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About Varied / Hobbyist MadeleineFemale/United States Group :iconbeyrp: BeyRP
 
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Literature
All's fair in pasta and war
Max was thoroughly obsessed with pasta.
Every day, he ate pasta salad for lunch. He brought it to his day job in a little plastic container, rigatone or perhaps radiatore interspersed with green peas and tomatoes, never overcooked or undercooked. After two years of packing the same thing for lunch, Max had perfected the art of al dente.
Sometimes he made mac and cheese for dinner. Sometimes he ate the leftovers on toast for breakfast. Some nights it was spaghetti, other nights lasagna. He had a very nice mural made entirely of dry pasta, which he had pilfered from the art room at his niece's kindergarten.
No wonder he was still single! But Max didn't mind. He had noodles and a deluxe cable package. It was all good as far as he concerned. Until the day the world ended.
Now, when it seems that the world around you is breaking apart, what do you reach for? Mothers reach for their children. Couples reach for their other half. You reach out for what's important to you.
If you're a relativel
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Literature
Night Owls: Bonus Chapter
TO ACCESS BONUS CONTENT, scroll down to the description!
TO FIND OUT WHY NIGHT OWLS HAS BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG, click here!

****A well-put-together interview of all the characters from Night Owls, for clarity reasons, conducted by my cousin Al Dente****
[The sound of soft clicking can be heard as Al turns the camera on. He may or may not be wearing fake nails. Al's face in the camera is blindingly white because of the poor lighting and pasty like dough because of real life, and he squints as he adjusts the angle. Deep brown eyes peer at the camera. Al is eleven.]
Al: *muffled* Hello folks.
[The microphone adjusts as he removes his palm from the camera. Al can now be heard clearly.]
Al: *coughs loudly, his head ducking below the screen* sorry, sorry. Ok. I'm Al. Al Dente. I'm doing this interview of people for my cousin's story, because she will n
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Literature
time after time
There are late morning grey skies above me as I walk down the alley to the trash can.
Red plastic bag ties cut into my hands, humid air hitting my bare calves.
For a moment, I am bare feet in the leaves and the smell of fabric softener coming from the dryer vent,
and my thoughts turn to you as they always do in little moments like this,
when I'm not concerned with being something other than what I am.
I see your face so clearly, suddenly.
(Not in the sky, like in the Lion King or something. Just there, in my head, right past my temple.)
I catch flashes of warm eyes and the ghost of a laugh caught in your curly hair.
Not so long ago we went down this alley together, headed for the road and then nothing,
just that kind of aimless walk that's just like any other kind of aimless walk, except with someone else.
So when you're with me it's not so aimless because I feel more purpose when I'm with you.
It was colder then. My bare toes were swaddled in socks with stars on them and the worn canv
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Literature
a compassionate heart afraid to love
How do I tell you I miss you
without scaring you away?
How to hang on, without dragging you down?
I feel like an innocent siren,
looking for a friend,
playing with you and
tracing my rippling paths through the glimmering sea,
taking your hand and showing you how to follow,
until it's too deep, too deep -
and in the water your panic will not show,
and I won't look back because I trust you're still behind me,
until your fingers slip from mine and I turn to flash a smile
only to find you sinking down to where all the others went,
because I thought this time it would be different.
I thought this time you might be someone who wouldn't suffocate
under the weight of my care.
I trace my rippling paths for only me to follow.
I see their sparkling trails in this deep blue
and I wonder if there will ever be anyone who can follow me.
Anyone who can hold their breath.
Or perhaps next time I can remember to listen,
and catch the telltale signs that you're drowning,
and bring you back up to the surfa
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Literature
Surfacing
Something about you drew me,
like water forgotten in the depths of a well
suddenly brought out of stasis and up to the glimmering light,
with desperate hope and childish curiosity
clinging to the edge of the bucket.
(Even a year later you are still an imprecise blur of flannel and tie-dye,
forgetful and opinionated,
and a little too bright to look at. )
Every love song - they lied,
love at first sight is not
like a punch to the stomach or
an abrasive fishing line pulling your heart up
into your throat...
for me it was the calm of a gently swinging ocean
and roaring quiet pressing down upon my temples,
cutting through all the noise of doubt.
It was warmth swaddling me beneath the
cold, still surface of my deep well
and I stopped sending bubbles up to the surface because
I knew you would be down to get me soon.
So I surfaced.
I clung to the rope and let it burn my palms.
Patient and slow, it pulled me up and up
until I was in reach of your hands
and I let you help me up over the edge ont
