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About Deviant Member sharonFemale/United States Recent Activity
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“Pick up the lacy bones of summer,”
you said. “Lay them on my grave
below the window of the cottage where I was born
and don't look back as you exit the gate.
Lover, never give the sun a reason to set,
melt its curses upon your spine.
Never give the sun a reason to die.
Lover, walk away now and never look back.”

Oh and I've kept my promise until recently.
I've filed your name; your identity,
fingerprints in a manila folder and
locked it away in a cabinet with a dragon key,
never to be opened; the lock, a combination,
blood code known only by me.
Frozen flower, I've kept you
hidden in the far recesses
of my crystal cave memory
until I saw your twin, reincarnated in 1886.

Can you tell I'm me when
you sit down to tea at a stylish cafe,
look over and see a stranger in a dove grey suit,
reading the newspaper;
his homburg pulled low, covering
his bright phoenix eyes?
Can you tell I'm here only for you;
my lily-white death,
infectious, a childhood spring
crush I never outgrew?
Oh I bet you don't, my bittersweet darling..
I bet you don't know anything about
the workings of this new mind; this dead
autumn leaf heart, now muted,
silent beneath my London clothes.

Oh I'm fine with that..
You don't have to recognize the past
to hate it so much, trust me.
I'd rather you met me again;
like me as I am now, without
a Venetian mask, a crucifix
tattooed on my flesh, signifying that
I'm damned, a fugitive of the church.
No, I don't want you to make his acquaintance,
the lesser of my two identities.
Darling, I'd rather introduce myself again
beneath a moss-covered balcony.

Moon-faced darling; I'd rather
lay champagne orchids on your doorstep,
dodge your father's carriage
as he rounds the corner,
snapping the reins mercilessly
against his poor mare's coat.
Oh he can have his gossip,
his Russian cigar lies and
“noble” rules of conduct.
He can say what he wants about my life
without a shred of proof, throwing out
a list of crimes that he's certain
I've committed in the dead of
an unwanted orphan-train night.
But there's one thing your father
can never steal; the truth,
buried in my raven bones.

“We can't run forever,” you say,
playing hide-and-seek with me
around this dystopian city.
Darling, yes we can..
Just watch and see;
I can make time stop by tipping this hourglass over,
causing summer to freeze in winter's wake; create
fake glass-stained angels,
crumbling in snow on a Fourth of July Wednesday.
With you by my side,
running over cracked St. John's Street,
I can be anything; a wizard, painting
the sky royal purple
like the bruise on my arm,
a thief surviving by the tragic
light of lampposts and
I can even be human; capable of warmth,
because your laughter;
sweet fairy giggle, is only a breath away.

Darling, take my hand
because even the softest brush of
your fingers on my skin;
seashell-toned and snow-rabbit
cold, is enough to keep me from
dissipating in the air like
Japanese perfume; samurai
blood-drops and cherry blossoms,
notes of copper and innocence gone.

Luckless and insecure,
you see yourself as merely a trapped girl,
waiting for the day when
society will open its doors and welcome
a female doctor into the dangerous world
of healers and non-saints.
Darling, you think nobody understands you
but you're not so much a martyr as a pioneer,
a newcomer to this uncharted territory;
19th Century crosses burning as religion fails
to enlighten and science gives birth
to heroes, heroines alike.

Don't they see how brilliant you are;
a Saratoga mermaid among Westminster chaps?
You don't need a man to make you feel strong
or a degree to prove how smart, special you are.
If there's anyone who I know is
a fighter, a revolutionary rebel
beneath her sunset smile; it's you, girl.
Nobody believes you can do things
until you do and you're able
to prove to them how wrong they were;
misleading, scared but firm.
Nobody knows what it's like
until they slip on our shoes, girl.

Is it crazy to love someone
so impenetrable, unstoppable
in her pursuit of freedom?
Perhaps, my steam-punk darling..
You're like a freight-train;
modern grace, fierce, but
at the same time; your wisteria
blue eyes are too electrifying,
tempting to ignore.
Darling, give me a little time
and I'll show you
I'm not a fraud.

They say I don't have a heart,
they say that I should return
to the old world where I belong.
Oh but they're dead wrong..
My place is here in
this new golden age.
My future is you, factory rose.
September in an hourglass;
how many times did I say it didn't mean a thing?
Oh friend, how many times did I let you
sleep on the sofa, your bronze head
resting on my mother's housewarming
gift; a pillow embroidered with Navajo threads?
Crazy diamond, how many times did I doze off
with the bittersweet taste of
Mexican chocolate, marshmallows
on my lips and the warmth of
your t-shirt against my bare afternoon flesh?

