*aprilwednesday

the wallflower.

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About Me Literature / Artist Premium Member tegan.18/Female/United States

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mornings

Oct 8, 2011, 6:09:34 PM by *aprilwednesday
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

^{sunday.

the croissant crumbles in my fingers
buttery flakes drift towards mismatched
china
and your lips are stained with
strawberry jam.

monday.

sleep clings to your eyes
like a shadow
and i watch you breathe, while
i trace your collarbone with
tired fingers.

tuesday.

we wake before the alarm
and count how many times the
neighbor's dog barks
before she finally lets him in.
your soft laugh blends perfectly into
the early morning sun.

wednesday.

your fingers trace the curve
of my spine
the old window rattles
in the wind
and i press my cold toes against your leg.

thursday.

half asleep
i mumble how the faded, flowery wallpaper
looks pretty in the sun.
you tell me i look prettier.

friday.

i tickle your cheek with my eyelashes
and make my fingers do
ski jumps
off your nose
and wonder out loud why
the room smells like oranges
[you tell me you ate some
for a midnight snack.]

saturday.

linen sheets feel soft against
my sleepy toes
and i miss you until you come in
carrying a clinking tray of
milky coffee
and strawberries
and you smile
and crawl back in bed, and
sing softly in french
while we eat.}

25 Comments

Writing

the wind's story the air was thick and sharp with the smell of salt. wind gusted across the beach, kicking up dusty piles of sand. it was midnight.

a young girl with fiery hair stood there, digging her toes into the cold, white sand. she had the anxious, exhilarated look of someone breaking the rules, and yet she couldn't bring herself to regret coming here; the alternative was being at home in bed, watching the walls around her shiver every time her father sucked in a loud, rumbling breath. best case scenario, she'd simply be dreaming - and this was better than dreams.

she took a deep breath and called the wind by name.

it was loud at first, coming in a the wind's story by *aprilwednesday

16 Comments

supernova beauty and a green-tea sea it's like you put all my words in parentheses
(said in a whisper,
taken out of the conversation;
irrelevant)

and you say you love me. i know
that sometimes words are true,
but true in a different way than you first
may have thought
because our voices don't come out
in black or white or shades of gray
but in bursts of red
intangible emotions and thoughts that can mean
everything
and nothing

and i do believe you love me.

you love me like a tornado loves the ground
like raspberries love white clothes, like
rain loves joining in on people's plans
you love me like nighttime loves fears and
death loves the weak and the green-teasupernova beauty and a green-tea sea by *aprilwednesday

20 Comments

tangled up thoughts when she was a little girl, she
never wanted to be a princess.

it wasn't because she didn't like them,
but because
where other girls saw beauty
and glitter
and beautiful dresses, silky and soft
she saw power.
she saw a power and a responsibility that
no amount of beauty would
ever make her want

and she read books about
anne boleyn,
and visited haunted castles
and tried to imagine the kind of life where
people were locked up in towers
and brothers murdered brothers,
husbands wives.
she tried to imagine what those
big stone castles would look like at
night, with the lights taken away
and she tried to imagine waking up
atangled up thoughts by *aprilwednesday

8 Comments

bird heart and burning soul in art, mistakes are beautiful when they're made with confidence.

the same applies tobird heart and burning soul by *aprilwednesday

19 Comments

blue hour eyes people say
sparks fly when you meet your somebody

but it wasn't like that with you.
there were no sparks when we met,
no birds singing, no cartoon
hearts.

you were reading.
it was a thick book, and old,
and dogeared
and you glanced up at me,
and smiled
and i remember noticing that your
eyes were blue
[not blue like the ocean
or the sky
but blue like mountains that are fading
into the distance
blue like the moment after the sun sets
blue like snow in the twilight]

and when i heard your
voice for the first time,
it felt familiar
and new
and strange, but beautiful
twisting around me
like the music you sometimes hear in
blue hour eyes by *aprilwednesday

