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Hands of a MaidHer hands looked okay.
They weren't pretty,
But at least they weren't ugly.
She tried putting gloves on them,
But the fabric got stuck on the calluses.
She hoped no one would notice her hands.
The ballroom was so beautiful.
Everything seemed to twinkle.
She slowly began her descend down the steps.
She knew she was late,
But it didn't seem to matter.
She could make out her stepsisters.
In their gaudy outfits,
With oversized jewelry and enormous feathers.
She wondered what everyone else thought of them.
That's when she saw him.
He didn't where a crown,
But by his clothes you could tell he was the prince.
The one every girl was after.
And he was staring directly at her.
Who ever had been his partner was gone now,
Upset that the prince had lost interest.
She stepped down of the last step,
And was flocked with suitors.
It's funny what a clean face, a gorgeous dress and beautiful shoes could do.
Soon all the suitors backed off as the prince came up to her.
He offered his hand.
She slowly too
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More