|Lovely photos/artwork/literature ^^|
hello goodbye?I'm so sickhello goodbye? by LayaAmaranthi
it's not real to me
no matter how much
I (used to) want it to be
means nothing to me
no matter what I do
or used to pray
or 'have faith'
or yes, work for
all the time
and where is it?
and where are you?
silly girl, thinking you can challenge god, and he'll answer at all, much
less the way you are(want to) challenging him
can a dirty rag
even ask you that?
I guess my heart does still beat
and it keeps pounding
I don't think I believe in you
hollow dayslooking for the next best thinghollow days by LayaAmaranthi
the one the only to keep her
mind going, to keep her, keep
from drowning in the daily
grind that everyone else seems
to pass more easily than she
still at the starting line, a
foot off the ground
and there's her family, screaming
at her to get going and grow
and less like the sun, more a
snapping, snarling hound
she buries herself in what she
takes pleasure in, to distract
from the fact she can't seem
to move while everyone else
already found their groove
spectators from the benches
cheer, mindfully encourage her
and insist she can if she just
does it, if she is outside herself
and fakes to love it; she hasn't
the mind to tell them she's done
so all already and never had a
difference, if anything she's more
unsteady on her feet while frozen
in the blasting midsummer heat
no meaning in the race, no heart
on her tongue to taste and every single
word they say she can't swallow for the shaking
of her soul, weary of existence and never the same
all the words,
everwere there ever a day whenever by LayaAmaranthi
your eyes were dead
and ghosts made their home
in your head, and
you could never feel
your heart beat, and your
breath was never seen
when your body was empty
and ice seeped into
your bones and made you
maybe you wouldn't talk so much.
hello battles that always stayshe's just stumbling aroundhello battles that always stay by LayaAmaranthi
in this world, running into trees
and buildings and falling down
rabbit holes to other realms
that no one knows
when she sleeps she dreams
she's flying among clouds too
light for her to land on
when she does descend, it's to
alight on a building overseeing
two sides fight, and then she
sees whichever is right and
leaps to the middle, pouring
every bit of her soul into
defending the heart she bared
but even then
no one knows her
she knows herself but still
wishes someone would always fight
by her side; even on other planes
it seems too hard a thing to find
she's a ghost these days
doesn't eat much these days
sleeps as often as she can these days
because she's been just too tired these days
and it's nothing sun and people can ever chase away.
Naagat-Yara: Chapter 18Naagat-Yara: Chapter 18 by ambassador-brouwer
Dawn arrived as silently and gently as ever, with the first hints of light starting to creep across the sky. Abbess Mhera, after forcing herself to roll over and doze off every time she woke to darkness, decided that the tiny glimmer was enough of an excuse to slip out of the main abbey building and climb the stairs up to the ramparts where she had spent much of the two days before. Though there were plenty of other abbeybeasts that had enjoyed keeping watch for the search parties here and there, it was she and Filorn that had never really stopped playing sentry to focus on any other duties. Thankfully, under Mhera the abbey had become a well-oiled machine and she was rarely needed elsewhere. But deep in her heart, she herself wasn’t sure whether she would have left the wall-tops for long, even if there was a situation to deal with. Thinking of Deyna out there in the wilderness felt too much like a repeat of their past, when they had to live on w
|Lovely photos/artwork/literature ^^|
How do you manage to still be a godly person and ‘use your gifts for his glory’ and whatnot while also retaining your sense of … self? What exactly does that look like?
From my perspective it’s very difficult; and I almost think it is just naturally a bit more difficult for those of us who lean more towards the creative side of things and are 'blessed' with that gift (or for some it may be the complete opposite, rather, they feel closer to him because of their gifts rather than further away). Because we see the world in so many different colours and have so many different ideas, and often appreciate aspects of ‘creation’ the way most don’t. We’re curious creatures, we are. But how do you marry the two? I find it hard to ‘believe in God’ I suppose not only because of my anxiety and depression and nothing-ness, but also when I think of using my gift. I see others who have the same, but I look at it and think, that’s not me. When they write scripturely poetry and art with a message of godliness and such; and yet I will write of demons and dragons and depression, of shapeshifters and stories of gods; I yearn to be able to aptly paint such deep greenery as the massive forests of the world and all their life within, and fae besides, though I’ve a long way to go. I feel like to do otherwise would deny the me, myself; would be only half of me and be putting myself and my abilities in a box. I feel as if there are so many worlds inside of me, and none of them are allegorical, really, which is also what I see in my immediate circles in reality. Allegorical, symbolic words and drawings, horses and portraits and flowers and things of that nature; books and movies and movies more Christianity based, while I read and watch and listen almost everything aside from horror and hard metal/rock or screaming music or whatnot (I’m also not really into blues/slower/country stuff, but anywho).