12 Comments

twenty four hours i. the sun tiptoed into the sky this morning, and the clouds laughed as they caught fire. perhaps it foreshadowed the events of the day, but as i sat there drinking thick coffee with heavy cream in an attempt to make my eyelids lighter, all i could think about was how beautiful it was.

ii. the sun was hidden behind a grey veil in the afternoon, and your seafoam eyes were careless as you said you didn't love me anymore. at least, i thought they were careless at first; but every time i thought about it the emotion changed, so that you pitied me, you laughed at me, you held back tears. the moment was blurred and clear at the same time, burned itwenty four hours by *aprilwednesday

9 Comments

Browse Folder

haunted

^{^{la ville-lumiere.}}

anemic, broken, and growing up anyway

Feb 20, 2012, 2:45:38 PM by *aprilwednesday
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Flash Fiction & Vignettes

^{when my sister was five, she dictated a letter to me in her strong little voice
while dust drifted in the sunshine
of our creaky old room.

dear me [she said],
barney is the best. i will wear blue all the time even though i'm a girl. my heart beats without me telling it to and that's pretty cool. i think people always feel better if you tell them you love them. i will always smile because i have dimples when i smile.
love,
me.

"did you write it?" she asked, and i told her i did, every word
with the chunky yellow pencil i'd fished out of my school bag.
i handed her the letter, and she folded it up carefully
and she smiled.

when my sister was fifteen, she was a little bit broken
anemic and pale, with unsure hair and shaky hands.
when i came home to visit she whispered to me that
she didn't understand
and when i asked her what she didn't understand, she said
"everything."

she wrote another letter that night.

dear me [it said],
this isn't a suicide note. this isn't another angsty poem. this isn't a journal entry. this is me saying that i hurt even though i'm fine, and i'm broken even though i'm whole, and i'm lost even though i haven't gone anywhere. this is me saying that i wish something bad would happen so i'd have an excuse for feeling this way. this is me saying that i'm too tired to smile anymore.
-me.

i found her original letter, written in my handwriting on a crumpled piece of paper
and i showed it to her
and asked what had changed.
mascara covered her freckles as she whispered
"everything."

but the earth kept spinning and children kept growing and stars kept twinkling and this morning when i woke up, i had a letter from her.

dear you [i read],
today it's raining, which is silly really, because i can't stop smiling. was just going through some old things. found that letter from when i was five - remember? michael read it and he says that my dimples are indeed adorable and i should definitely keep smiling. he says hi, by the way, sends his love.
anyway, i just wanted to write you because you worry and i worry too so i know what that's like. but i'm happy. my heart keeps beating even though i don't tell it to. that's pretty cool.
-love.

i sensed some secret words hidden behind the blue ink.
the smell of coffee drifted lazily through my sunny little apartment as i picked up the phone,
and i could hear my sister's dimply smile as she answered, and her dimply laugh as i asked her what had changed, and her soft voice as she said, simply
"everything."}

221 Comments

^{^{Daily Deviation on March 1st.}}

Random Favourites

If I Close My Eyes
If I close my eyes
and listen deeply
I imagine that I can hear the stars whispering your name
softly
like in a dream---
words covered in red velvet and mystery
smooth and sumptuous
the greatest sound I've ever heard
your name bouncing off of mountaintops
reflecting back to the stardust
from the oceans and rivers
muffled in the clouds
so I can't quite grasp it
can't quite reach it---
Somewhere the stars are waiting with bated breath
for me to meet you,
so I can finally learn the name they've been murmuring
for centuries. If I Close My Eyes by ~losingmyfaith

2 Comments

Plexiglass Sunrises falling like dead leaves
in august's cool wind, i watch,
relieved, as clouds sweep
early-morning sunlight through
deserted, lonely windows.Plexiglass Sunrises by =TwilightPoetess

13 Comments

The Saturday SpotlightSpecial Recognition article for October 1st, 2011
Daily Literature Deviations is proud to feature this special recognition article!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article. We hope this gives you some insight into
the person behind the art.
Please comment and :+fav: the features and comment on the artist's work!

