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About Varied / Hobbyist adelyn/lilyFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
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how can i begin
to explain this knot in my chest not
only existing but living, growing, transforming
over time sucking up my mistakes like
a cheaply made vacuum, spilling out
crumbs of all the "i'm sorry"s and
"i'm such a fuck up"s
because i feel like i'm stuck on repeat
eternally chastising myself for not learning
this same damn lesson:
just don't hurt the people you love
it's that fucking simple
but somehow this knot twists
that elementary lesson
into something that's impossible
to understand
:iconreflexively:reflexively 0 1
growing up
the shoe never finds
its owner.
the prince dies alone.
the mirror shatters.
she is not
fairest of them all.
the kiss doesn’t work.
she never
sees the sun again.
the house is blown down.
is completely lost.
:iconreflexively:reflexively 0 1
the worst miracle
reading my drunk poetry about you
makes me feel drunk again
dizzy eyed, violent desire
you’re the only calm to my storm
:iconreflexively:reflexively 4 2
with respect to my past self,
all of my writings have led up to
y o u and m e
and i should have known before we even started,
i warned myself before i even knew the color of your eyes
:iconreflexively:reflexively 0 0
probably a few weeks ago
you’re seven cups of coffee in and it’s 1 a.m.
the waffle house countertop seems
expansive in the dim light.
for the first time this night,
you deny your waitress the right
to pour you another cup.
if coffee can’t keep you awake,
cigarettes can.
you lay a tip on the tabletop when she is
bent over her phone.
she might be your age,
rings etched under her eyes
from a procession of shifts spent
waiting for the sun to rise.
outside, you spark the lighter.
smoke slides down into your lungs
then shoots back out your nose,
curls in haloes above your head.
wade out into the adjacent field of barley
where the plants are hunched over
in their opulence; teeming with granules
that beg for the harvest.
cup the soft soil in your palms,
mix it with the scintillating light from the diner,
and realize you are only just beginning to understand
the complexity of things.
:iconreflexively:reflexively 1 0
senior pic 1 by reflexively senior pic 1 :iconreflexively:reflexively 4 10 the heart by reflexively the heart :iconreflexively:reflexively 1 3
she’s made of cotton candy:
spin, twirl, break, then dissolve.
sugar rushes through her veins,
viscous, arteries clogging
from the buildup. her eyes are filmy
and she leaves a sticky residue
wherever she touches. many
find her a delight but she rarely stays
for long, her presence disappears
as their lips forget her name,
their tongues forget her taste.
she starts everywhere and ends
nowhere. parents warn their children:
stay away, she’ll make your teeth rot.
yet they persistently return
with their nickels and dimes,
insisting on just one more taste.
:iconreflexively:reflexively 3 6
seasonal reflections
i. autumn arrived with a reckoning,
the pine cones held secrets and they’d whisper
to me in the night as their sweet wood hands fell
to the ground; i tasted maple honey
while sticky fingers scraped bark
that screamed sweetly to the sunset
ii. winter came slowly, timberland
freeze and peppermint icicle swirls
on frosted puddles as cold as Siberian igloos,
Eskimo girls in bear skin hats and leather gloves;
i was never one of them but i heard
they breathe out steam in glacial time
iii. spring bloomed and so did the bruises,
black and blue like Van Gogh’s starry
night, minus the stars; my teeth grew crooked
as wildflower veins and my hair sprouted
like meadow grass, i pretended i was a coppice
nymph and at dusk i sang with the cicadas
iv. summer sought the hidden gardens,
the scorched earth cultivated secrets in barren
soil, foolish, i dug for the answers but uprooted
only last year’s seeds, tore the foundation down
with broken nails; i danced with honey feet on
glacier t
:iconreflexively:reflexively 0 0
Dear C,
It’s been a year and I can still remember waking up, disoriented and alone. You were my compass, and you left. I don’t quite know how, but I’ve managed to make my own way without you. And it hurts. God, it hurts. Sometimes I wonder where you are and what you’re doing and who are you with? Are you with someone else? Are you with him? I know you won’t ever receive this letter, that the postal service will realize how hopeless these efforts of sending this are, but I can’t help myself. I can’t help that I still think about the way your lips fit perfectly with mine or how right it felt to be with you. I know that this message will end up as one of thousands of others in the dead letter office but maybe, just maybe, it will reach you.
Yours, H

