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About Literature / Hobbyist Senior Member Lauren24/Female/United States Group :iconthetitlepage: TheTitlePage
 
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Deviant for 7 Years
38 Month Core Membership:
Given by hopeburnsblue
Statistics 1,093 Deviations 28,197 Comments 114,295 Pageviews

SilverInkblot's Silver Box



The Good Stuff

I have a big gallery. If you're going to read anything from me, make it something from this box.

SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
Some Lovers III died on a cold
day, numbed fingers flexing,
grasping at the last traces of embers  
withering in the grate.
I died holding your hand,
the hand I accidentally fractured
when I pushed you  too
harshly near an edge
and you flailed to find
a more elegant way
to fall and then
I heard the scaphoid crack –
but I didn't. I heard the cry
first and the pain came later
but you held my
hand anyway.
I died with my arms
held over my head,
pinned down to the sheets by your solid
mass, fingers entwined  
with yours until I
could no longer tell which bones
were my own. I baked
in the aftermath of the dying
heat and felt the blood
pulsing
back into my fingers
before forgetting again
as you sighed into my neck.
I died on a cold
day, but I never felt
so
warm.
SurrogateI stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.
And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up.
He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.
The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.
But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white and draymen carting the dead to saltwater lakes,
elegiac undertones that haunt historians and forlorn painters.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore –
except when he does.
Stories of feelings with no names - Revision i.
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from your late Grandma Moses.
ii.
You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. You checked under the bed and tried the lost and found, but couldn’t even ask if anyone had heard it lately.
iii.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that you are going to die. You are dying right now – your cells are shedding like snakeskin and your hair is turning silver and every moment is one less than
Autumn was my first love.October, I follow you -
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
September blues,
chasing airplanes,
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summertime sadness.
Maybe you’re gonna come back;
we’re changing our ways, taking different roads
and loneliness knows me by name
but October, I follow you;
without you I’m a winter heart,
a love story you don’t want,
a November shade of grey hunting ghosts
in cities that sleep inside our heads.
You told me you lied the night you kiss
SeafoamSeafoam
is the hush of the ocean,
the glossy paint on your car,
the gleam in your eyes.
It's the ruffle of parchment in the glove compartment
of your susurrating '57 Thunderbird
as we leave the last rumble of brontide behind
on a salt-crushed highway.
Traces of powdered sugar noses
and mint milkshake lips
were cold reminders
of warm nostalgic days
when summer could melt the tarmac
like my bones under your gaze.
Old SoulsDoc says I’m an old
soul, with my postcards
and letters, and waste-no-words
policy. Doc says old souls still make eye
contact instead of playing with iPhones,
mirrors that stare back, and tell
us who we are by knowing
who they are.
Doc tells me I’m an old
soul in a young body, taming
wild Internets and bringing my words
to heel like a triple score
in a game of Scrabble.
That I was born in the wrong
decade, that I was meant to punch
typewriter keys like a boxer,
that the twenty-first century
wasn’t made for old souls like mine.
Doc thinks I’m too old
to be twenty-three, constantly forgetting
the barriers of my few years.
Like that I never wrote about myself
until he gave me moments
worth writing down, and cared
about the person behind the words.
That I learned who I was by learning
who he was, and drew a timeline
of intersection points where each
node became a poem, and each poem
became a stepping stone.
Doc unearthed an old
soul in my notebook.
Old like a favori
Turn my words against me.I want my words to take
root in your stomach and grow
up your esophagus, the calyx
of your tongue brushing the edge
of your teeth until the words blossom
from your lips in a slow
explosion of elegance, jawline
trickled with nectar, charming
hummingbirds and honeybees
with the promise of butterfly kisses.

Helpful Stuff





Button Links!

Getting Started in the Lit Community
dA making for feel small? Need help finding your writing peeps? Start right here, baby.

Donate Points!
I'd like to be able to have enough points to make donations to contests, help people extend their Premiumships - I love being helpful :D

All You need to know about DD's
Suggest one today! :D

Suggesting DLR's
DailyLitRecognition is a literature feature group that needs YOUR suggestions to function - know some great lit that doesn't have enough love? Send it to one of our admins!