:pointr: Artists will be featured in a special news article every Saturday. Major points to :devSilverInkblot:
for doing the hard work and research that goes into these articles! :pointl:

Today's featured deviant is:
:star::devaprilwednesday::star:

:bulletred: Questions :bulletred:

1. Tell us a little bi

The Saturday Spotlight by =DailyLitDeviations

Friday Night Features XVI:thumb213774119:
Friday Night Features
Volume XVI

Welcome to the sixteenth release of Friday Night Features. deviantART is flush with amazing talents and it is nearly impossible to keep up with all of the fine work pouring in on a daily basis. Each week Friday Night Features includes a cross section of some of my (and your) favorite images and pieces of literature.

:new:The Third Annual Poetry Screams Prompt Contest has launched.:new:
:new:Friday Night Features Suggestions forum thread.:new:

Literature
:thumb259685775::thumb259190975::thumb260717401:
:thumb260536768::thumb260275745::thumb260494321:
:thumb260103682::thumb260281613::t

Friday Night Features XVI by =dreamsinstatic

Browse Favourites

a good place to start [DLDs/DDs]

anemic, broken, and growing up anyway when my sister was five, she dictated a letter to me in her strong little voice
while dust drifted in the sunshine
of our creaky old room.

dear me [she said],
barney is the best. i will wear blue all the time even though i'm a girl. my heart beats without me telling it to and that's pretty cool. i think people always feel better if you tell them you love them. i will always smile because i have dimples when i smile.
love,
me.

"did you write it?" she asked, and i told her i did, every word
with the chunky yellow pencil i'd fished out of my school bag.
i handed her the letter, and she folded it up carefully
and she smiled.

when my s

wanderlust she was a s e v e n t e e n year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.

she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was b e a u t y. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then

butterflies he thought he was in love with her on a bright september day when the leaves were as red as her hair; every time he looked at them his heart stuttered, and his mouth followed suit.

he was sure he was in love with her the first time he went to her house. she showed him her impressive collection of comic books. then she showed him her even more impressive collection of vintage records. then she smiled, and he forgot how to breathe.

he was almost positive he was in love with her the first time they kissed. her eyes were the color of spring and her lips tasted like sunshine and she giggled when their noses squished against each other.

he wonde

held the moon in my hands "It's your birthday tomorrow," you said.

"I know that," I mumbled, too sleepy to wonder why you were pointing out such an obvious fact.

"Are you still refusing to let me buy you a present?"

"I don't want anything."

"You must want something."

"Just you."

"You have me."

"Exactly." I pulled the covers over my head to encourage you to shut up, but you pulled them back down.

"Why can't I get you something? Everyone else gets to."

"Give me the covers back."

"Answer my question."

"You suck. I'm cold."

"Then answer quickly."

I snuggled into your arms and sighed. "You've already given me more than I could have ever imagined possible."

"H

h o p e. She asked him about time, her wide sea-green eyes and twisty child's tongue forming questions that philosophers had been wrestling with since she was nothing but–

there's her first question.

"What was I before I was born?"

"You were a wish," he smiled, crouching down so that their noses almost touched.

"A wish?"

"Yep. A wish, a hope, a desire; you were stardust, floating around in the milky way, just waiting for someone to wish hard enough."

"Oh." Her eyebrows crinkled together as she thought about this. "So my mom and dad wished for me?"

"Exactly." He stood up.

"Wait!"

He waited, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. "Yes

colors of a sunflower - collab Her name was Sunflower, but it didn't suit her; she had black hair and blacker eyes and ink-stained fingers. Everything about her was dark and shadowy. Sometimes she found herself envying anything with color - when she looked at the other girls with their sunlit smiles and strawberry lips, she started to ache.

His name was Kirk and it didn't matter that it didn't suit him because everyone knew him as Hamster. He spent his mornings peeling the sleep from his eyes; his afternoons were dedicated to deciphering the codes of a cheerleader's walk. He used to beg strangers to read his fortune in the dimples of his cheeks; his favorite line used to

Colors of a Sunflower--C. Her name was Sunflower, but it didn't suit her; she had black hair and blacker eyes and ink-stained fingers. Everything about her was dark and shadowy. Sometimes she found herself envying anything with color - when she looked at the other girls with their sunlit smiles and strawberry lips, she started to ache.

