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I am Fifteen :iconpiro-and-the-phobia:piro-and-the-phobia 2 6
Literature
Rose Petals
"So." The definitive ring in his voice caused her to stir.
"So." She attested.
There was a pause. Then he made a motion with his hand, as if closed on a Jack in the box handle attached to her head.
A little flustered, "What?"
"Tell me about yourself."
“Uh, what do you want to know?”
“Anything.”
"Um... I used to have a growth on my lip."
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I was born with it. Had surgery on it two different times."
"I was born with a growth on my balls."
She smacked his arm, "Jackass."
"Well who the hell opens with that?"
"I don't know! You can't just ask a person to spew shit about themselves!"
"So you tell me about your growth?"
“It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Such a deviant.”
"Shut up." A phone dinged and she reached into her jeans.
He watched her feverish fingers, "Your parents must know about me."
"Of course, I told them." She didn't look up, “I should probably leave soon.”
"No, you said you read your stuff
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Literature
Woman Unbroken
           “Why are you crying?” The boy leaned down to see her face and watched her quietly, his tanned features pursed in concentration.
           It unnerved Michelle so much so that she blurted, “Because all this time I was a fucking beard!”
           He frowned as she slammed a hand over her mouth in shock, “My mommy says not to use that word.”
           It was around noon and Michelle was seated in front of what she thought was an atrocious painting of a 17th century woman. She had come to the art museum out of a rebellious necessity to maintain her dignity but now she was sure she had just about done the opposite. In the 15 minutes she had been there she had managed to piss off a guard by making too much noise, indefinitely smudged her makeup, and now insulted a little boy’s innocence.
       
