that way either. It came from caring so much about someone that his heart was scratched in cruel, manicured fingers, mangled beyond belief. He swore he would never love again.
They met in a spinal corridor. Then in a courtyard. Then in a room which had a broken window. And finally in a doorway that was too small. And she was crying.
Diamond tears from burnt amber eyes. Diamond tears that fell, uncared for, onto the ground.
He finally had to reach out and stop one diamond from hitting the floor. She looked up at him, surprised, almost angry. But before she could speak, his voice, wine rich, half broken like a damaged violin spoke. "Don't waste your tears where no one can see them."
"They mean nothing."
"Tears a
Seeking Solace"There is no solace in tears."
It took a moment for her to realize, her tears frozen in place that there was someone else in the room. The broken girl with rivulets of gleaming diamonds dripping down her face stared at the floor. "Leave me alone." She said softly and sobbed into her hands, still as broken as she was before.
A soft sigh came from the boy who spoke. Yet, he didn't leave her alone.
"There is no solace in words."
She looked up from her book, her fingers moving along the words like they were treasured pieces of gold, each one more valuable than the next. Her tears blurred the words, words she needed to take her away to another place. "Go away." She said to him once more, looking down to chase the words once more.
But his shadow stayed in the doorway for as long as she was there.
"There is no solace in water."
She stopped as she heard the words, her feet on the very edge of the cliff. The sapphire ocean had once been home to her. Now that she was to return to it, the dark, t
Thirty Three Percent"What are you doing?"
"I think…I finally figured out percentages."
"We learnt those in the third grade."
"Yeah, but we always complained that we'd never use them in real life."
"And you know how to use them in real life now?"
"Eighty four percent."
"What's that?"
"That's the percentage of how many basketball matches you lost to me when we were kids."
"That's not fair! You're taller than me!"
"Fifty two percent."
"Is that how much taller than me you are?"
"No. That's the percentage of times you speak out of turn and get into trouble for it."
"Very funny."
"Twenty three percent."
"Let me guess, that's how much I annoy you?"
"That's the percentage of times your mother told you she loved you when you were a child instead of the amount she should have."
"..."
"Seventy nine percent."
"I don't think I like this game anymore."
"That's how much of your heart loved that guy who broke it so completely callously."
"Look, I'm serious. Stop."
"Ten percent."
"Please stop."
"That's how sure you a
Thirty Three Percent"What are you doing?"
"I think…I finally figured out percentages."
"We learnt those in the third grade."
"Yeah, but we always complained that we'd never use them in real life."
"And you know how to use them in real life now?"
"Eighty four percent."
"What's that?"
"That's the percentage of how many basketball matches you lost to me when we were kids."
"That's not fair! You're taller than me!"
"Fifty two percent."
"Is that how much taller than me you are?"
"No. That's the percentage of times you speak out of turn and get into trouble for it."
"Very funny."
"Twenty three percent."
"Let me guess, that's how much I annoy you?"
"That's the percentage of times your mother told you she loved you when you were a child instead of the amount she should have."
"..."
"Seventy nine percent."
"I don't think I like this game anymore."
"That's how much of your heart loved that guy who broke it so completely callously."
"Look, I'm serious. Stop."
"Ten percent."
"Please stop."
"That's how sure you a
Opportunities"Please teach me." She asked him softly.
"Teach you what?" He looked out of the window, shattered glass at his feet. Her face was looking down as she sat on her knees, studying a thousand of his reflections in the mirror like shards below. He seemed a little impatient. She didn't flinch at the annoyance in his voice.
Her eyes, the eyes of a moon nymph drowning, looking into his, the eyes of the sea god who was drowning her. "Teach me about life."
"What is life?" His voice broke slightly, and before it could be seen, he was looking out of his window again. "It is nothing but broken words, stolen from the lips of lovers that had been doomed a long time ago. It is a thousand poniards wedged in the heart of a man who cannot die. It is the black tar on the soul of a woman who cannot breathe." He laughed bitterly, "Life is nothing but an opportunist. It drains your soul. And all it ever offers us in return, are opportunities of sadness and hardship."
"It also gives us a time to be happy and
EternityThis is to the child I loved, the one I lost before I was meant to.
This is for the little girl who would have danced with me to the songs we were both meant to love.
This is for the angel who I was meant to have changed for, the little one whose heart was in my own.
This is for the girl who would have skipped to school, the baby who would have laughed.
This is for the song I couldn't sing, the poem I could never write.
This is for the moment in time that never existed, in a car that never moved.
This is for the second that could have been a lifetime, the forever that should have been ours.
This is for the darling who should have been her mother's heart, the mother who failed her child.
This is for the nineteen year old who hadn't planned it, but would have loved her had she known.
This is for those two months, which were the best years of her life.
This is for the man that beat a girl when she was broken, who the
RivalryHis name is Jack. I know that usually, I don't disclose much to you. But Jack is someone I need to tell you about. I have known Jack my whole life. He's been a best friend to me when the concept of best friends was nothing but some candy, and who led the gang in the playground. Commitment was a pair of bicycles thrown on the lawn and a race to the spiced lemonade his mother made so well. When we were young, we knew we were going to conquer the world. The battle was always, who would conquer it first?
Jack's father was an alcoholic. I will never forget that rainy afternoon when I opened the door to find him standing there, rain soaked tears streaming down his face and a red, harsh welt across his cheek. We stood there for what seemed like hours. We didn't speak at all that day. And after that, he was a different person. You see, Jack never had any siblings. I was his last remnant of childhood, his rival playground leader and yes, maybe even his best friend.
It was just his mother and hi
Making History"What do I mean to you?"
She was sitting there, wearing that dress that made her look like a Thursday night just before a long weekend, and a smile on her lips that could have confused the Mona Lisa herself.
