^{Three years ago, I thought of reconnecting with that side of me that writes poetry and stories. I needed motivation and inspiration. I had heard of Deviantart but never really knew how to navigate the site. So I joined and lurked around and I was drawn to it. It was a shaky start. I was nervous to post journals and deviations. I still am. DA can be this huge intimidating place. When someone leaves feedback on my work, that's when I feel good because I didn’t have friends or relatives who appreciate or bother to read what I write. So however small the attention my work gets, it’s better than nothing. I keep reminding myself that regardless of views, I’m here to share my art in the hopes to reach out to another person who might be able to relate to it. If I expect a hundred views or to win more watchers with every deviation I submit or if I compare stats, I may as well be asking for disappointments.}

Halfway around the world, somebody's reading my poem which is a brand new experience. Then I joined groups, something I would not do in real life. A number of my submissions get rejected, a few get featured. The first group that featured my poem was WritersInk I have to tell you, any form of encouragement does pure magic to me. Receiving my first kudos and thumbs-up was crazy. Imagine me logging on startled to a daily deviation or daily lit deviation. I literally fly (I mean jump for joy) and on one occasion because I was so floored, I had to treat my buddy for lunch to celebrate.

UnspecifiedUnknown was one of the earliest watchers who took the time to go through my gallery and believed in me. TRexyBusiness made me feel at home. Then I met people along the way whom I have developed admiration for in terms of their sheer creativity, their passion, and their generosity. It would be hard to enumerate them one by one. betwixtthepages granted me the only item on my wishlist; SilverInkblot sent me bookmarks via snail mail; and dreamsinstatic gave me three-month-premium membership. And all this time, I thought Santa was a myth.

These people have the biggest hearts in the community: LadyLincoln, hypermagical, Nichrysalis, HugQueen and Mrs-Freestar-Bul.
Eremitik has been my top supporter.

Looking back now, the decision to sign up for an account and stay on Deviantart has been worthwhile. Not only have I found a home for my little creations but I also have found amazing lit/art pieces. These are my first loves:

To shoreI think back to pulling your hair
from your face,
sticky strands in nut brown,
your lips like the frothy head
in a pint glass,
untouchable, disappearing.
You cried in bed, neck twisted
like a giraffe looking
for the opposite side of a baobab tree,
and I told you that you were beautiful
even though no one
thought so, anymore.
It didn't matter then whether
I was holding your
greasy heart in my hands,
or my own,
they were the same fragments,
wracked with guilt and
blood vessels,
weak sutures in their stems.
We lay in your bed for five minutes
before you choked
on your own salt water seasoning,
blew your nose into the white
eyelet comforter
like it was tissue and you
really couldn't be bothered to care.
And I remember thinking that
my whole world was a sea,
and I, a boat,
floating listlessly,
toward land. stefanshe stood on your dock
in black pearls,
and nothing more -
wet feet
and the asian dream.
you loved her
but
when the snow fell
on the dock,
the following winter
you couldn't
remember why. CharlieI had a stalker.
I didn't know his name but I'm sure he knew mine.
I called him Charlie.
He always had a camera hanging from his twig thick neck and he cradled it in his hands; a wispy finger stroking the shutter release. His dark brown hair was a curly mess and his shirts wrinkly and thin. He had the most perfect eyebrows, sweeping and gentle. He must have the most captivating eyes, I thought every time he'd glance my way. We'd never made eye contact. Charlie preferred it that way.
He came into the bookstore once a week, not to watch me leaf through the used books or reach high to shelve the approved ones, but to actually browse them. He read the unknowns; the virgins with their unbroken spines. I imagine he liked the smell of them – aromas preserved for him alone. Charlie appreciated the books wearing dusty coats and factory perfume a decade old.
The rest of the time he spent on the outside looking in. My co-workers were tickled pink. "What a geek." "Poor guy doesn't realize you

And if I should leave you with a single poem, it would be this. This is very personal.
It is where I'm coming from.

Mature Content

Thank you DeviantArt for having me. Happy 14th Birthday!



© August 10, 2014