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About Literature / Student Maria-BethFemale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 4 Years
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Smashing the roof and getting through to the next
I reached out to touch the mirror and my fingers grasped cold silver, and not the warm tangled brown mess set against pale skin. It was an alien sensation, wanting to touch myself for the first time in years. The self-abhorrence had stretched the grim skin against taut weary bones that were on the verge of breaking apart and splitting my body into a million tiny little fragments. It was like trying to move forward, only I had no road to embark upon any more. I burned those when I engraved my destiny onto my parent's tombstone. There's no her and he any more, and there won't be me any more. Even the mirror refuses to look at me, who will?
Everything was planned right down to the finest of details; my life was laid out like a clean cut map that couldn't be read upside down even if a dreamer tried their hardest. But somewhere along the way the map was passed down into too many hands, and the creases screamed for seclusion only to receive none. I was relentless, and the map couldn't
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
Looking to the sky
I perch upon a fleeting feeling,
Bent in thought and nearly kneeling,
For to catch the ideas wheeling in the space behind my eyes.
With the power ever growing,
From the shower never slowing,
Knowing that The Knowing flows within the mana passing by,
I am waiting for a showing but I know not what or why,
I am looking to the sky.
The weather near me is amazing,
As I sit sincerely gazing,
The elocution of my phrasing grows with each appraising try.
I wait in sight of divination
With a lighting inclination,
Hoping for the sweet sensation of one thought not so awry,
This time of meditation lasting ages, flying by,
Do answers float within the sky.
My tensing muscles they are aching,
Hence my body slightly shaking,
May I have been mistaking what these quaking thoughts imply.
Will they ever line up clearly,
Will I move up here from nearly,
Or will I spend my whole life merely bidding fragments their goodbyes,
I want clarity so dearly and I feel success is nigh,
Do answers float within the sky,
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
Presumptuous Teachers
He said that I'm too young,
And I know nothing. Why do
you write? And it stung.
It is just like saying: you
I don't like the look of your lung
so don't breathe.
Just because I lack age,
doesn't mean I don't seethe;
don't feel or fill with rage,
when you say I am beneath.
And then you say my poetry
is but a teenage girl complaining,
But d'you know the depth of me?
From your words, all you're gaining
is some self satisfactory fallacy.
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
Insert creative title here
Dear Magic Boy,
Once again I find myself enraptured by the mere memory of you. You are the memory I always go back to whenever I find myself under a grey cloud, raining fat heavy droplets on my face running down my neck to my arms and torso. Instead of finding an umbrella in the memory of you, the rain just pours heavier and faster. It feels like I'm drowning as the drops flood my nostrils and mouth. I don't know how I came to be a masochist but I'm helpless against my own torture. I am drenched in pain and yearning. I taste the bitter sweetness of you on my tongue. They echo in the spaces of my mouth, calling out to you. Can you hear? Are you listening? Oh my Magic Boy, I'd scream until my lungs burst into fragments that pierce the night and spatter the stars with my crimson blood just for you to hear me. I need you in the empty space of my bed. I need you to breathe the air I breathe. I need your arms around me and your chest to bury my head in. I need you to muffle my anguished scre
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
On writing beautifully
Write like falling in love depends on it - like the beginning of a romance hinges on the authenticity of your words - that is, if you ever aspire to write beautifully.
Put the pen to paper as you would your lips upon the back of her neck.  Breathe life into your characters the way you exhale along her shoulders.  Strive to describe the feel of your fingers through her hair, and be as graceful as you can in each of your failures to do so.  State her shortcomings as criminal offences, and then endeavour to build a case in her defence.
Make her your refuge from the fear of dying, and find that your words aspire to awe, for paved with awe is the pathway to immortality.  Write like whoever is reading should know what you're talking about, since what is love — or the lack of love — if not our connection to those who came before us, and to those who will come after?
Do this honestly and never die, because such sentiments affect the soul, and the soul is everlasting.
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
Hair dye
Dye your hair whatever
colour you like, just know 
you will never be able
to thaw the snow that covers
your soul. I see demented
shades of red, blue, and green,
no matter how you try, your
true self always seems to show.
What's that you say dear? 
You want to start a warped life
somewhere new? Different
faces, and grander places,
all lined up between the locks
that frame your many faces.
Here, now listen to me, come
take a walk down the hall,
and run your Technicolour hair
under the shower stall. Waterfalls
paste exposed split ends fallen
across your face. No longer is this 
fantasy you've conjured all
dressed in cheap satin, and lace. 
No matter whom you pretend
to be. Raven haired princess,
seems to like these rivers flowing
red. No matter, when it comes
to you and me. Pink, purple, and
lies unsaid - I still see only you.
You can't change something that's
already dead. I see you. I see red.
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
Dear Reader
Dear reader,
I write myself within your heart tonight;
my symbols will print themselves
within your boiling blood, and it shall
become my flawed flow of hot spilled ink.
Like a seed, my words will grow into
phrases caught within your imagination.
Your mind will function as a womb for
your new babe, a new stanza carrying life.
When the time is right and impeccable
my droplets of ink will rain on the canvas
laid upon your palms, and verses will be
spelled out onto it; the birth of me.
My cries will melt into lyrics for your
yearning ears, and your heart will melt
at my drooling and chuckling poetry.
I will have wrapped you round my fingers
I will struggle in your arms and I may even
become a pain when I cannot rhyme
or swing to your rhythmic trail of thought.
I will scribble a frown upon your forehead
When you have just had about enough
I will question you, prose after prose,
on your beliefs, your secrets, and alas
I will trick you into loving me again.
The sweetest part is when you real
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 0 0
She was a poet
Oh, she was a poet,
and she wanted the world to know it.
Through the secrets she told,
she would show it.
If she could.
She was a writer.
A die-hard fighter.
Always looking for a lighter,
though she probably smokes more than she should.
Yeah, she was a stoner.
But only because she was afraid to be a loner.
And although the point she made
was that she didn't want anybody to own her,
she wished that someone would.
She was a lover.
But she couldn't recognize a single one that loved her.
She only held on to the hands that shoved her.
There was more to the sense of "falling" than she ever understood.
She put her heart up for hire.
But it's unmanaged and all damaged,
and falling apart from so many liars.
She wanted to know the truth, maybe even an answer.
But what started to grow from her youth became simple cells of cancer
from all the fires that ignited what excited her desires.
She became what remained uninvited because time expires.
And without aim, she would blame what stayed the same f
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 1 0
We are but poets
We are but poets~
I have stared into
the eternal flame of writers
past and present, and it
is a warning, burning
bright, filled with
the charred remains of poets
who once spun gold with
mere thoughts of
alchemy, magic
and a passion that will never
see its end, so long as
we remain, and are 
poets, with verse
buried deep and safe under
sands of invulnerability
that we're slowly
excavating away
to find, somewhere under a
mess of flesh and blood,
a spark - a flame. 
:iconcrystalline-skies:crystalline-skies 2 0