Six months and four days: that’s how long it’s been since he has sent the letter. He lives in New York City, in an apartment that he still has yet to pay
:iconreflexively:reflexively 3 0
Theological Semantics
we are on vacation in Florida
when she asks me, “what is God?”
and i correct her, “who is God?”
and she shakes her head, repeats
“what is God?”
i’m silent;
the sea sounds fill the gap.
i can see a storm roll in
over the ocean expanse
and i take a breath and answer:

God is all of the things that can’t be explained
with recitations and verses.
God is the space that empties itself to tangibility
and the ghosts that scream in the wind.
God is the meaning between the breaths and last night’s
whiskey running through your veins.
God is the reflection in your eyes and the mist exhaled
into January nights that evaporates under the moon.
God is the sounds too high to hear, frequencies
not meant for humanity because we would misinterpret.
God is all of the pasts that never were and all of the
futures that will never come to be.

“does that answer your question?”
she nods,
and the sea washes
away our footprints
behind us.
:iconreflexively:reflexively 3 0
The Eventual Give and Take
​I can always tell when I’m pushing you over the edge, and I want to stop, I do. I want to close the wounds I’ve opened, to patch you up with dollar store bandages so you will no longer bleed sorrow. I want to make it okay. I want your eyes to shine like the stars you capture and your smile to reflect sincerely when you look in the mirror. I want to please you and I want to unburden the weight I put on your shoulders. I want you to be joyful, but not happy, because happiness can be washed away as quickly as sand is pulled back into the sea. I want to be your escape, not your prison. So give me the key, and I’ll lock it away with all of the other things that I want.

​My dear, what you lack in understanding you make up for in insolence. You have never come close to pushing me over the edge. You have never made me bleed sorrow. I may appear to break and bend to the whims of your subconscious desires but remember: an ounce of advice makes for a wealth of p
:iconreflexively:reflexively 0 0
The Dregs
There are kids killing
themselves on concrete
beneath flickering street lamps
that watch over the city like
God’s eyes,
and T.J. Eckleburg would
shake his head,
lost in the urban sprawl
of the future eating the
past. They are
trying on tongues
under clouded moonlight,
for mother, madre, mére,
ahm, abatyse, äiti,
but stumbling over strange
vowels and unfamiliar
consonants because their
teeth are stained from
too-hot coffee and a
of fluoride. Caffeine
overload, synapse electric,
a metropolis made hectic
by layered skyscrapers
clawing at the sun, shadows
casted over the neighborhoods
no one speaks about
but everyone
is from.
:iconreflexively:reflexively 2 0
How to Ride a Horse
Because he’s kicked you
assert your dominance
Lead him to the mounting block
Climb atop his back
Let him feel
your weight before
you squeeze his belly
Take the reins
between your fingers
Direct him
to the ring
Warm him up
with repetitive circles
Before you point
him towards the jump
urge him to a canter
Lean forward
as you fly through
the air and land
Straighten up— don’t
Look back
:iconreflexively:reflexively 1 0
there was once a girl
who lived on the edge
and swallowed razors
as her morning medication.
she learned to love
only through heartache
and ate sunshine to hide
the darkness that was
creeping up her throat.
in the night she would
walk out into the
oak trees off Old Richmond,
trapping fireflies in mason
jars to watch their light
die as the sun rose. she
swore one day she’d punch
Sammy Wells in the gut
but first she’d need a hit.
she’d listen to 106.3
on the radio but have
a sonata of screams
resounding in her skull. she
fell in love with names
more than people and
she would always find
her hands dirty, ink smudge
un-erasable from all of
the times she’d bruised
the paper. she learnt
that separating the flame
from the candle would
burn down the house,
singe to the ground
the bones from her child-
hood and maybe that’s
what she wanted, and
people whisper what a
shame we’ll never
know, because her
mind was lost long before
her name was corroded
from the gr
:iconreflexively:reflexively 1 0
On a calendar in a dark and musty room there was a red circle drawn around the 17th of April and a man with a vengeance. And that's how it began.
The planning stage was long and meticulous, but oh, he planned it perfectly. Three months of stake-outs, a peg board filled with detailed travel routes, and the slow collecting of necessary materials (which in fact were simple but needed precision): a two inch woven hemp rope, a stainless steel cut clip blade, and a pair of standard surgical gloves. Not a ski mask, though. He wanted his face to be her final impression.
Every Saturday, she would go to the grocery to purchase next week's meals. Andrew at the cash register would walk her out to the car with a smitten smile and she would smile back. She would smile back and Andrew would blush until she let him into her car, into her house, and into her bed. He could hear them fucking the first time but since he's brought ear plugs to accompany his binoculars. He was always a better visual learner
:iconreflexively:reflexively 0 0