Using HTML on dA
On of the most helpful resources I've found. I refer back to it frequently :)

Using Font on dA
Because I'm a sucker for formatting :XD:

StyleOverSubstance
An alternate account dedicated to playing literature games! Come join in the fun!



News Articles I've Written


The Visual Novel: Video Games as a Literary MediumWhat is it?


A visual novel is more or less exactly what it sounds like. It's a novel that can be played. While the form has been popular in Japan for decades, they have only recently reached Western audiences, thanks largely in part to the influx of anime, manga, and Japanese Role Playing Games (JRPGs) saturating the market. Consequently, many games of this type have anime influences in the design.
The visual novel is most easily compared to interactive fiction or the Choose Your Own Adventure series - at various points, the player is prompted to make some sort of choice that has the potential to affect the outcome of the game.  A typical game usually has at least three endings; a Bad, Neutral, and Good (also called the "Perfect" or "True" ending). However, this is not necessarily standard - most seem to fall somewhere between 4 and 10 unique endings. Often
Foreign Words the English Language NeedsOh hello. I’m finally getting around to making this news article that I said I might do, like, a month ago. Sorry, I’m not used to writing news articles. Bear with me.
Back in August, I started a series in my forums for cool foreign words. It went over extremely well and numerous people requested that I combine them into a handy-dandy news article for deviantART at large to enjoy. So, here you are: fifteen foreign words that the English language needs to steal appropriate.
Hiraeth (Welsh)
What it means: A feeling of longing associated with displacement, but not necessarily displacement from one’s original home. An intense yearning to be somewhere you are not. Hiraeth also expresses a sort of ache or longing for something of the past, somewhat similar to the notion of "golden" or "good old days," but with more ancient connotations.
Why it needs to be a thing in English: I speak as someone from a country
Untitled is just a synonym for lazy.Well, the color poem form I introduced to dA was a rousing success, but interest of late seems to have died down. So I'm back with a new form for you all, something exciting and new, something different, something that I will probably make into a contest once I get some points in the bank. You ready?
EDIT
There's a group now - feel free to head over to TheTitlePage! We're still in set-up mode, so excuse the plainness for now.

Found Poetry Project - Titles as Art

One of my favorite things about the creative process is coming up with a good title. The title can make or break a piece; it can give context not provided in the piece itself, set a tone or mood, or just give that little extra something you can't put a name on.
You know I'm right. How many times have you stumbled into an ordinary piece with a beautifully creative title? And it's not something
Managing Your Inbox: Some Tips on StreamliningI'm not really an organized person. Yeah, sure, I like to TRY to be one, but most of my attempts to clean house don't stick. The one exception, however, is in my online life. I keep everything to do with the computer tabbed and organized and that includes my dA life.  
I posted a poll asking visitors what their inbox looked like on a typical day. As of this writing, of the 52 responses, 35 have full inboxes that is, somewhere between 200 and up to (or over) 1000 messages to sort through. So about 70% of the voters have quite a lot to page over.
 
I hear horror stories quite frequently from deviants who are overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things passing through their inbox. My personal inbox rarely reaches three digit numbers, and the few times it has, it's always been because something of mine has made the footer. While I can't promise that my personal methods will work for everyone, it n



I Am A Swing Admin For DLR!



What's That Mean?

That means I keep an eye out for the best literature on dA (specifically prose). If you think you have a suggestion for me, read on!

What is DailyLitRecognition / LitRecognition?

DLR is a group dedicated to promoting the work of Literature artists on deviantArt.

By showcasing one featured DD per day, the Literature Gallery Moderators provide the community with a showcase of excellence in Literature. In contrast, we will be showcasing excellence with a series of literature pieces each day in a News Article to serve the community. We are a diverse group featuring 5 pieces of quality literature every day.

In such a large community many writers feel that their work goes unnoticed. DLR is here to help change that!

How do I suggest a DLR?

Please see the profile page for the general guidelines and a list of the other Admins you can suggest to. Please only suggest a piece to one Admin at a time to avoid any confusion.

Okay, but what if I have a suggestion for YOU, SilverInkblot?

Top right corner - send me a note! Here's the rundown:

:bulletblue: Please send no more than two suggestions at a time. This makes it easier for me to keep up.

