Undiscovered Gems--Special Feature

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betwixtthepages
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Yes, I've gone and done it again! As if I'm not busy enough with A Call to Conversation and dA Roadtrip articles, I'm bringing you ANOTHER one! With the launch of the "Undiscovered" browsing option, there are a TON of awesome artworks I've been finding and admiring, and I just have to share them with you guys.

I WILL be taking suggestions for this series, as well, so if you discover something while browsing the bowels of dA that you think needs to be shared, please send me ( betwixtthepages ) a note titled Undiscovered Gems.

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Undiscovered Gems--Special Feature


<da:thumb id="399193102"/>
let's hope this ends with a whimperhe fucks her against a wall
the noise from inside filtering through
the cracks in the bricks
somewhere else
you know what's going on
(now, at least, though it's a little too
                                                           late)
- thoughts of shirts and bras
being pushed up against hands
that weren't meant to touch her;
- thoughts of mouths and harsh breathing
and wanting to violently do something bad that will make
her never walk again, never touch
or breathe ever fucking again because -
(no please)
and
              -faces, faces, faces -
that you'd rather not see,
not next to each other,
never pressed against each other
because it leaves you feeling sick and wrong and disgusted and jealous -
(why why why do you do this to yourself)
- and you'd rather not have those thoughts,
never have those thoughts but you are nothing
without them and the mere thought of them not being yours is
terrifying.
you feel like you could kill.
<da:thumb id="399608233"/>
<da:thumb id="399569131"/>
suicide riski.
you are six shades of sadness
on a too cold, too big seat,
a shrunken apostrophe and
paroxysmal, the balls of your feet
strumming the hours gone
("i want to go home,
please, please, i just
want to go home").
ii.
it is your relief and your regret
that she knows you so well.
It is she who brings forth a doctor
then, when you are past talking-down, done,
wrung out and horse-footed in your need
("let me go home, please,
please, i just
need to go home")
iii.
softly accented words spoken off to the side:
"Yes. Let's keep her voluntary now,
it will be quicker: but if her wings sprout
and itchy feet sample corridors,
we'll make it an order."
("if you go home,
the police will return you,
please stay a little longer")
iv.
you are seven hours of waiting,
free to leave until you try and
another doctor says
"I can't get a read
on her lethality and
there are no beds".
("let's go, please, i want
to go home, and they
don't want me here")
v.
she is concern coated in fury,
a righteous expletive
withi
<da:thumb id="398380651"/>
Tiny WorldsWhole worlds adorn my bedroom walls:
a dolls’ house, still life within; dolls,
and a line in collectable animal figures,
dressed, bipedal, with their own lives, places to go,
cats, dogs, squirrels, all kinds; here a child,
there a man or a woman, a tiny world of love.
I used to play with them, at life and love
and still do, sometimes, within those four walls.
I will always be the child
who filled her room with dolls.
Disappointing, sometimes, when I go
out and meet the people that inspired the figures
because a mouse or bear or human figure,
in his tiny world, loves
so easily.  People come and go
and build their walls,
some poker-faced, unyielding as dolls,
others forthcoming as children.
You were like a child
in a toyshop when you found me, a figure
for your collection.  You called me ‘doll’.
When you said you loved
me I brought down my walls,
one by one, until you said you had to go.
You’d had enough, wanted to go
somewhere adult, leave the child
wit
Left For TexasThe first one couldn’t be helped.
You were five years old and you’d been married a week before, over by the slide. He kissed your cheek and gave you the black crayon after snack because it was the best one.
His mom tells the class that they’ll be moving in two weeks and you suddenly understand why he crawled under the arts and crafts table yesterday and wouldn’t come out, even when Mrs. Rametta demanded it, even when you offered him the sharp black crayon.
He makes you swear you’ll still be his wife and, together, you find Texas on a map; it’s unfathomably huge, and three states away.
How am I going to still be your wife? you ask.
Simple, he says, come with me.
But he moves with his family and you never once see him again.
You knew the second he put his application in what the answer would be. He worried for weeks but you knew and it created a kind of calmness inside of you that he would later call stagnation. He would call it quicksand.
He tells you
<da:thumb id="397597929"/>
<da:thumb id="399530469"/>
The Day She DisappearsIt is the day she discovers
she has ears
but no mouth.
She realizes that she said nothing
but in her imagination, the words between
her ears never escaped.
It is the day she discovers
she cried every tear allotted to her
for this lifetime.
She thinks of her brother trapped,
a life-long night terror, imagines fish
nibbling ashen remains, her father
in the lakebed, her father as a spiral,
her family as an old treehouse on fire,
blasted by lightning.
She feels a hysteria build in her brain,
the swarm of wasps rage.
The eroded ridges of her cheeks never fill.
Her eyes don't even shine,
two desert oases forgotten by the rain.
The wasps fly in and out, bringing paper
bits of leaves to create a nest inside
her brain. They lay eggs.
Feed the wiggle white larvae
pieces of grey matter,
all the wrong memories.
Wasp nests never slumber.
She can't either.
It is the day she discovers  
time will not heal the double-barrel
shotgun wound she's taken to the stomach, 
as she shovels her intestines
back

<da:thumb id="396452544"/>
<da:thumb id="399528437"/>
<da:thumb id="399495845"/>

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I hope you found something here to fall in love with and admire!  Please show your support by +faving or commenting on these beautiful pieces--and don't forget, I'm taking suggestions for pieces to feature in the future!




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archelyxs's avatar
archelyxs
Thank you!! :coffeecup: