catch-a-falling-star

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Untitled by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Reminiscence Through the Veil by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Reminiscence Through the Veil

Upon the vast expanse of reminiscent thoughts scattered inside my mind is a sliver of light, that I reserve for her. She is the light. A ghost that is the shade of sun through orange leaves. Not haunted, is my mind. Her ghost holds no malevolence against me, yet breaks my heart on days which that shade of sun shines through the ethereal to my tangible world. Within a breath, a slip of sound amongst a darkened room-I remember the shape of laughter that rose up from within her. Filling her eyes as if they were cups, empty until I brought that sound forth. Crowded is this mind, with the reminisce of all these years. Moments of her,

Untitled by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Untitled

Many days have passed since I picked words from my mind, to create poetry and put thoughts to final rest, to pen the paper at last. Once upon a time, poetry came easy-flowed like honey dripping slowly from my covered fingertips. Covered pages, never a line left to be covered in dust. My fingers stiffened, my mind slowing down, heart becoming a locked embodiment of lost emotions. Losing the poetry of my soul, feeling it drown beneath all of the dark weight of my world pressing in. Here I sit, in front of this brightly lit screen, forcing thought out into poetry, hoping for some shred of rhyme, an attempt to regain a flicker of the word

Untitled by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Untitled

Somewhere in a small enclosed space, away from light-trapped from fresh air; There is a part of me, kept like a dark secret, a scornful regret. In this place is where I keep this part of me, as if it were a dangerous threat. It thrives in me, I keep it's growth at bay, stunted. It thrashes boisterously, from inside of me, the home it has made of blood and bone. Days in and out, nothing stifles it at times but how I hope I am the only one that hears it's cries. Should I nourish it? Help it grow? Stop it's pleas for me to let it out, to give the world a show? I join a cycle, a progression of forward movement and a begging for change. They say

Grand Rendition by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Grand Rendition

Within the silence inside my head, I am searching for the grand rendition of my soul-that once I had but lost once more. Traversing somewhere inside of me are the bits and pieces that make this puzzle complete. Yet as these pieces are there, elusive and rare they became among the silent inside where I sit. Have I become empty? Left with nothing but a wisp, not even a gust of the sparkling being I once was? Emptiness holds no salvation for me. I want to be full, imbibed with knowledge-all the sparkle of the stars. Still within this silence, the possibility of an empty husk, I am searching for the grand rendition of my soul-that once I had

Internal by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Internal

Sinew burning - attached to my very own skeleton. A fire. Never a singe. Things are collapsing inside this mind. The heart - I can feel it; breaking. In this damage though I do not know where this heart has gone. Hands fold together. Naked. Barren of the rings that clink and distract the eyes. Yet worse when the memories that circle my fingers are gone. They burn too. Some things never die. They never heal. They incinerate - just like this elusive destroyed heart of mine. Here my being will be. Through sadness, the reach and infinite years. To say it burns - the agony that will not let go of me: is a lie. I see the world; each day walking

Weeks by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Weeks

They pass. From ten years ago. In front of my eyes. Memories that you breathe life into each time I saw your all knowing face. Weeks. It's only been weeks. I can still feel your fingers gripping mine. Hear the last chuckle I gave you bubbling from your fractured yet still shining soul. Moments. They pass with the weeks the memories and the time we should have had. I wanted your soul to rise and fly - but I didn't wish for you to ever say good bye. Weeks. Before you were gone. More to come without you. This heavy heart and broken girl misses you. Wishes even for a moment to hold your growing cold hand. Weeks. Minutes. There is no good wo

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Untitled by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Reminiscence Through the Veil by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Reminiscence Through the Veil

Untitled by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Untitled

Untitled by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Untitled

Grand Rendition by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Grand Rendition

Internal by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Internal

Weeks by catch-a-falling-star, literature

Literature

Weeks

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Excuse me, do you speak English? . . . by Error732, literature

Literature

Excuse me, do you speak English? . . .

A long time later, I would speak to you: at first, polite rebukes to right your wrong, and later, more indignantly, "Of course I do," and sometimes just: Ching chong, ching chong, ching chong. We've met before and since. The kid who asked, "Are you Chinese?" when class had just begun. The client who saw almond eyes and tasked a different English tutor with her son. And, by the way, my English is superb; and it would fucking floor you to inspect each litotes and each subjunctive verb in all my flawless, midwest dialect. But you don't care, since you've forgotten who this Asian was, not that you ever knew.

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Solace in Prayer by catch-a-falling-star, visual art

Solace in Prayer

catch-a-falling-star

About catch-a-falling-star

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Aug 20, 1989
United States
Deviant for 20 years
She / Her

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My Bio

I have changed quite a bit since joining this site, but I am still the same old art enthused person. I have lost a bit more of my verbal filter over the years though. I don't do as much writing as I used to on here, mostly photographs now. I don't really know what else to say though I know this much is true.

Current Residence: Im a storm living in a tea cup.
Favourite genre of music: EVERYTHING... Well Almost.
Favourite photographer: .... Anne Geddes is one, Salvador Daly is another, Technokiken..
Favourite style of art: ....
Operating System: huh? say what?
MP3 player of choice: i still dont own one... but i want one.
Shell of choice: shell, like on the beach? conch...
Wallpaper of choice: i dont have wallpaper.. lol i have paint
Skin of choice: soft... or crunchy.
Favourite cartoon character: Foghorn Leghorn, Daffy Duck.
Personal Quote: I was going to give you the keys to my heart, but you broke it before i could.

Favourite Visual Artist

Thomas Kinkade, Jackson Pollock, that person who makes art by slinging cheese in a room.

Favourite Movies

POINT BREAK, beaches, Cheech and Chong's Up In Smoke, and a lot of others

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Red Hot Chili Peppers, SNOW PATROL, Damien Rice, Mindy Smith, 12 Stones, Death Cab For Cutie

Favourite Writers

Langston Hughes, walt whitman, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Tupac.. numerous others

Favourite Games

erm... soccer.. stuff like that.. wrestling around..

Favourite Gaming Platform

anything i can actually use to play a game i actually know.

Tools of the Trade

pencils, pens, lots of paper, music. no talking

Other Interests

poetry, palmistry, reflexology,reading, photography, a whole lots of other things

Posts

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catch-a-falling-star

Sep 17, 2015

I swear I will post here again some day.

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catch-a-falling-star

Jul 23, 2015

Things.

0 min read

I should keep up with my journal here. I should keep up with my actual paged and bound journal. Truthfully though, it is almost finished. I am a bit afraid of what the last words to fill that journal will be. I think I started it in 2006 or earlier. I'm not sure I will ever read it again either. Mainly because I know I will have to relive every moment I wrote down that I'd had with Crystal. I know most of my Watchers probably didn't know her or Watch her page here. She passed away. It is still lurking under my skin and her hand is still there in mine some times like the moment she passed it feels at times. I miss her. I want to write this out