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Literature
Catching Hands
Adolescent and unsure,
I took my first unsteady steps out into a
bustling and confusing world,
leaving the den of excuses that was my
warm and welcoming childhood -
no longer 'sheltered', as it were.
Everyone said I was ready.
Early on, I stumbled.
Honestly, I was expecting it.
Nobody takes off into life perfectly,
no matter what they would have others believe,
and on my way to the ground I fell against
a soft wall of fingers,
several pairs of hands holding me up -
following behind, ready to catch me.
From there I trotted on more certainly,
knowing that I was in good hands.
The road wound ever up and up.
Sometimes the air gets thin, and my lungs struggle.
Stars swim in front of my eyes,
panic blooming in a devastating garden.
The first time,
someone slapped a bumper sticker on my back
with the word 'ANXIETY' in big black letters.
I fell again,
and hands reached up to catch me.
"You can do it", they said.
"We know you can be strong."
I had the strength to seek out help.
But the clip-
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Literature
growing thing
You are
tall like a tree, open and reaching,
one whose trunk I can barely get my arms around,
and your bark warms me when I am gentle,
but when I fall hard against you,
you are rough, and you leave marks on me.
Sometimes I climb into your branches,
on the days when you are feeling strong enough to lift me.
High up in your boughs,
the wind threatens to pull me away from you.
When it is raining, I am battered.
But somehow, swaying up there among your
fragile, stitched-on leaves,
the risk seems worth the privilege of
breathing up there where the air is a little thinner,
and not clogged down with the exhales of a thousand
rushing people.
You never bore fruit.
People passed you and murmured,
'they should cut that tree down',
because their definition of 'useful' and 'worthwhile'
did not stretch far enough to encompass you.
Desperate to give something,
anything, to the world,
you mustered up as many blooms as you could,
though they were out of season and later than the rest.
Flowers are prett
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Literature
carnelian
I found you raging on a small patch of earth,
out of the way,
sunset hues and smooth heat,
something bright that somebody probably lost (or threw away,
so many people have tossed you aside already,
I wouldn't be surprised).
You were shiny, most definitely,
your slick surface worn, or polished if you prefer,
by a million forms of pressure,
touching and tossing -
a hundred unwanted hands pulling away your protective layers,
their questions poking and prodding where they were never welcome,
exposing you.
They had excuses, everyone does.
With your new, bright surface,
reflecting the light of the sun back a thousand times stronger,
and many times brighter,
they insisted that they had made you more beautiful.
But maybe the way you were before was what
you wanted to be.
I have found that there is a certain charm to rough and untamed surfaces,
pock marks and crevices hiding secrets worth waiting for,
easily lost when you strip them back -
potentially pure truth turns to
astringent shame in a m
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Literature
Please don't call me a feminist.
Time to start a fight.
Let’s talk about feminism, and why I don’t associate with it.
Okay. One of feminism’s main blurbs nowadays is that feminism is not about being ABOVE men - this is MISANDRY. It’s about EQUALITY.
EQUALITY - I support it! I stand up for women who are being mistreated! I stand up for women who are being catcalled! I comfort my fellow females when they are sad! THEN WHY, you say, DO I REFUSE TO BE CALLED A FEMINIST?
I have two main reasons here.
1. If feminism is equality, why not just call it equality? If you stand up for equality do you stand up for men as well? Do you stand up for men when they are told ‘men can’t be raped’? Do you stand up for softhearted guys when they’re told ‘stop being a baby’ after being bullied? Do you stand up for pudgy guys when they’re called gay for not being buff and ‘masculine’ like all the other SWBs? I stand up for men as well as women. The Latin root
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Literature
Let's talk labels
Two labels, specifically: Extrovert and introvert.
I'm sure they're words you've heard! People generally fall into one category or the other. Why am I here writing about introversion and extroversion? Because I feel that both of these things are important parts of us and those around us. If we are to understand ourselves and each other, those two little words might help us take it a step further.
Let's start with standard, cliche definitions of these two words. These may be the two definitions you hold unconsciously in your mind.
INTROVERT - Shy and antisocial! Probably hates the world! An emo who likes to sit in their room and listen to sad music all day, never making contact with people outside of their personal bubble! Anxiety attacks!
EXTROVERT - Annoying! Constantly hanging around! Absolutely has to know everything about everyone! Always in your business! A little too much sunshine for one person!
So, these are our labels. Before we get down to my main metaphors etc.
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Literature
planting daisies
She runs across the hardwood floor,