This shameful secret; in the morning when
you leave; head out without any breakfast,
I'm reluctant to take a shower,
for I know the transparent dream
water will surely wash away
your Arizona scent; all those rain-and-gravel
notes and traces of saguaro from the other day.
You've been my companion since middle school;
my best lacrosse teammate and
closest ally in a mostly white neighborhood.
And yet, you've left a bright
red mark on me; a poinsettia that burns
when I wake to find you gone.

It's stupid and always the same;
you've left a scar like August's smile,
covering the spot on my chest
where I should feel happiness.
Oh you traitor, you little aimless
native arrow tearing through
the once quiet night air of
the cedar wood bordering my house;
just who do you think you are, now?
I can't figure out, for the life of me,
how your world collided with mine.
Friend, you came from the reservation;
a fresh face, you exuded innocence
but had a fierceness underneath
your cinnamon-toned flesh; a strong persistence.
When you wanted something,
you fought to the end to achieve it,
despite being the odd one
out in a crowd of privileged kids.
You were too serious for your age,
too smart for the times;
you understood things nobody else did.
And you didn't care if others made fun.
You always carried a book around,
you were in love with revolutionary artists.

“They did something awesome,
even though they died young,” you once told me
as we sat on your slanted rooftop, looking out
at the flat southwestern night.
I thought you were crazy for
thinking you weren't as cool
as your favorite poets, heroes.
You shook your head when
I pointed out your talents,
how fast you could swim;
winning every race, wading through the gym pool
like a dolphin, a cursed merman.
“That's nothing,” you insisted.
“I haven't done anything worth remembering yet.”
“Yet,” I thought. “You have time..
And anyway, you're wrong, friend.
You've cracked open my egotistical heart;
created on Friday the 13th,
boasting coldness, impenetrable.
You planted something there;
a kindness I never knew I had,
a desire to be human, to be
something other than a statue.”
But I could never say that..
It was too embarrassing;
defeating, and I was only sixteen.

I didn't know a damn thing about love, friend.
Honestly, back then I thought it was just
junk mail; Valentine's Day candy going stale
in a gift box and the reason my mother cried
into a bottle of tequila every time
I mentioned my dad, his absence.
"I don't need this," I thought.
"If love is real, it's a nuisance."
I didn't get it, didn't want to give in or even
try to understand the anatomy of hummingbirds,
the fact that you can spend a whole night
just talking to someone
without noticing time fly,
without needing to do anything
but watch the city starlight
pass through his honey-tinted eyes,
pictures of traffic from outside;
cars, signs and diner colors reflecting subtly.
Magically, you made me cry
Vietnam war-paint; church
glass tears, and not be ashamed.

Boy, you gave me something I didn't want at first;
a voice, because I didn't know how
to put into words this surreal riot in my chest.
This feeling, it doesn't go away..
Like an earthquake, it's a beautiful disaster;
in slow motion, caving in,
it traps me in a snow-globe
of crystal paradise, friend.
It's haunting, this winter wonderland.
Deer heads hang from trees and
I see you but you don't see me;
standing under an Aztec sun,
demanding sacrifice,  it shines
its light; terrifying, and your eyes
zone in and out of realism,
as if hypnotized by a cobra.

“It's just a bad dream,” you whisper,
waking me and I realize I fell asleep
when I should have been watching for shooting stars,
lying beside you in the back of my pick-up
parked in Lakota Indian territory.
We sneak out and pretend we're bad boys,
smoking cigarettes while listening
to Jimmy Hendricks on the busted car radio,
wishing we really were rebels
of a different day and age;
not so conservative, boring and confederate red.
“I'm sorry,” you say when your hand
lingers a bit too long on my shoulder.
Friend, the nightmare is over
so why are you looking at me like that,
like you care more than any man should?
Could it be you really do and
I'm not crazy, burying diamonds in the sand?

Friend, I'm tired of this constant run-around game..
Oh give me back those last five seconds before
the curtain call, before you claimed
to love another boy, not me.
Sitting next to you, hoping
for shelter; I've been your confidante
through it all, through all
those confusing years since middle school.
And yet, how did you repay me?