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Literature
Just a Nice Guy
The light of Jase’s phone screen hurt his eyes as he read the text. Lex’ pleading words illuminated in the dark room of his apartment, she had canceled their movie night to venture off with a new boy toy yet again. He sent a text back saying he was tired anyway to play it off like he didn’t care, then he laid in his bed staring at the ceiling. He envisioned a night like tonight exactly a week from now, where she would be broken down and crying into his arms about lost lovers and assholes. The worst of it all would be that she will be completely oblivious and uninterested in his advances. So blind, so fucking blind.
Jase, a wholesome boy from Texas is the ideal man, kind, compassionate, and sympathetic. He has a great sense of humor and is loyal. Strong enough to lean on when needed to but comfortable enough to cry if things get bad. He would rather spend a night cuddled on the couch watching a movie then hanging out with the guys watching football. Easy going temperam
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Literature
Betrayers
It is the 53rd year of the Omega Century and sex between a boy and a girl can get you killed. Well, at least I think all kinds of sex does but really there’s only one that we treat special. I’ll get back to it. We call it the Omega Century because that is when the True Genders took over. My teacher said it happened because there were too many babies in the world and not enough older people to take care of them. So the True Genders made it so we don’t have too many babies anymore and so that we don’t suffer. When we are old enough, we can choose a man to love, and if you prove yourselves to be True Men you can get assigned little boys to take care of. But there are some people who don’t want to love in their gender. The men call them ‘Betrayers’, my older brother Olsen says it used to be called ‘being straight.’ But some Betrayers are different from others. Most end up going away in Purple Vans to a Blue Facility or a Pink Facility,
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Literature
Angry Little Girl
I have an immense fear of embarrassment. I wouldn’t say it’s an ego problem. I mean, I’d rather be playfully insulted and teased than complimented outright. Pretty much anything I’m not instantly good at I tend to drop. From sports to making the first move with a guy, if I’ve messed up at least once and someone pointed it out I quit. I can even be too nervous to make friends with people. It’s annoying, like I’m perpetually stuck in that sixth grade atmosphere of being inhibited by some unknown force that doesn’t exist. That’s why there have been very few additions in the past several years. If I can avoid rejection of any kind, or any moment of weakness I will pretty much do anything. That being said, by no means am I crying in a corner every time things don’t turn out the way I want them to. I actually get over it quickly, almost too quickly. I’ll look myself in the mirror, ache hard once, and drop it just as hard. Like
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Literature
My Button
I have a button I like to hide. It rests behind my ear. And sometimes it can make me cry. People in this life will trick me and push it. Like a kind of game that makes me squirm inside. Some wear their buttons upon their sleeve. Some have lost their buttons. Some wear the buttons of others around their necks. It can be hard to stay planted, hard to not let it show. But as I grow stronger I learn that my button is my own and that is an important thing everyone should know. It can hinder me when I feel sad. It can make me fly when I feel glad, because my button is my own. I have a button I like to hide.
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Literature
Crashing
       I’m not a person who’s very good with words in general. I mean, how could anyone be, when you find your mom sticking her tongue down your boyfriend’s throat? That being said, I can be pretty good with a particular group of words that can make most people feel uncomfortable but I think I had every right in this case. The worst part was that I had been dating him in order to please my mom, irony right? I guess you could say it wasn’t really a loss to me. If anything I should’ve thanked my mom – actually, no, scratch that I don’t owe her anything. The woman named me Britney for Christ sake I belonged on the sidelines with some pom-poms, not on the basketball court. Out of resentment, I had people call me by my middle name, Reilly. Really, what I guess I’m trying to say is this was kind of the final straw that broke the camel’s back – or however the cliché saying goes. It was finally time I grew a s
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Literature
Karma's a Bitch
All I knew about Pleasantville was that it made me want to puke rainbows and crap sunshine. Everything about the town was silver and shiny, as if the freaking birds cleaned up their own crap off car windshields. I even found myself avoiding gazing out the bus window so people would stop waving at me. Finally, the happy-mobile stopped at Parkview and Finlley, my stop.
"Have a nice day!" the bus driver chirped.
"Yeah." I mumbled, trying not to make eye contact.
Sure, this town was not for me, but it was the only place my mom wouldn't look, dad wouldn't stick his head out of his cubicle long enough to know his daughter was gone. My parents divorced when I was seven, my mom taking all the money, dad keeping his calm, and leaving me with the baggage. I was never the daughter my mother wanted, she expected prom queen, cheerleader but got C+ student, soccer player. Hell, she even named me Britney, does that not scream cheerleader to you? Out of resentment, I got people to call me by my middle
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Literature
The Life of a Staircase
"That's absurd." Laura slammed her locker door to emphasize the point.
Becky gazed at her friend with an intensity that I didn't think was intended for Laura, "It's so him, I know it."
"But what does this have to do with Keith Thomas?"
"That's just it, New Guy is Keith Thomas!"
"I thought his name is Aaron Smith."