His name was Kirk and it didn't matter that it didn't suit him because everyone knew him as Hamster. He spent his mornings peeling the sleep from his eyes; his afternoons were dedicated to deciphering the codes of a cheerleader's walk. He used to beg strangers to read his fortune in the dimples of his cheeks; his favorite line used to

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<3!

Journal Entry: Thu Mar 1, 2012, 11:09 AM

Gallery

Journal

Note Me

logged on this morning to discover that i got my first DD!

i'm so unbelievably happy right now. gigantic thanks to *Dancing-In-Heels for suggesting and ^Beccalicious for featuring

i'll do my best to respond to all comments asap - thank goodness i have a snow day today!

11 Comments

Mood: Euphoric
Reading: The Book Thief
Eating: cookie dough

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*aprilwednesday

tegan.
Artist | Literature

United States

^{starry eyed 18 year old with a penchant for telling stories. idiosyncratic. occasionally feels vaguely lost and listless and incomplete. listens and rarely speaks and likes finding hope and beauty in forgotten sorts of things. uses 'and' too much. believes in happily ever after. always happy to collaborate, critique, comment, or just talk. talking is nice. feel free to say hi.

"My cousin Helen, who is in her 90s now, was in the Warsaw ghetto during World War II. She and a bunch of the girls in the ghetto had to do sewing each day. And if you were found with a book, it was an automatic death penalty. She had gotten hold of a copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’, and she would take three or four hours out of her sleeping time each night to read. And then, during the hour or so when they were sewing the next day, she would tell them all the story. These girls were risking certain death for a story. And when she told me that story herself, it actually made what I do feel more important. Because giving people stories is not a luxury. It’s actually one of the things that you live and die for."
Neil Gaiman}

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If I were to self-publish a book of short stories and poetry (including new ones that have never been posted online) would you buy it?

40%

12 deviants said Yes

33%

10 deviants said I'd consider it

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~featherback May 2, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much for the favorite! nUn That means a lot. <3

--
^{"There's a head in the fridge."
"Just a tea for me, please."}

*aprilwednesday May 4, 2012 Writer

^{my pleasure!}

--
^{a teacup full of wine.}

=TwilightPoetess Mar 24, 2012

The poem you requested about insomnia is finished. You can read it here:

Shattered Silences.

I hope you like it!

--
Literature/Avatar/Lit Tag Commissions

Poetry Admin for =DailyLitDeviations

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*aprilwednesday Mar 26, 2012 Writer

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^{a teacup full of wine.}

~ThoTui Mar 22, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

I can't describe how much I love your writings and how they make me feel whole again.

--
There is something beautiful, touching and poetic when one person loves more than the other, and the other is indifferent.

- Anton Tchekhov -

*aprilwednesday Mar 22, 2012 Writer

^{oh wow, thank you so much. i'm so happy to hear that}

--
^{a teacup full of wine.}

~Ligechan Mar 21, 2012

Thanks for the fav^^

--
BBC Sherlock
SH: Punch me in the face.
JW: Punch you?
SH: Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn't you hear me?
JW: I always hear "punch me in the face" when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext.

*aprilwednesday Mar 21, 2012 Writer

^welcome

--
^{a teacup full of wine.}

~takmaj Mar 10, 2012

thanks for

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

*aprilwednesday Mar 10, 2012 Writer

^welcome

--
^{a teacup full of wine.}

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*aprilwednesday

mornings

mornings

Writing

haunted

anemic, broken, and growing up anyway

anemic, broken, and growing up anyway

Random Favourites

a good place to start [DLDs/DDs]

Stamps

Watchers

<3!

deviantID

Groups

If I were to self-publish a book of short stories and poetry (including new ones that have never been posted online) would you buy it?

Webcam

Comments