Darling, I'm looking for a change in pace,
not the same classic sitcom;
TV reruns of boy-next-door heartbreak.
It's tedious, this constant
fail; an unwritten ending, a fabled cliché.
“Everybody wants this”; society tells us
every February fourteenth.
But they don't know what the hell
they're printing on French stationary, babe.
These writers, they just want to sell greetings
for extra cash between badly earned Pulitzers.
They don't give a damn about the truth;
how it's sharp like a letter-opener,
how it's bittersweet like weeds,
daisies crushed; reeking of disappointment,
loneliness in a room without any curtains.

Boy, the real ugly truth is that
this unrequited feeling is now
stuck in my throat, making it
hard to swallow glass-cut, bad luck Valentines.
But still I try as you mumble
“I love you” in sleep, your mind muddled,
words barely audible.
Oh it's poor judgment, I guess..
Everybody knows it's better
to leave before the heartbreak
but it's too tempting to stay,
watch the sunlight die in a puddle
of backyard rain; spring enclosed
in an envelope, addressed to me
somewhere in upstate New York where I've never been.

Oh is this hope?
Do you wish for us to be together
someday in an Indie-classic place
where this unfathomable desire makes more sense?
Don't tell me yes, darling, just because
it's what I've been waiting a lifetime to hear.
I'd rather hear the truth.
I'd rather hold your arms
in my hands, not a fantasy;
just a shadow of a dream,
because that's just too cruel.
Darling, don't give me hope
just to rip it from my hands and move on.
No, friend, you're not that wicked;
I've known you for five tragic bluebell winters.

Friend, we should be able to face each other,
without false pretenses, without a wall
standing the our way, keeping us from
seeing Venice in each other's eyes;
the promise of someday getting away
and making a difference somewhere else.
We can do it if we just swallow our fear;
tragic and embarrassing,
scraping against our wild hazel throats.
Friend, this could work
if we'd just admit that even though,
on the surface, we're different;
brown sugar and Mexican vanilla
clashing with bursts of summer and autumn;
underneath, we're both controversial
constellations colliding, rainbow spirits.
You hung around my rooftop in the fall,
wailing like a Celtic banshee
but back then, I didn't believe in any of
those papyrus tales of horror
made for naive children, scared
under the covers as their parents were
attacked outside by wolves.
But for me, it really did happen..

Townspeople broke the latch on our door,
stormed through our house .
Dear Mama only had a few seconds to
get us out, through a smashed window;
my brother and I ran into the forest,
waiting for our father but he never
came to guide us, our mother never kissed us goodbye.

Oh you think you can do this;
be the shadow messenger in the clear,
blame the goblins in the caves,
the creatures and zombies in the forests?
Well, you can't; you can't fake innocence,
Lady Death, believe me, I've  tried.
But you can't shut out the world forever.
And you underestimated our blood;
my brother and I are coming back
for our family legacy, Turkish copper spilled
all over the cottage pine floorboards.

Everything is cold, but he reminds me that
we can still go on, my older brother;
the optimist, even though now we're orphans
and struck with the disease of longing.
He makes a bow for me, tells me I can
shoot at anything, even Greek demons
because he believes I can defeat anything
in my path, no matter how terrifying
for a six-year old to endure.
We made it on our own,
survived in a city of ruins;
I stick arrows through their ashen hearts,
you burn their heads with late autumn fire.
That's the best way to kill a blackbird witch..

And you know that without us, there is
no hope for the children in our state, our land.
The adults don't know how to fight such evil;
candy-coated seduction in lemonade water,
the preachers  hide their scriptures,
pray until their knees bleed.
We're their only hope in unholy armor.

But know this, brother, I don't give a damn.
I just want to end the nightmares, the eating
of innocent limbs and psychological torture
of those dear little lives.
Everyone here has worth;
the black, the Native American child,
their cries for help cannot be ignored.
I'm not just searching for that blond,
blue-eyed toddler
in the newspapers who disappeared last week.
I'm bringing them all back, alive, I swear.

Brother, we made our own mistakes
when we were kids, lost in the acorn woods,
looking for safety and food; but instead,
we found a cottage, so pretty with
a doorway made out of candy.
Then we were locked in, caged
by a vengeful zombie who just
wanted to make pieces of licorice,
charcoal out of us; our green eyes frightened,
our hair tangled, ready to fly.
But we used her own games
against this  filthy wretch;
we threw her in the furnace;
magic animal spirit fire,
we dashed out and never looked back
as her ghastly screams
echoed behind us like a banshee,
mourning her empty vine rib-cage.