:bulletblue: I can feature Prose or Poetry, though I try to focus more on Prose. We have lots of Poetry Admins who are very dedicated to their job and our Prose is sometimes lacking.

:bulletblue: Please include a thumb and a description of why you think this piece deserves to be featured. It doesn't have to be a full critique - a few sentences will do nicely!

:bulletblue: Yes, you can suggest yourself! If you deserve it, you deserve it! But please don't send me your entire gallery - remember I have to actually READ everything sent to me.

:bulletblue: All the Admins have a certain style they enjoy. I myself like reading flash fic and prosetry, so I'm more likely to feature things with those qualities. However, I WILL read and consider anything sent to me. I do have to ask though, that they are standalone pieces - not chapters. I can't accept fanfiction either.


For My Own Sanity



DD Stuff!



LiliWrites

TheMaidenInBlack

IrrevocableFate

Empty! :noes:




I'm trying to get into the habit of suggesting DD's - having the links on my page is easier than hunting them down everytime :XD: Links go to the respective DD guideline pages :D











Fun Stuff




Bookmarked



Click to see what I'm reading! I love recommendations and chatting about books :la: I should start a book club sometime.


I make bookmarks for pretty much anyone who asks. Just give that flourish a click, and you'll find instructions on how to request your own!

Meme: Alternate SelfiesI've been bored around dA lately, so I decided to start a meme :lol:
I see those long Q&A lists floating around all the time, and they're boring. They all ask roughly the same questions over and over, so I don't tend to do many. But it got me thinking - how I can spice up a tired meme? What's another way to learn about a person? And this is the solution I found.
You can tell a lot about a person by what they write, but there are lots of other ways to get an idea of who they are. What they wear; what they read; what their room looks like; what posters they hang on their walls; what they keep in their bedside drawer. If you're like me, bored with answering the same questions, then feel free to jump in and show your watchers who you are in a different way :D
1. Post a selfie.
Yeah, this is still a pretty standard one, but it's nice to put a face to the words :P
2. Post a photo of your bed.
Your sleeping area says a surprising amount. For instance, mine says I don't like to make the be
Holographic ResonanceAll things will be in everything;
nor is it possible for them to be apart,
but all things have a portion of everything.
— Anaxagoras c. 500 bce

  

When a holographic plate is cut several times, each fragment contains the entire image. In other words, the whole can be found in every part and the notion of separation becomes impossible. Even the idea of separation is contained in the all.

  

To make a hologram, a laser light is split into two beams. The first beam bounces off the object and is reflected onto the holographic plate, or recording medium. A second projected beam creates an interference pattern that contains the information of the object spread throughout
Kafka's Joke Book
Regarded as one of the most influential writers of the 20th century, Franz Kafka is best known today as "that guy who wrote a story about some dude turning into a cockroach." Working with themes of alienation, the fantastic made mundane, and parent-child conflict, his works are populated with well meaning characters caught in the crossroads of tragedy, surrealism, and existentialism.
And yet, Kafka himself considered his works funny, supposedly laughing out loud among friends when reading and sharing his work. Indeed, when read in the right mindframe, the ironic circumstances and black comedy of Kafka's nightmarish worlds can and will provoke a chuckle of two, even as events continue spiraling out of control.
Thus, I will be presenting you today with Kafka's Joke Book, a McSweeny's article written by comic and stand-up comedian John McNamee, who you may know for his work, Pie.

Cooking a StoryToday I decided to make roasted carrot soup, which got me thinking that writing and cooking are particularly ripe for comparison. At first glance, both seem easy. Buy these ingredients and prepare them, and voila, dinner.  Come up with a plot, write it out, and voila, novel. Both cooking and writing seem like tasks than can be planned and executed through clarity of thinking, fidelity of execution, and sheer force of will. Maybe this apparent simplicity is why everyone you meet on an airplane is writing a book. (Why is it always people on airplanes? Maybe that’s the only place I talk to strangers.) Of course the reality is that there is a fair bit of magic to both good cooking and good writing.