"It's a cover, he's under witness protection. I know it's him!"
Keith Thomas was a boy with deep blue eyes and a cute face that had broken many pre-teen girls' hearts back in the day. I remembered him vaguely; he had blonde hair that he constantly pushed out of his face in order to see. Becky was in the seventh grade when she met him. Even though he broke hearts, Becky claimed that he had secretly given her his heart. To her, Keith was a shy romantic, and he would always be the love of her life, even after he moved to the States. If you ask me the girl has an unhealthy obsession with this guy, I bet Laura would say the same thing.
"Hello, ladies." There are few things in this
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Literature
The Building
   George Andrews stood before the building with wavering resolve. It was the day of his son's funeral, yet his feet couldn't sense the need to step forward. Boards creaked as a biting wind pushed up against the church. Paint peeled away from fifty years of dust and grime in frozen revulsion; as if one day it had realized the existence of such things and pulled away in confusion at the very sight of it. Dirt from cars and the bustling city streets clung to the windows, fogging all recognizable figures. His ex-wife was probably in there somewhere, with that car salesman, Barry or Barney. George actually knew the man's name was Brian, but there was an odd amusement in torturing him.
    Hinges moaned painfully as the weight of a thick weathered sign pulled at their hooks. The smell of stale crackers wafted to his nostrils. It seemed almost as if he could feel the atrophy vibrating off the air around the building. No, society had not taken very good care of this buildi
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Literature
Haunting Dream
The sun blazes at my back, but I can't feel it. The streets are overwhelmed with silence; still the memory tells me I'm not alone. I know that the pavement below me is searing, yet I feel nothing. The white dress I wear encircles me in the stillness. It is the summer of 2011 and I know what will happen, without knowing how.
Something nudges at my mind, it's faint and distant. I look closer and find myself jumping back when I recognize it. Anxiety grows to an unbearable high yet I can't control my body. Its then that a sound floats to me, my name. It's so sweet, however sits with a coppery taste in the back of my throat. Control washes over like an icy chill. I don't waste a second of it.
Its winter now and I stumble through the snow in a familiar apartment complex. Running is difficult and slow. Still, I can't stop, I will not stop, especially since this is where it all began.
Suddenly, he is in front of me, standing there in that horrible smile. He looks exactly like he did two years
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Literature
The Vision
My eyes blink slowly, but the vision doesn't come. What is there to focus on when you can't see? Moisture lines my lips in burning slits. The muscle in my mouth reaches out to it. No it is not moisture, just my body losing its senses. Even as I take each sluggish breath, I know no dampness will gather at the back of my throat. There is a rhythmic scratching beneath me as my rib-cage scrapes the solid surface that I know to be cold. It is probably the only sensation that is keeping me aware at the moment. Lashes weigh down on my eyelids as my pupils try feebly to focus once again. Here you can't hear, not even the soft pounding of your own blood. You cannot see nor speak; all you have left is breath and your mind. A sharp pain in my shoulder forces me to roll on my side. Warmth flows down in a sliver over my neck once more. I welcome this warmth, anything to let me know I am still here with myself in the dark. Distantly an anxiety calls out to me. Then I remember I cannot hear, and it d
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Literature
The Woman
The woman in the book store had a familiar smile. It was familiar in the way her eyes wrinkled slightly at the corners. In the way that her gaze held yours promising to warm your day. Myf watched her as she greeted a customer. Her hair spilled onto her blouse like autumn leaves drifting on a stream. A part of Myf wanted her to look across the street and see her. Another part feared what they might see in each other. The familiar figure laughed as a child hugged her leg and giggled. Myf's grip on her coffee mug tightened. How could she be so happy? How could she just simply forget things so easily? The woman took the child's hand and led him to his mother. She waved goodbye using that same smile. Surely there was a part of her that she knew was missing? Suddenly, the woman glimpsed her and was struck with shock, Myf was too.
They looked at each other with a fascination, Myf more painfully and the woman more dumbfounded. She remembered the day this woman had forgotten, the day she watche
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Jig is Up :iconpiro-and-the-phobia:piro-and-the-phobia 6 8
Literature
You May Know Her
You may know her as the girl you don't want,
Or just the chick who only causes pain.
She'd be a mistake that could haunt,
It's a good thing you won't stay with her in vain.
There are very few who could tell you otherwise,
But I think I know her better than most.
She's self-destructive no matter how hard one tries,
You could count the gashes with more than one finger,
And never know the next time she cries.
If only someone could hear me,
I'd tell you to stay.
If only someone could see me,
I'd ask you for the way.
If only someone could speak to me,
I'd tell them I'm not as heartless as they say.
It's only natural to avoid her,
She begs and bribes and lies.
Pain lays in her wake,
So why plan your demise?
A day comes when the pain is more than in her eyes,
Where everyone can see it.
Yet hidden underneath her ties.
Six months pass and the scars are gone.
The last time you saw her, you knew it was all wrong,
You see her now and she is holding on.
There are very few who could tell you otherwi
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piro-and-the-phobia
Pheebs
Artist | Student | Literature
Canada
"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry." - Edgar Allen Poe