Oh yes, revenge by moonlight;
we saved  our lives in the western mountains
and were taken in by kind, charitable people.
A woman and a man rescued us, gave us
cinnamon porridge and hot tea
to sooth our dry frozen white flower throats.
They were wonderful people but they didn't
know that we planned to destroy
the queen of torture and all her subjects,
dressed in grey and maroon;
colors of mystery and stolen riches.

I have no remorse, do you?
You fell for a pretty face,
I fell for an escape route.
But we both got back on track..
Now neither of us can be saved.
But I don't give a damn..
Go to hell, demon nymph.
you tricked my mother into giving me up.
Now you have to deal with
the consequences of my revenge.
My brother's rage is quieter, sneakier.
He's like a fox in the wild,
waits for perfect sun-dial
timing before he knocks his prey over.
But I have no patience,
night-walker, you know that..

Your ice grey eyes don't scare me, bitch.
I don't want any child
to turn out like me.
Cast your spell on someone else.
Snap a tree in half
and scatter its treasures everywhere;
rosebuds and baby skulls, acorn hearts.
But your black magic doesn't work
on a peasant girl's smile like mine,
who's seen death up close; murder.
And who will never cry..

Tonight this fallen angel city is going up
in black-gold November flames.
Tonight I'm erasing your Druid name from
history's library, Miss Zombie Winter.
And nobody will miss you, I swear..
Life in the fast lane; honey,
these small-town dreams won't stay here
in the Deep South; America's backyard
for mockingbirds and banjo music
playing strange melodies through
the butternut-scented evening.
Yeah, Hamlet is a nest for old geezers
and vintage housewives who
never left and teenager
who just can't sit still.
We're all ashamed of how little we know
about the outside world.
We can't wait to see the Grand Canyon,
Graceland and Santa Monica.
We don't want to die here, no..
Honey, can't you see I don't want
to end up like my brother, working
at a gas station or like my father;
reading the newspaper on the porch,
while chewing tobacco, his days
so slow, his youth so faraway?

What happened to that med student;
so idealistic, eager to learn new things,
discover a cure for cancer and
help the poor folks living in
the swamps of South Carolina?
He lost his voice, his pride somewhere
between knocking up the homecoming queen
and failing his college entrance exam.
He ended up in a pharmacy,
stocking Tylenol; and once in awhile,
he tells me he's headed for Chicago
as soon as he gets that promotion.

Oh why don't I believe him?
Friend, it's because now all he has is
a dream, stored away in his memory.
He can't see past these white
picket fences, my mama says.
Honey, I sure don't want to end up
like that; beaten down by the world.
I don't care what people say around town;
that what we feel, what we wish for
on milky blue shooting stars is wrong.
If this is all I have to offer; a carnival
flame in my hand, a heart made out of
brick dust and crushed carnations, then
I'll hold onto it as long as I can,
make it scorch the cell-block walls of my Savannah chest.

Boy, I'll meet you at Cherry Grove Pier.
We'll chew on funnel cakes,
our lips coated in powdered sugar.
We'll wander around the harbor,
watching the sea-gulls make a racket
in the clouds and on the pirate sand.
We'll race each other to the mermaid water;
strip off our shirts, whoop and scream like
orphan kids jumping off a train,
finding paradise in a misty foreign land.
Oh boy, I want to be different with you..

From the fucking Carolinas,
I don't want to be well-mannered, a quiet
gentleman my mama raised
to follow the rules of southern conduct,
to never stray off the beaten path or
be something so unfamiliar; freakish,
a person who wears ripped
jeans around his hips and
listens to Blues, says
exactly what he believes is true..
You see me as brave, friend;
but you're wrong and I'm ashamed.
So many times I've run away
from what I've wanted most.
I've kept my mouth shut when
I should have spoken up,
defended folks like us;
rejected by society,
labeled inferior, undeserving of
compassion, permanently damned.