As someone who has outlined two novels, and then written two totally different books than the ones I’d so carefully plotted, I can testify that simply writing down the jou

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SilverInkblot
Lauren
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States


Autumn Brontide

I bleed ink. I have unusual taste in music. There is a Mario composed of sticky notes on my bedroom wall. I have a giant top hat. PlayStation is the best game console. I have discovered an obsession with making origami stars. I have been featured multiple times by DailyLitDeviations / DailyLitRecognition (and a DD! (or five!) :la:) and consider that the highest achievement of my life.

:iconbutterfly1plz::iconbutterfly2plz::iconbutterfly3plz::iconbutterfly4plz::iconbutterfly5plz::iconbutterfly1plz::iconbutterfly2plz::iconbutterfly3plz::iconbutterfly4plz::iconbutterfly5plz:

Stuff I do around dA:

:bulletred: I am the Founder ofDailyLitRecognition / LitRecognition. I'm responsible for Monday's article specifically, as well overseeing the various group functions and special events, and managing a team of 30+ people.

:bulletorange: Suggest DLR's every week, either directly or through the other admins. Please, by all means send me your literature suggestions! See below for guidelines.

:bulletyellow: Maintaining TheTitlePage.

:bulletgreen: Creating and selling bookmarks; feel free to request one!

:bulletblue: Suggest DD's on occasion, when I run across something particularly good :D

:bulletpurple: Weekly journals with lit. news and features :la:

:iconbutterfly1plz::iconbutterfly2plz::iconbutterfly3plz::iconbutterfly4plz::iconbutterfly5plz::iconbutterfly1plz::iconbutterfly2plz::iconbutterfly3plz::iconbutterfly4plz::iconbutterfly5plz:

Make a Difference 5 by 3wyl Night Owl Stamp + PLZ by Mirz123 Write. -stamp by Rivana Autumn Stamp. by PhysicalMagic Starry Stamp by Mel-Rosey Thank You For The... Stamp by Mirz123 Listening to the Rain by savagebinn I Like Watching Clouds by PhysicalMagic Royal Air Mail Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Tea and Book Days Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Typing Stamp by In-The-Machine DD Stamp by Drake1 Hot Chocolate Stamp by Kezzi-Rose Grow.. by PhysicalMagic Being Nice Makes Me Happy Stmp by Mirz123
Interests

Autumn is Coming

Tue Aug 25, 2015, 1:04 PM



Fire Update



It is believed that the fire of last week was due to some sort of electrical issue - they believe an outlet got overloaded or something. Corporate has been giving my dad the royal treatment; he's hardly paid for any of his meals since the fire :XD: He was at a different store where a bunch of bigwigs were due to show up, including the VP of Sales - the only person higher than that is the CEO.

One of the bosses took him aside to tell him to go home and get some rest, and followed up by telling him to book a room at the Arlington with mom, and find the most expensive steak, all on the company's dime. Dad asked if it could wait until Labor Day weekend, but I wonder if they're afraid he's going to leave or something :lol:

Personal



I'm employed again, though it's only temporary. I'm organizing some medical files for an assisted living facility. It's not difficult, but it is tedious. Yesterday was my first day; I got there this morning and discovered they were undergoing an audit for the next two days, and I wouldn't be needed until Thursday. Waste of time dealing with all that traffic, but they're paying me for half a day, so whatevs.

Yesterday turned out to be quite eventful as I found myself with another DD: Disaster films are more honest than you realize. I'm flattered, even if I don't think the piece especially deserves the honor :XD: I didn't really work on it all that much or anything, beyond a bit of dusting when I posted it.

I wish I could have described the uncanniness of things better, but there's really no comparison unless you've been in a situation like it yourself.  The bizarre behavior of the sky, the simultaneous moment of clarity, the slowdown; going through something like this is actually a surprising gift for a writer.