"What do I mean to you?"
It was not like she had to repeat herself. It's just that he needed to find an answer that would find its way to her thrice broken heart.
"What do I mean to you?"
And since the third time's the charm, he opened his mouth and let her know.
"You aren't pretty.
You aren't lovely.
You aren't any of the things that make the world go around.
You aren't a doll, you never do what you're told.
You aren't a listener, and you talk too much."
Her face crumbled and she turned away, long hair falling over her face like a curtain. And then, a soft voice, like a single light in a dark room, found its way into her broken heart.
"What you are, is the kind of girl who is beautiful.
What you are, is the kind of girl who is unique.
What you are, is the kind of gir
Inside Out"I think I wear my soul inside out."
"What?"
"My soul. It's inside out."
"That's…a strange thing to say."
"I have all the symptoms though."
"And what are the symptoms of this…disea-"
"It's not a disease."
"All right. What are the symptoms, then?"
"I care too much about all the wrong things, I worry about odd things, my heart breaks too easily and my brain feels a little too asymmetrical to the things that are supposed to be fun."
"Fun?"
"You know…parties and alcohol and…normal things. Like that."
"Oh."
"What?"
"Nothing. What do you care too much about?"
"Everything. Global warming. The whales. Aliens. Israel. Sarajevo. The Ozone-"
"I get it. Everything that counts and you can do nothing about by yourself."
"You sound cynical."
"You sound paranoid."
"That's mean."
"It's just honest. What worries you?"
"The fact that you are too self involved to notice."
"Notice what?"
"If I disappear."
"…"
"It's true."
"You idiot. Ofcourse I will notice if you disappear. I'd not
Girl with Eyes ShiningThere was once a girl with a broken heart. She nursed it but only a little. Her eyes always shone with tears. Her hands shook because of the weight she held in her tiny hands. She went to her mother. "Mother, my heart is broken. Will you fix it?"
Her mother looked down her nose at the little girl and said, "No. Not until you learn how to behave."
She looked down at her toes and a tear fell from her shining eyes. Still holding her heart in her hands, she looked at her father. "Father, my heart is broken. Will you fix it?"
Her father looked away from his newspaper for a moment, "It gets on my nerves when you cry. Go away."
The girl sadly clutched her heart to her chest and went to her brother. "Brother, my heart is broken. Will you fix it?"
Her brother looked at her sourly, "Leave me alone."
As she left home, she saw a river. She looked down at her heart and then, without a second's hesitation, she threw it as far away as she could into the stream.
A stranger saw this and came to her. "W
My Father's LoveFor the hair's breath of a second today, I felt what my father feels about his daughter. For that tiny moment, I saw the fear, the constant worry, the anger at his angel getting hurt, and the fury at the person who had dared to harm her; the crescendo of Mozart's most famous opera. I understood what it meant to stay up all night worrying for her, for her safety, for who she was with, who she wasn't with, where she went and where she did not go; a tragic song that never ever quite comes to a conclusion. I figured out how it hurt, almost like cruel fingers on the fret board of an exquisitely delicate guitar, when she would ignore him, or hurt his feelings.
For a hair's breath of a second today. I felt what my father feels about his daughter.
The feeling was there. And then it was gone.
PerfectThey see you not
For you do not fit in
Why would you want to?
When you were born to stand out?
They do not understand
They never will...
The sheer imperfection of perfection
Or the belief that there is something
called perfect
That the fault is ours
For we cannot hold it
You see everything they never will
For they do not understand,
you see?
Now,
As my fingers connect with your hair
Linking through the strands
Locking myself in you
Your pain becomes mine
They do not understand
But I do.
Never AgainFor a good ten minutes I was speechless . I must have looked like quite an idiot, standing there with my jaw to my knees. What did he even mean by telling me that I didn’t work hard enough to make the grade I was aiming for? How the hell would he know how fucking hard I worked?
Actually scratch that last thought.
Of course he would know.
We spent all together too much time together.
Then why would he…I scowled and picked my jaw up off the floor. There was absolutely no way I was going to talk to him after this.
It was high time I broke up with him anyway.
He was judgmental and obnoxious and told lies that blew up in his face. Oh, and not to mention the fact that he took me for granted and I was beginning to suspect he was cheating on me.
I tucked the books under my arm defiantly and raised my chin in the air. Yes. I had made a decision. He was definitely not worth half the trouble he caused.
Hours later I watched his sleeping face as he lay besides me, the sheets only barely


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The Lurid Artist History:
(Issue#:001)The Lurid Artist: Robin Berglund
(Issue#:002)The Lurid Aritst: Felicia Simion

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davidsobe Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for adding my work to your favorites, much appreciated. The photographer 
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Lostboy1701 Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2013
Cheers. Appreciate the Watch :)
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EarthHart Featured By Owner Feb 2, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank'ee kindly, young Squire :bow: for the favour you's granted me work :D
It's muchly appreciated :ahoy:
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popp2 Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2013  Professional Photographer
thank you!!
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johngiannis27 Featured By Owner Jan 27, 2013  Student Interface Designer
hello my friend! here is my facebook page if you like my work like me! :) [link]
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aviFerra Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2013  Student General Artist
Thanks for faving
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CrowManIC Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
Hi there :wave: ... I just want to say THANKS for the interest in my :gallery: and art-worx, and a BIG THANKS for your :+devwatch: I appreciate your past interest and support, and hope that I continue to produce/show work that you like :bow:
All the best with your own artistic endeavours and achievements :#1: and thanks for making :devart: a :community: to be enjoyed by all artists of such variety, genre and calibre.
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EllaSaysHi Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2012
Thanks for the favourites :33 Sorry its been a while :L :33
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Hiin-Green Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks love yaoi friends ! :D
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