Holiday Card Project 2012

It's back!  With the goal of bringing a little cheer to patients in the hospital during the holiday season, the deviantART Holiday Card Project connects deviants from around the world and applies their tremendous artistic abilities in designing and creating uplifting holiday cards.
In past years, the Project has received more than 5,000 cards sent in by more than 1,000 deviants from 50 different countries/political regions. Cards were then divvied up and distributed in-person by deviantART members to local Los Angeles, CA hospitals, with additional cards given to various hospitals in the U.S. and abroad for hospital staff members to hand out to patients.
The idea behind the Holiday Card Project is simple: do something nice for others. However, if you're looking for even more incentive, every deviant who submits a card will be given a free one-month Premium Membership to deviantA
:iconheidi:Heidi 4,931 6,951
blast from the past by viria13 blast from the past :iconviria13:viria13 9,027 324 a thousand silhouettes by singhappiness a thousand silhouettes :iconsinghappiness:singhappiness 4 0 there's a great big beautiful tomorrow by singhappiness there's a great big beautiful tomorrow :iconsinghappiness:singhappiness 7 0 beach babe by singhappiness beach babe :iconsinghappiness:singhappiness 1 0 swallowed by a vicious, vengeful sea by singhappiness swallowed by a vicious, vengeful sea :iconsinghappiness:singhappiness 3 0
end of summer love letter
When I explore your body, I get lost in a library of time stored on shelves- 16 hour bus rides, 9 years worth of longing. Longing for your touch like a tea pot tipping, waiting for the water to land. A cup of coffee sat on a counter getting cold, our story put on hold, brought back to life years later. We’ve blown off the dust, and the story has matured. In a field your freckles are stars in the sky, tiny city lights that can only be seen from the top of a hill. Since August 2006, an apple seed has become an orchard.
On my skin you drew rivers and roads with your fingers. You found the route to my heart and made a nest, reminding me that life is very fragile, that we are just birds looking for a home. Nine years makes us as vast as the ocean, yet we are as intricate as the little lines on a map, branches in a forest, veins in a finger. Your touch is hot coffee mixing in with the cream.
I’ve felt you pull my hips to yours, and I have felt you deep inside me, but I have also
:iconawasteof-paint:Awasteof-paint 21 16
39. dream
I sometimes wonder what stars are
made of:
500 grams of light
2 tablespoons of awe
gas, pressure, heat
suitable amounts of very, very far away-
charisma, talent
varying masses of human flesh & bone
sift dry ingredients into the mould
mix all together until there is no
partition between person & persona
bake in the oven until hollow
serve while hot to small dreams
:iconwei-en:wei-en 34 19
the last four years
I tried to read between your lines
when you didn't know how to be subversive.
I wasn't socialized like this;
honesty isn't in the nature of my storytelling,
reality blurred into concepts and
spit back in too many words,
so I'm sorry I misunderstood
everything about you,
and I'm sorry it took me this long
to explain.
:iconglossolalias:glossolalias 36 14
17 november/ old houses
How do I weigh a feeling, a thought- I can’t track it, it’s caught under mountains of skin, tangled loosely under lonely bones. There is no wind to blow anything around- no bruises, no trampoline springs pressing down.
A stranger walks unusually close behind you, and you like it. So close he can without a doubt hear your shivery breathing. It feels invasive almost, like he’s getting to know you without your permission, but you like it.
That’s what it was like when I met you.
I was elusive; you sat across from me on the subway and, while everyone we were with talked to each other, you just stared at me, trying to peel me open for my secrets. You said, on the greyhound home, I could sleep on your shoulder if I wanted.
Strange isn’t it, to find yourself longing for the walls of your old house; to long for the virginal sweet days of orange pekoe where you were fifteen and in love, writing books for a boy, guesstimating how many stamps it would need, and then
:iconawasteof-paint:Awasteof-paint 6 4
Morning Fire by r-maric Morning Fire :iconr-maric:r-maric 175 6 Nothing Left to Lose by Raiiiny Nothing Left to Lose :iconraiiiny:Raiiiny 552 99
Mature content
And I Keep Looking In Things That Aren't Real :iconglossolalias:glossolalias 32 11
January 26th, 2014
it's hard to know what you want to do with your life until you know how it's going to end.
the end tells the story clearest. to know a man you read his obituary,
not his diploma,
not his birth certificate.
do you die the way you live? i have lived in bed, alone,
in fear of sleep—
but who lives a heart attack, a stroke?
it's not the death but the dying,
the absence, the end
when we can turn back and point at the moral. i cannot live
asking what my moral will be
(it will be fear)
so i must turn and say it's hard to know—
but i will choose. every second in bed, alone
is a choice.
:iconuntruths:untruths 2 0