she leaves her shoes behind,
and alone they lie like everything else - 
lost and empty without her.
She brings a light to this rain that
he has never found before.
All the other lights he has found were fleeting - 
and although her light has been a long time coming,
a long time is ahead of them still.
She does things slowly:
She learns slowly,
she breathes slowly,
she wakes slowly,
she blossoms slowly.
She does things fast:
She drinks her coffee fast,
she talks fast,
she forgives fast,
she is held fast in 
his heart, a living photograph,
a memory he will never forsake.
It is always raining out.
Sometimes she goes out into the rain,
she leaves her shoes behind, lost and empty,
and her toes will curl in the mud 
like sleeping field mice.
She peels the earth back 
and in its hesitant heart
she spreads the seeds of a hundred daisies.
"With the rain, they'll be sure to grow", 
she tells him,
big eyes shining like newly minted
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Literature
love letter
love,
teach me to build my embraces
like a cairn,
strong and steady stone and
built-up balance.
teach me to walk
in the steps of a child,
slow and clumsy,
laughing when i fall and
learning when i stumble.
teach me to never miss a single moment.
teach me to miss everything like i miss him.
love,
lift me high above the waters
of this dizzying place,
bring me back to solid ground
where i was before you began 
but still with you.
sink me deep in the earth and
teach me the true meaning of the word
'grounded'.
bring me to him safe and sound.
stay with me even if he goes.
love,
light my life,
lead me out of this great darkness
that was my own uncertainty.
create in me a new hope,
a newborn sleepy thing
that grows and grows
until it overtakes me.
be my sun.
be my stars.
be me.
love,
remind me day by day
that i can find you wherever i am.
that you do not choose our soulmates but
that we choose them and you find us,
every time.
remind me that you are not
only in the one i fall asleep next t
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saving you by chika365 saving you :iconchika365:chika365 2 0
Literature
Late Bloomer
I was a seed,
deep in the ground and suppressed.
Restful and waiting,
the hollow embracing earth taught me patience,
and I stayed silent as the seasons changed above me,
news of their passing brought only
by the wayward earthworms.
One day dawned upon me with a rousing bliss.
The sun's rays penetrated deep to where I lay, 
I felt the warmth on my cheeks for the first time,
and knew that the time was right for me to break
out of my shell. 
The underground stretched all around me from east to west to south to north
and up and down - 
I realized for the first time that it was
a wide, wide world.
I took a deep breath and sent out my roots.
I was afraid that the soil would crumble out from under me,
but it held me firm as it always had,
as if berating me that I was wrong to doubt,
and I found myself solidly grounded.
Stretching out as if to reach clean through the earth
into outer space,
I let my roots unfurl,
until I found I could go no further.
There was nowhere to go but u
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Literature
Night Owls: Chapter Two: Enter Seri, Stage Left
Madeleine was home alone when the door opened. Internet memes always focused on the knock, the ring of the doorbell, the terrified adolescent inside. But what did one do when the door simply opened? She had been bored anyway, she reasoned, and stuck her head around the threshold of the stairs. 
A girl stood in the doorway, illuminated by the dusky light, her big eyes looking haunted behind ridiculously large glasses. Seri Angelique, the girl from across the street who refused to tell anyone her age. Madeleine had always expected she was somewhere between 16 and infinity.
"You have to help me", Seri blurted by way of greeting, glaring waveringly at Madeleine. Between her superior height and the (fake?) Jedi robes swirling around her, she could be rather intimidating. 
"I've always found your last name to be quite ironic", Madeleine answered. "Just how did you get in here?"
"Here. Watch closely", Seri said gravely. "Come on." She beckoned insistently until Madeleine foll
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Literature
Peter, the Snails, and Tomatoes
I wrote this story for my best friend Luke. 
****************************************************
Once there was a dog.
The Dog's name was Peter Szcheringer Fluffernutter.
It was a very special dog because it could speak to snails and it had like a tiny snail army at its beck and call.
The most special of these snails was named Williams Sonoma and he was Peter's henchman. He would perch up by the dog's ear and whisper things. A lot of times they were like random inside jokes and stuff but other times they were rumours to get other snails kicked out of the army because Williams Sonoma was very controlling and jealous.
(Peter Fluffernutter had no idea because he was kinda naive and so whenever Williams Sonoma would cast his loathsome trickery Peter would just kind of look the other way.)
Well one day the rest of the snail army decided they were pretty much done with Williams Sonoma because he had stolen a Cinnabon cinnamon roll away from the snails' rations and eaten it all for hims
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Madeleine
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
yo i write stuff.


