ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
I want a peach tree, where
Most every peach is juicy and sweet, but
The top hangs heavy while the bottom
Hangs sparse, and
The climb is difficult, but
The sweat it makes me sweat
Reeks of freedom and peace, and
The high sky breeze lifts part of me out
And away,
And I'll take the low-liers,
Which are simple, but no less sweet,
And I'll take the crown prize from the top,
And I'll take the occasional worm or rotter,
Because without those every other would taste like dust,
And when I come down with pockets stuffed,
Even though maybe you have your own,
I'll share my best peaches with you.
Most every peach is juicy and sweet, but
The top hangs heavy while the bottom
Hangs sparse, and
The climb is difficult, but
The sweat it makes me sweat
Reeks of freedom and peace, and
The high sky breeze lifts part of me out
And away,
And I'll take the low-liers,
Which are simple, but no less sweet,
And I'll take the crown prize from the top,
And I'll take the occasional worm or rotter,
Because without those every other would taste like dust,
And when I come down with pockets stuffed,
Even though maybe you have your own,
I'll share my best peaches with you.
A poem about pickles
Cabbage and carrots and cucumbers, too,
And garlic, and okra; a fermented brew.
Sour and sav’ry; a heavenly treat.
No cookie or cupcake was ever as sweet.
Good with bratwurst, or baked beans, or just by itself,
Nothing deserves such a place on my shelf
As that hearty and healthy and tongue-numbing nibble,
That king of a snack: that glorious pickle.
Goodbye
We’re both lost.
You followed a rainbow too far and
I chased after the storm clouds.
Now we're wasting away,
You wading dreamlike through a pot of fool’s gold,
While I stand staunch and cold at the foot of a black tornado.
We may one day find our separate ways,
Stumble fresh and raw back to the start,
Or maybe not, but
We’ll never really meet again.
Here is my long overdue
Goodbye.
I don't really draw anymore.
My first motivation to create, to draw and write, was a desire to record the goings-on in my active imagination. I was 13. My obsession at the time was The Legend of Zelda, and in my mind I played out self-insertion fantasies in Hyrule, as I had done in the world of Harry Potter throughout elementary school. One day I realized, if I didn't record these beloved fantasies of mine, if I didn't render them tangible, I would forget them and lose them forever.
So I began to draw, and I began to write, and I think I got rather good for my age. Those skills immediately began to serve me well and have continued to do so ever since.
But as the years
Some Thoughts on Ego
I came to a realization a few months ago:
As much as anyone else tells you they care about you and what you do, they probably don't. Not really. In the end, you are your best bet. In the end, when you're lying on your death bed, struggling in vain against that moment when you finally slip into the void, you are all you've got. Whether that is a comfort to you or a frightening thought, I don't know. I don't really care.
For those of us with big egos, this is a depressing conclusion to come to. What do you mean no one cares?? Is everything I do just a waste of time, then?? I need validation! Help!! *gasp, gasp* To be fair, I imagine it's just
© 2015 - 2024 wulfishaird
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In