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About Me Member General Poet LlammaLuv1590Female/United States Recent Activity Deviant for 4 Years
Needs Premium Membership
Statistics 72 Deviations
100 Comments
1,067 Pageviews

llamma-who?

Sun May 14, 2006, 11:23 AM
Yeah I know. I am suck because I am disappear.

And I have no grasp of grammar (that's french or english).

Bottom line; wait till summer people, just another month until schools out, and then I come alive (stay up till sunrise writing, brew myself an IV full of coffee, then sleep)

I can't wait, but I just can't clear my head enough to write till then...

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Devious Info

  • Current Residence: Maryland
  • Interests: Music, writing, some theater
  • Favourite movie: 40 year old Virgin
  • Favourite band or musician: That's like asking me to name a favorite child
  • Favourite genre of music: Alternative and Classic rock, some jazz and classical, Calypso-inspired stuff (Steelband music!)
  • Favourite poet or writer: Plath. Followed closely by Moira Egan
  • Skin of choice: Mine
  • Favourite game: Twister
  • Favourite cartoon character: Mighty Mouse
  • Tools of the Trade: Pencils, erasers, my little black book, and some serious muse action.

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Comments


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:iconcauli:
You do have two "m's" >.<

--
Yama nashi, ochi nashi, imi nashi
:iconarsenicope:
Oy! Where have you been?

*Puppy-whine*

I don't like this buuuusy-ness. Of yours. And...stuff?

*Shifty eyes*

;)

--
"I'm unclean, a libertine/And every time you vent your spleen,/I seem to lose the power of speech,/You're slipping slowly from my reach.../You grow me like an evergreen--/You never see the lonely me at all."
:icondarkdescartes:
omfg.

You're fifteen.

You are way too good at writing to be fifteen.

And I have found a fellow Plath fanatic. Your poetic progress and daily life shall be monitered closely.

(Already

Sylvia, I keep your books
Protected underneath clean, folded shirts.
Subtle dust mites
That stalk up in front of my eyes
And settle on my floor---
They do not touch the pages,
The painted-over pages of your life.
The microphages are the only ones who know
I read them every day.

If I had chosen any other poet
They would have waited for a sign
To take the books away.
Sylvia, your books contain no signs
That bare themselves for all mankind
Like prostitutes.
Within the third drawer down
There are only riddles
That dance for only me
With smiles of maddening superiority.

But Sylvia, my own father thinks differently.
Why did you purposefully make
Enjoying your work so hard for me?
Why can't a book just be
The dried pulp of thirty-seven trees
Pressed into the second dimension
And shackled down the spine?
You shouldn't have made it a sign.

I hate you, Sylvia.
That being said...

I want to love your poetry.


Written for a Plath-inspired-poetry contest in seventh grade... obviously I've gotten better and that's not even my tone anymore, but I thought you'd get a kick out of the theme and how much it sucks. And it would help you get the "closely monitered" joke.)

--
Me? Underweight? Naaaah...

I less-than-three DA soooo much!
:iconmusical-nymph:
great gallery.

--
You were right about the stars: each one is a setting sun.
:iconllamaentity:
After starting to read your poetry, I knew I had to add you to my watch list. Very nice stuff. :) I've not finished reading it all, thus far, but I definitely will.

--
:}O!?
:iconvisceralgeek:
A new watch...sexy...thanks :peace:

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