In other news, it feels like summer is finally cooling off - I went outside this morning and it was chilly :love:

Features



Denim Devil (Twitbit 2)modern day narrative:
the devil calls you "soulmate"
and hits where the bruises don't show
imaginary letters to hollow bonesto the quietest one,
i long to use my flesh and bone to advantage beneath the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting, to show off angles that should not exist but do.
i yearn to feel the touch of a hand as if it were the weight of the world upon my waist instead of a soft, rounded palm.
i desire the skin of my shoulders to split and for wings to unfurl from their hidden cavities so that i may fly as if i were a bird.
these are the thoughts that will echo within my conscious on my twenty-second birthday, when the cake is moist and my mouth waters with the delight of it.
these are the ideas that will hollow my bones and fill them with air in preparation for my maiden flight.
and i tell you this, youngest of young selves: you must not allow it. stamp out these snake-like thoughts when you are still shy of your tenth birthday, before they begin to matter. let them spill into the ocean from the sink in our bathroom long before they begin to poison us both, before they can strip the fat flesh
Lonely CreaturesThere was a mermaid in my pond. She floated there, eyes closed, her head above the water. I saw the green tail under the lily pads and ripples.
“Drown with me,” she said. She looked at me and smiled. Perhaps it was a joke.
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“The spirits of the drowned are reborn into the sea. It’s a good death in that way.”
I kneeled by the pond and she flicked water onto me, making me laugh.
“I like the sea, but I’m too scared to die.”
“You won’t be scared. I’ll be holding you.”
She held onto my arm. I saw the shape of her muscles under her skin. It would have been easy to pull me under. She waited for my consent.
“Why do you want me to come?”
“You have no family. I want a child. If you drown in my arms, you can be reborn as mine.”
We were lonely creatures.
And I didn’t want to die alone.
She pulled me into the pond and we sank while in each other’s arm

there aren't anymore saturdays.it's funny that you thought you could
tear me apart
but weeks passed with your nails against my soul
tell me when did you realize that i'm nothing
and there's nothing inside my skin
no feelings for you to tear
and all you did was hurt your hands and
tangle your hair.
i wish i could laugh.
girls that photosynthesizeI.
i asked my mother to buy me sweetener,
and she said "no," and she said "no,
sugar is better for you it's more natural"
so i shrug and i clamp my teeth over 
my tongue and sew my mouth closed
and i steal sweet n' low
from the pizza place
II.
my friends watch me pick at my lettuce,
a rabbit-food-lunch that makes me sick
to my stomach, and when i run to the
bathroom during science class they
follow me and ask what i ate for breakfast.
i say "waffles" because they can't know
i won't let them stop me
III.
my therapist asks me if i think i'm sick
and i'm not, i'm strong, but i can't be
not here not here, and the $$$$$$$$
are ticking away as i consider my answer
so i say "yes" and she asks me what
i will become and i say "better"
because that's all they want to hear
IV.
my dietitian sets up a rough meal plan
and she says i won't gain weight on it
somehow i trust this woman with art
on the walls of her office and i pick
through the day in corn-kernel bites,
Afternoons     You drink,
Like you’re trying to
forget something.
Like each cup of regret you
force down your throat will
somehow poison an unsettling sadness,
looking to settle within you.
As if it would kill the sickness residing inside you.
Climbing from limb to limb resting in anything
that mimics love.
A new undesirable anguish invested in glassy,
bloodshot eyes, once filled with fist fulls of hope.
         You drink,
Confusing a thirsty heart,
Corrupting a wondrous mind.
       Cheers.



Coding by SimplySilent

Poetry Contest Possibilities: 

37%
14 deviants said On being an adult
32%
12 deviants said Color poems
24%
9 deviants said Rainy days
5%
2 deviants said Senescence
3%
1 deviant said Better ideas go to the comments.

Donate

SilverInkblot has started a donation pool!
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I run contests and projects, both here and with other groups; I like to keep a healthy pool of points for donations :D

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Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconmirage222:
Mirage222 Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the llama :) send you back :)
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you :D
Reply
:iconpyromaniac9616:
Pyromaniac9616 Featured By Owner 5 days ago  New Deviant Hobbyist General Artist
Sorry I didn't write this in my reply but thank you for the llama, greatly appreciated. 
llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan llama cancan 
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:iconsilverinkblot:
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Anytime :)
Reply
:iconwakefielddesigns:
WakefieldDesigns Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Professional Interface Designer
:hug:
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
:)
Reply
:iconbansheebomb:
bansheebomb Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the llama!
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Anytime :)
Reply
:iconzippip:
zippip Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2015
Thank you for adding my poem to your collection!
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
Reply
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