I find myself questioning the world and society in general and why people think the way they do and trying to find a way into their minds. I wonder what the world would be if it started out differently, if God were not God or if there was no mention of him, if the world had begun by other means more fantastical. Or the future, or worlds far beyond though I don’t believe in aliens, what WOULD the world be like, or those worlds, if there were? And I write about that, and I wonder. I’ve tried several times to marry the two, to write stories intertwined with my supposed beliefs, but I find them bland, colourless, dull. I cannot write them without recoil, without trying to tame and fake and water down myself and write only surface, sweet pleasantries or even the hard things with rose-coloured glasses but not even; more writing them with some swash of pink of ‘everything will turn out alright in the end, if you believe, or if you pray’ and even a light smattering mention of God or praying or Christianity just doesn’t feel right and natural and doesn’t fit how others would tell me it should fit. And then of course it (among the other reasons) makes me wonder if I am Christian at all-because surely if I was deeply in love with God despite all the issues I have, I would be praising him and churning out poetry about him and our relationship and messages of positivism and grace and all that. But I’m also almost afraid of that, because rather than beautiful, I feel it’s false; I’m not at that place and don’t know if I’ll ever be, and I don’t want to be a carbon copy of everyone else, I want to be me.
A good many well-meaning Christians I know say things and encourage my giftings, but I feel they don’t really mean it in one sense-that if they really looked and found my deviantart, they would understand my art and my poetry isn’t pretty and God-like and … Christian. (which is also why I'm considering copying all my poetry to a USB and then deleting it-I have so many here I can't keep track of and should do a refresh, anyway, but also have a fear of some relative finding it, even though I almost want them to). I don’t do messages of hope and paint crosses, don’t really draw normal portraits and such; I write lives not from here and paint worlds that will never be, contemplate dragons and hellcats and write things I would never let family see (but almost hope they would as I said before, though the world would end if they did since it would all merely hurt them and go over their heads because I stopped ‘hoping’ for their help long ago).
I almost feel I shouldn’t be Christian, I just don’t qualify or fit in; that I have to ‘clean myself up’ and be so … pure. Like, purity is good, right? But I don’t want to be painting portraits and writing allegorical things for the rest of my life, I don’t want my family and friends’ approval because I write about Christians struggling with their faiths or my art ends up in some childrens’ book. I want to watch what I watch without them going “You watch THAT show!? How could you!?” (don’t we all). Even reading is difficult-my mother constantly tries to be ‘in my life’, even moreso due to our conflicting … everything … and so wants to know what I read, but then is quite disappointed and lectures me on my choices; has blamed my reading and what I watch/ ‘put into my mind’ on my depression-one of the few times I’ve wanted to scream at her and tell her, quite honestly (sorry, mother and everyone who loves them though I love my mother too I guess) to shut the fuck up and never talk to me again. My creative outlets and inlets and all that are, I feel, what keeps me alive these days, keep me going no matter how consuming/'not good' it is in others' view. Its what helps me, what keeps me feeling me and not 100% completely hollow and nothing and wanting to just get it over with and kill myself. It’s all a part of what makes me myself and not someone else and helps me, so having people so ‘close’ to me (we’re not close, not really, especially now) especially my own parents, blaming my depression and anxiety on that just makes me shut down and never want to speak to them again. Because they claim to love me and want my understanding and want … me, and mean well and aren’t like horrid awful crappy people, yet everything they say is so far off the mark and they don’t listen when I say it isn’t. It has to do with me and it’s about me, and if I say it’s not it, how ISN’T it? Just like the things I don’t understand or try to apply to their lives and tell them a hobby or something is bad or whatever and they feel it isn’t … how are they valid and it’s right, yet when it comes to me, nothing I do/am is?
It’s so confusing to me, and I’ve never sorted it out, others faith vs my own and what the Bible says, because it all can be interpreted in different ways and even my pastor vs my parents thoughts on things can vary and be different, even of course if they insist it’s what the Bible means in the Greek or whatnot. It’s all different, which makes it even more difficult when people like my mother insist about things; but then someone else sees otherwise, and then of course I’m told to have my own relationship and such with God; but they disapprove if it’s not theirs. So how am I supposed to art? How do I decide? What do I do, when I don’t have an issue with what I watch/hear/do/write/read etc; yet others’ arguments or ‘ageful wisdom’ ‘make sense’; except that … it’s not me? I never know what to say, and wish I could just shut it down once and for all without being a disrespectful ass-but much of the venting poetry and such I’ve done on here they would probably consider disrespectful and rude anyway; though to me it’s more of trying to express and ‘get out’ what I just can’t say to their faces because they never listen. They tell me it’s wrong, I’m wrong, I’m doing it wrong, I have to be not me. Well, news for them … I’m me and not them (surprise!), and that’s not going to change, and they’re never going to like it. But even when I try to say that; I can’t. They tell me my ears are covered, my eyes are blind … so are theirs.
So they try to help in their … shitty way, really; and all I see and hear is I can’t be me, I’m not me, I’m nothing, not valid, don’t matter … and I shouldn’t exist.
I still don’t share my poetry on facebook really, because it’d be far too dark and triggering for Church and family people. I didn’t used to put my art on there except for the nice little sketches of stars and planets and a colt following a girl with a flower in her hand and random portaits. Now I just post all of my art-dragons, fae, whatever (though I did never post my zombie stuff). And I can see it, the difference-most of the Christian people like the portraits and the cutesy stuff; and because I’ve met them and been around them I know it’s because it’s nice, it doesn’t make them uncomfortable, it’s ‘normal’ and pretty-and everyone else usually likes everything if they like it, or the dragons and the fae and all of that.
I still remember my father pulling me aside after picking me up from a sleep-in at church many years ago. He’d found out I’d been drawing things for people, and one fellow had requested dragons, so I’d drawn him a dragon. Father went on and on about how they’re evil and at the end of the world and the symbolism of dragons in the Bible and etc the only time they appeared was the whole demons and devil thing and all of that. And now I wonder, well, where did all the dragons in like … Japanese and Chinese and other countries come from, surely they didn’t know of the Bible and/or some demon didn’t come to them in a dream and go ‘pssst, all the rain, and the earth, and the world was created by DRAGONS’? One time at a church Christmas party, for gift exchange thing I brought an Eragon book because I didn't like it (the ending) and naively thought someone else would-even if she was afraid of snakes or something, the woman who got it was absolutely horrid; freaking out and saying something about it being a demon, and it was embarrassing and humiliating the way she went around and no one would exchange it; my pastor asked me later (my father got it back for me, and I was sure a talk would come later) if it was a GOOD dragon on the cover, and all I could think of was so what if it isn't? It's a book. It's the cover. But since then, I suppose I've wordlessly (until now) vowed I'd just never ... be myself around them, felt I couldn't trust my church family. Mother said she liked my portraits, and wished I wouldn’t really draw mermaids and all of that. She blamed my depression on the books I read. I’m sure it was difficult for them to read the one crappy book I self published, because that was pretty much all science fiction and fantasy, though I even changed some stories to be more ‘Christian’ so family and Christian friends wouldn’t flip out about some random girl coming back to life and stuff (though my father actually said he liked it).
I always have to hide. Always. They tell me they love me and accept me, but I don’t see it that way, and I never will. It’s just not compatible. Sure, I want(ed) to grow and have a better relationship with God and everything, and it’s not like they’re horrible people … but I see them, and hear them … and think … I don’t want that. I don’t want to be anything like my parents, not anything at all.
Sometimes … I want to post it all. I want to just put it all on facebook; all the suicidal and depressive poetry, all the rantings, all the wonderings. All the stories about dragons and the stories with wars in them; all the occasional mentions of sex (though in most they’re married and it’s not even graphic, almost fade to black, lolol) and swearwords. The zombie art and the dragon-shapeshifter art and the even more dragon art, and the sketches of bodies because I practiced a lot at one point since my grasp of proportion and realism and such is horrid … just throw it all there, and wait. The backlash would be horrible of course, and everyone and their brother would be like ‘are you okay?’ (I do that to people, though God, I hate that question-no, I’m not okay, and I don’t think I ever will be, though at one point and after a recent talk with a woman at church, I wanted to be). I want to put it all out there, and let them see ‘the real me’ and everything I have, and then just wait … and wonder so, …
do you still like me now, then?But of course I won’t.
Current Residence: Earth|
Favourite cartoon character: Aang, Howl, Nezumi, Rin,
Personal Quote: Writing is the only socially acceptable form of insanity.