building with the broken.
by now you’ve become just another name in my address book.
seven letters used to jump out at me when i flipped through the h-i-j-k’s;
your four syllables leapt to my tongue
and i blushed as i tried to spit out your consonants.
your vowels tripped over my teeth.
and you used to know me so well you could name every freckle on my body.
now i’m afraid you don’t even notice the smudges under my eyes
where insomnia pressed his wretched thumbs
to hold me still as he
kissed me deep and stayed the night.
if you never wanted me, why didn’t you just tell me so?
i still remember the night you squeezed me so hard my heart popped like a bubble.
you could have fashioned me a new one out of liquid soap and a plastic wand,
but you said you had no air left in your lungs.
“you take my breath away,” you said.
and i guess that last breath-stealing kiss was a punishment of sorts.
if i took your breath, shouldn’t i have twice as much?
:iconerlebnisse:Erlebnisse 33 44
A cup of coffee, a faked smile,
Another sleepless night.
Forget the sorrow; pretend you're fine;
In the end you'll be alright.
And then the memories suddenly rise,
And then emotions are running high,
And all you want to do is –
Stop, you've got to fake a smile.
You walk along the roads alone.
The mask must never, ever, fall.
At times you wish to let it go,
But then you can't, and this is all
About to slip beyond control,
About to shatter you to pieces
You still don't let yourself to cry
Though tears are in your list of wishes
Facing the world a minute by minute,
Knowing your life is an act.
A cup of coffee, a faked smile,
Another sleepless night.
:iconninquetari:ninquetari 30 26
Daydreamers Amongst Us
To those daydreamers amongst us
Tomorrow will soon be today
So choose every word carefully
As they might be the last you say
And they will echo through time
After your final shadow is cast
But those words and those emotions
Will have no place in the past
They'll take their place in tomorrow
And every day to the end of time
Your words, your thoughts and your wisdom
Will deviate us from straight lines
And show people there's another way
Peace and love can re-wire our brains
Show us how to avoid hatred
And from negative feelings refrain
Otherwise I can see suffering
But on an unheard of scale
Nations and religions will collide
Peace treaties will continue to fail
So daydreamers amongst us
Please unleash your wildest thoughts
Drop your line into the sea of wisdom
And show us what you have caught
:iconcloudnumber8:CloudNumber8 73 19
She reminds me that she's a dreamer
Her right hand delicately grips a pencil
as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left
She looks up at me and smiles,
and there are stars, meteors,
spanning across the cosmos of her expression
her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard
that's attempting to teach me how
to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook
and I am only armed with
a .7 pencil and a purple pen,
stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch
My hands are inches away from hers
from the desks side by side
like cars parallel parked on a side road
her equations confuse me
until she flips the page
and shows me stories
filled with metaphors of the sky
reminding me that we are both here for the same thing:
I needed a reason to smile
She wanted a lesson in writing
She reminds me that I'm a dreamer
We exchange stories and poems like cigarettes
except the only price we pay is a small portion of our ego
when there are mistakes and flaws,
and we are gra
:iconkupo9089:Kupo9089 326 29
Oscar Wilde
With a jacket on his back and a lily in his hand,
One single man aroused talk all over the land.
"Unmanly", journalists would muse and mock,
Envious towards the man who walked with a flock.
A single book entitled, simply, "Poems" appeared,
What critics laughed at and general public feared.
From the gutter to the skies a single man was seen,
Paid to do lectures on the arts, not the obscene.
A Mother with an air of strength and heart of a lion,
A renowned Father with loyalty you couldn't rely on.
Two brothers, a sister, but she left her place early,
Children of his own before he met gates pearly.
Engaged to a beauty that killed all conspiracy in the day,
That poor Mr. Wilde was too dandy and, indeed, gay.
Until one day the handsome man with a pretty lily,