An aspiring writer going through school and looking for experience to get myself out there.
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It is the winter, and I am 15. I say winter because the chill hasn't quite given up its grip of the earth, its sharp fingers digging deep and resting its firm palm on the surface. The house I'm in is darkened, reflecting a commonly used design probably from the 80s, and well disliked by the 2000s. Brown roofing on brown paint, the lack of acknowledgment of existence astounding to the eye.

I am fifteen and I am half naked, gazing out the window of this house, the grey gravel of the driveway staring up at me.

"Take your clothes off." He repeats, metal creating a dull thump as his pants and belt fall to the floor.

I undo my pants and tentatively pull my underwear down too, the clear white peeking out over my dark blue jeans. Turning to him slowly, I cover my chest and cross my legs slightly.

He smiles and pushes me down on my knees, and grabs my hair. I stiffen and refuse him, looking away. Eventually he encourages me and my back is against the wall as I say I'm unsure. I stiffen but can't look away. My eyes shut, the echo of my hair crunching against surface enfolding me. I rally myself.

When he's done he pushes me to the bed, spreading my legs as he falls to his knees. He is cold and I try to make sounds I think a woman would make when a man touches her this way. I am fifteen. He is fourteen.

I tell him I'm not ready to have sex, I want to wait until marriage. He claims there's another way and bends me over. I stop him and ask if he's done it before.

"Of course." Then he pushes in. I said nothing.

I scream instantly but it takes him a moment too long to let it go. My fists grip the sheets and my legs move for escape. He holds my hips a moment too long. He keeps pushing in a moment too long. When he lets go he laughs and says I'll bother his siblings. My eyes ache, I nod and apologize.

His parents pull in the driveway and he gathers up his clothes. I stare at the window lift myself off the mattress. Heavy. I am fifteen.

I clean my makeup with toilet paper and water in the main floor bathroom. He comes in and I'm staring at the running water. I feel his breath on my neck and he tells me I taste good. The drain growls as it struggles to accept the cold water.

I am fifteen. I wanted this. I must have, I got naked. He likes me now. He'll keep liking me now. He will, I'm cool. Cool girl.

"I heard his last girlfriend made him wait 6 months. All you had to do was hold out, but I guess you were too horny."

“You let him take your virginity?”

“Stop trying to twist it, it’s not his fault, you basically said yes.”

“I heard that girl fucked him.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Did you suck his dick?”

“Just own up to it.”

I am fifteen. I wanted this. I am free. I am a woman now, right?

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:iconkantola:
Kantola Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2012  Student Artisan Crafter
THANK YOU SO MUCH :D :heart:
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:iconpiro-and-the-phobia:
piro-and-the-phobia Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2012  Student Writer
It was well deserved ^^
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:iconkantola:
Kantola Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2012  Student Artisan Crafter
For the points!
Reply
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012   Writer
Clicked on random deviant and it sent me to you! Just passing by and flipping through other deviant's work, looking for inspiration. I write primarily non-melodramatic free verse poetry, something that I hope even people who aren't lit fanatics can enjoy. Just in case you're interested :)
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:iconpiro-and-the-phobia:
piro-and-the-phobia Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012  Student Writer
wow ive never had that happen to me before o.o

thanks for stopping by ill be sure to check out your work ;P
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:iconfallingasleeptonight:
FallingAsleepTonight Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012   Writer
Thanks!
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:iconpurple-the-cactus:
purple-the-cactus Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the :+fav: on Hole in the Wall! I really appreciate it :)
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:iconpiro-and-the-phobia:
piro-and-the-phobia Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2012  Student Writer
it was well deserved ^^
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:iconbleachedorange:
BleachedOrange Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2012  Student Traditional Artist
:iconiloveitmoreplz: thanks for the fav!
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:iconbleachedorange:
BleachedOrange Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2012  Student Traditional Artist
You were tagged :P [link]
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