Oh it's sad but that's what
our parents think this is;
a train-wreck desire, off-the-rails;
crashing into poverty, alcoholism,
heartbreak in a metal tin can.
“That's ridiculous!” you say and ruffle my hair.
“If you ever fall down or
lose your way, I'll take care of you.
I'll never leave you like your mom left your dad.”
Oh I want to believe that so bad..
I want to be something more to you than a swig
of bourbon, a quick kiss
stolen between magnolias, boy;
a forbidden fling at an end-of-the-year party.

I want to be that wild hazel
scent that clings to the air after it rains.
I want to be the autumn
leaves sticking to your newsboy cap.
You ride your bike to school,
speeding around the neighborhood,
whistling electric city tunes
and I'm the hum in your chest.
Lover, like a tattoo; Haitian voodoo,
I want to leave my mark on you
so that even when we drift apart,
move away and lose ourselves in separate worlds;
leading ordinary lives through
magic mirrors of suburbia and west coast paradise,
even then you'll remember me.

You'll remember this was an amazing fall,
a drop down a cliff; so fast, so wicked
smooth and freeing, everything spinning;
a merry-go-round at the fair,
a secret window; broken in a shed,
your hands on my shoulders,
my nervous fingers unbuttoning your t-shirt and
then something that shouldn't have been; a kiss,
cancer-capricorn colliding.
It shouldn't have happened but it did..
Now look at us; we're eighteen again,
trying to find a way out of a tunnel
beneath a midnight highway.
Almost blind, you and I are holding hands.
Darling, nothing will ever be the same..
Can you feel the earthquake;
heartache, my last promise
broken, chain-link flower-bomb
against your Romain lips?
House of cards;
I was an unsafe child,
growing up in downtown Detroit.
Friend, trust me..
You weren't there
to see the way fire and rain
clashed in my Lego dreams,
turning my eyes a devastating color;
that of a zombie, wicked steel blue,
then merman green.
Oh you would've run away
if you had seen me then, I'm sure..
There was nothing innocent and sweet
about that smirk that sometimes
emerges in old photographs now
when I look back, dig up the dusty
old shoe-box hidden in the attic,
in the basements of my bipolar brain.

You say I'm a survivor..
You look at me like I'm a hero
in a graphic novel,
fighting bad guys all through
a silver lake city-scape in marble.
Friend, don't you know me at all?
I'm just a victim of circumstance.
I had to get out, one way or another..

When I was ten, I saw
the war at home for the first time;
my brother against my dad,
my dad against me; and my mother
standing stoic, frozen in a corner.
Demons rose from Nana's fireplace,
it was like a house of cards, crashing
down on all of us; paper dolls,
a regular telenovela, except
without the laughter, the applause,
the scenic ranches; mountains and
horses running wild, all the pretty
wishes of a home sweet nightmare.

Friend, you found me years later
when most of the smoke had cleared.
You brushed off the remaining
dust from my cashmere eyelids,
told me I could spend the night
at your place, eat dinner with
you, your little brother, aunt and uncle.
I nodded, grateful, accepted the offer;
but deep down, I was still traumatized.
I thought sooner or later,
your sweet smile would
wither and I would find myself again
in the clutches of a monster.
And yet, it never happened..
You were real; someone I could trust
as my equal, a partner; you had my back,
a teammate who never left me behind,
not even when I tripped
over a barbed wire fence,
almost sprained my ankle.

Friend, it was wrong to ask more of you
but I found myself wanting
to freeze that moment; dusted with blue,
Christmas lights strung
all along the neighborhood.
Your warm hand rested in mine as
we wandered between sidewalks,
between aspen woods and shiny red, black cars.
Our cheeks were marked with snowflakes
that night, our lips still tasted of cinnamon
from your auntie's baking sheet, boy.

It was the best Christmas I ever celebrated,
without food stamps; without
the reeking smell of bourbon,
the sound of screaming parents,
their bottles smashing against floral wallpaper.
A misconception; America's sweethearts,
we weren't the happiest family
ever created in a sitcom.
It was all a lie but when I saw you, I thought,
“He's the real deal;
a marble angel, come alive.”

Your eyes were so sincere; witch-hazel, so brave.
You didn't get why people had to tell fibs, at all.
“Just say what you mean!”
You always pressured me.
“Life is too short to beat about the bush.
Before you blink, it's over..”
And so you took me for a ride
on your motorcycle, a birthday gift
from Aunt Nori and Uncle Ken.