for anyone on here who still tries to keep up with me at all, i'll be studying abroad for 4.5 months in Suva, Fiji in order to complete my certificate for the global scholars program i'm in. how exciting, right?

on another note, i was just going through my old uploads and wow, i actually sort of kind of knew how to use photoshop. where did my talent go? lol

and on an ending note, i'm on here once every month or so. if anyone ever needs/wants to talk to me just shoot me a note -- most likely way for me to see it

<3 you all and i'm always grateful for the memories you gave to me
i can't put this on FB or twitter cause i can't deal with idiotic people
if the KKK and neo-nazis are excited about trump, you SHOULD NOT BE.
for anyone on here who still tries to keep up with me at all, i'll be studying abroad for 4.5 months in Suva, Fiji in order to complete my certificate for the global scholars program i'm in. how exciting, right?

on another note, i was just going through my old uploads and wow, i actually sort of kind of knew how to use photoshop. where did my talent go? lol

and on an ending note, i'm on here once every month or so. if anyone ever needs/wants to talk to me just shoot me a note -- most likely way for me to see it

<3 you all and i'm always grateful for the memories you gave to me


reflexively's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
lol i've gone by so many names
places i frequent ~
- omg too many usernames just ask omg
- theeffectshecanhave OR kissedbytheflame
- ask for it

i have some amazing friends and you should know who you are u.u




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bareHa Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2014  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you!
leisuredly Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2013
hey u
reflexively Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
leisuredly Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2013
archelyxs Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2013
Hello, thank you for the favorite! :heart:
reflexively Featured By Owner Aug 15, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
of course <3
disrhythmic Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2013
Thank you for the fave, dear! :heart:
reflexively Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
of course c:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2013
thanks for the faves!
reflexively Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
you're welcome c:
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