Met a young, attractive Lord labelled, affectionately, 'Bosie'.
Bosie was an ill-tempered pretty little thing,
But Oscar was deafened as his heart began to sing.
Little did he know it would destroy his life and career,
For he was too co
:iconlittle-miss-rain:Little-Miss-Rain 46 11
The Apocalypse
There will come a time
when jagged bones
lined with flesh, torn and rotten
Will rise from the hell
lurking below
on a day that will never be forgotten.
Clouds of ash and smoke
arise from volcanoes,
long time dormant, just stalling
People scream and choke
fear etched in their features
running, confused, and then falling.
They said they were myths,
just guesses, estimations,
nothing that we should ever fear
They died in such shame
and we're to be next
losing everything we've ever held dear.
:iconkroxie:Kroxie 2 3
half-priced whore
maybe in fifty years,
she thinks,
she will stop feeling his finger-shaped bruises
on her hips and arms.
stop hearing his words—you think you can stop me, little girl?
in every passing "are you okay?".
stop feeling the wind like a ghost of his acid breath
on the back of her neck
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful little girl.
maybe fifty thousand dove soap bars later
and too many scalding showers
and dusty baby blankets and days spent lying in bed,
looking up at the water stained ceiling,
will be enough to leave the man
on the corner of anderson street and rosa parks avenue
right where she never wanted to find him.
just ask her, she knows first hand
that worlds don't end in bangs but
in whimpers
she knows what it's like to die with a fist
over your mouth and fear in your nostrils.
pretend she is made out of ashes and paper thin words—mourn
the loss of her innocence, her freedom, her control.
cast her out into the ocean to dissolve among the waves,
find her a god dirty enough
:iconmisfitablegrae:MisfitableGrae 72 24
dear girl i sit by in english
this is for you.
this is for you because you are
the dreamer of impossible dreams, and the
doer of improbable things.
this is for you, because
you balance on two legs when your life
is spinning out of control
and poetry will always confuse you.
you love fudge brownies like you love
every single guy you like.
for so long, the only thing i knew about you
was the fact that you liked reptiles in second grade.
this is for you, because
you walk around swim meets without pants
and brush your hair in the bathroom before lunch.
you're a mess of contradictions and the most
securest insecure person i have ever met.
this is for you because
i still feel guilty about the reptile thing and
you once begged me to use the line,
"you played fruit ninja with my heart" in a love poem.
this is for you because
you told me in third grade that
grace, everyone has the thing they're best at—
ady's the artist, you're the writer, mili's the smartest.
what am i? what's my niche?
:iconmisfitablegrae:MisfitableGrae 188 42



Slightly late but my Internets was down :(

I hope you all have a fantabulous new year and that all is happy where you are!

   "Its not in the stars to hold our destinies, but ourselves"
                                                                                      - William Shakespeare


crystalline-skies's Profile Picture
Artist | Student | Literature
United Kingdom
Hullo! I’m Maria-Beth and I’m 15 years of age c:

I’m weird and I’m insensible, I’m insecure, reckless and manipulative when I don’t even know it. I can be mean as hell but as soon as you’re hurt it ruins me. I’m quirky and logical for moments at a time. whimsical is my maiden name (so is sarcastic bitch). I cant describe any more as to how, but I’m just really fucking weird and I hope you still like me afterwards because not many people do.


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PandaWolfArt Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2013  Student Filmographer
Hello you! :glomp:
Kroxie Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave!! And welcome to dA! :3
ninquetari Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2013
Welcome to dA!
Thanks for the fav!
crystalline-skies Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2013  Student Writer
You're welcome it's a fantastic poem! :D
ninquetari Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2013
I'm glad you think so. :)
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