I wrapped my hands around your middle,
inhaled the sugar palm scent
coming off the caramel skin of your neck.
We sped down your hilly neighborhood,
the salty Waikiki wind tearing through our hair.
That night we ruined the innocence
in our flower-oak chests
like kids trashing an abandoned building,
breaking the windows and
throwing bits of cut-up
paper hearts everywhere.
We destroyed what was once our secret weapon,
coping skill; a magic wand,
“pretend to be okay”,
coat your eyelids with
poison glitter, refuse
to see the demons of your childhood,
hiding in the closet;
turn your face away
from the phantom moon, a shadow
of your darker, specter self.
Now we let it burn; wild, black!

I want to kiss you hard..
Boy, melt those cliches; candle wax sin.
Feel my fingers play with
the baby hairs at the base of your neck.
I'm sorry this skin covering my bones is
so cold; if I could change it, I would
but it just so happens
that the Cancer moon made me this pale.
I'll be your companion,
though, for a lifetime, I swear..
I'll never lie to you, my little rebel,
unchained melody on a broken harp,
splintered Chinese guzheng;
damaged lullaby, skyfall.

I'm a slashed smile on your shoulder,
branding your brown sugar flesh,
half-Hawaiian; baby, you're hot as Pele's wrath.
The goddess of volcanoes, darling;
she paints your eyes cinnabar shades.
You can run but she'll always be your guide.
You can cry and scream after another
foster parent has shut you out of the house,
but it will never be your fault.
And I came to you; broken,
but you held me tight, didn't
throw me out with the laundry.
You saw me as more than
a moth-eaten, last August sweater.

Now I'll be your protector,
even though I'm twisted myself
beneath these high cheekbones
and fallen butterfly lashes.
I'll stay the night if you ask me..
I'll sleep in late beside you
on your summer camp bunk-bed and risk exposure.
The sun can rise above the palm
fronds in your front yard and
brand its ancient symbols;
runes all  along my spine as I move inside you..
Boy, I'll never leave you broken;
wasted, thirsty and frozen like
so many “lovers” have before me.
Oh they weren't real; just shadows,
illusions of happiness.
Phantoms, they drained the warmth from your body,
sucked the human spirit; resilient, red-blooded
with just one kiss and turned their backs as
you writhed, gasping on the bamboo floor, boy.
But I'll be there if it happens again.
I hope you'll never betray me, friend.
I don't think I can forgive that.
Honey, I'm sorry; but with me,
it's all or nothing..

Cheshire cat; I was born with the same slanted smile.
Boy, can you love me still this way; twisted, made
to look like a prince, trick like a villain,
kill like a fallen angel
who has nothing left to lose anymore, sweetness?
Boy, I kiss just like the forbidden Dorian Grey.
May his lies rest on the tip of my tongue;
Achilles, may his flame burn this colosseum life
because I want a boy with lava eyes and
a tea leaf smile, a body like a gladiator's,
a heart like a sparrow's.
Heaven, please; before you take your prisoner,
hear my final wish..

Angel of death, black dogs of hell;
you can have your scarlet revenge,
broken baby bird bones and iced magnolia petals,
a crown of thorns; Sleeping Beauty needles.
But first, grant me this last request.
Then you can tear off my wings and
cast me out of your presence,
onto the street with the rain
and a suitcase filled with
bloody Valentine's Day letters.

Bring him back, I beg; the one
I could never breathe without..
Bring him back, the one who could
tear me apart with just one look,
crack my shell in half; spill my guts,
memories, whisky rose secrets all over the carpet.
If this is my last prayer, let it be for him..
Dark angel, if there be thorns here in paradise;
let them cut my hands to pieces
because for this love I'll bleed,
cough up nicotine butterflies;
all those ash black wings,
all those lifeless sonnets.


United States
Current Residence: Texas
Favourite genre of music: rock


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O-Renzo Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the fav :)
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner 3 days ago
you're welcome
xwhiteXdarknessx Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Professional Writer
Hello! Thank you so much for the :+fav: on my poem "You Can Keep September, As Long As I Can Keep You" 
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner 5 days ago
no problem :D it's lovely
Bark Featured By Owner Feb 22, 2015  Professional Writer
Thank you!
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Feb 22, 2015
you're welcome
Mutsumipat Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2015   Digital Artist
Thank you for faving ! ^^
tirasunil Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thanks for another fav. :)
tirasunil Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thanks for the fav! :)
DiosaEMR Featured By Owner Feb 12, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks so much for the :+fav:!
appreciate it!
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