********

More about me:

Likes: sugar, caffeine, cozy clothes, swinging on the swings, the BFF, jumping on the bed, my bratty dog, basically any animal you can think of, sleeping, blanket forts, drawing, making up stories in my head, making people laugh, reading complicated things, psychology

Dislikes: bullies, most cooked vegetables, when people are sad, socialising in large groups, sarcasm

Beliefs: I'm very conservative and I'm sure a lot of my political and moral beliefs would offend a lot of people. If something bothers you, please quietly leave my page and turn your attention elsewhere. Remember your beliefs probably offend someone too. Please be respectful of conservatives just as we are expected to be respectful of liberals. Thank you.
Interests
Where was I?!

Where was Night Owls?

Where was anything, really, on this account?

Things just trickled to a stop after the second installment. We here at the Night Owls headquarters (me) were really excited to get started but we just couldn't find a rhythm after that. I have like two or three chapters in process that all tapered off into the nothingness of February.

Ah, February. Honestly it's time I talked about it to someone, anyone. I told Gala a small bit of it and maybe a bit also to Luke and Seri but nobody knows the whole. February was bad, bad. Sheep-bleating baaaad. Depression hit an all time low. I don't remember a whole lot about February, which is pretty much how it goes. I remember a couple things:
-college pamphlets on the table and on the counter and on the floor of my bedroom
-a lot of questions running through my mind on sleepless nights
-crying in the bathroom with the water running
-crying in the shower
-crying on the floor
-crying on my bed
-crying, just a lot of crying
-a lot of questions
-confusion
-nothingness
-Seri sending cheesy valentines on Hangouts
-being by myself most of the month
-starting track
-questions, so many, with nothing for their answers
-alternatively nothing with the only question being why there wasn't something and then that question left and everything was just blank
So yeah, a lot happened, and a lot of nothing happened. I don't remember what I did during that time. Pretty sure it was school and a lot of book reading but I don't remember what books, as well as a good deal of staring at the ceiling, both during the day and at night. There was a small period of existential crisis when I thought about college and not-college and what-if and when. There was another period after figuring all that out that was just nothing, just lonesome and sadness and blankness. That part was scary because I don't remember much about it and that's always hard to surface from.

So March was me surfacing. Slowly I had a series of better days. As an overcompensating rebound, my anxiety took over for a little, not nearly as bad as it has been in the past, but still there. It was kind of relieving to feel that, at least. Part of that anxiety was waking up feeling groggy, or becoming sad over something, and then being worried that I was going to spiral again. It's been one crazy ride to here, the middle of April, but sometime in March things evened out and I'm doing ok now.

Winter always gets me. It was similar last year but not as bad.

So yeah, that's the lengthy, TMI truth about where I went for a couple months. For the first few of my absence (November? December? January...), it was just me adjusting to some changes and being pretty busy. Then February. Then March. And now it seems I'm back again, for the time being, and I hope to stay for awhile :)

Note: I usually get a lot of supporting messages on these journals about tough times and I want you all to know I really appreciate them. You always tell me I can talk to you if need be. Thank you so much for leaving that avenue open. While it's often hard for me to talk about these things to people WHILE they're actually happening (because my brain is a big dork), I really love that you all support me and endure these long absences and are always there waiting when I return.

Love, so much love,
Madeleine
  • Listening to: Happy Together
  • Reading: nothing
  • Watching: nothing
  • Playing: idk
  • Eating: Nothing
  • Drinking: DRINKING IS A SIN

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Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconsoulcaliber345:
soulcaliber345 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2016
It's been a long time!
Reply
:iconchika365:
chika365 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
OMGN! It has! How are ya?
Reply
:iconsoulcaliber345:
soulcaliber345 Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2016
Been busy, but good
Reply
:iconchika365:
chika365 Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Same! Are you looking forward to summer?
Reply
(1 Reply)
:icondamaimikaz:
DamaiMikaz Featured By Owner Oct 8, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Tnx for the fav :la:
Reply
:iconbronypowasnivyluver:
bronypowasnivyluver Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Casey says she misses you.
Reply
:iconchika365:
chika365 Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
I miss her too.
Reply
:iconbronypowasnivyluver:
bronypowasnivyluver Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Casey says you're a nerd for worrying so much about me and that you should hAKUNA YOUR TATAS because I'm a-okay.
Reply
:iconchika365:
chika365 Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Lol will do x)
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconbronypowasnivyluver:
bronypowasnivyluver Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
YOUUUUUUU'RE SUUUUUUCH A NEERRRRRRDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD--

Casey says hi.
Reply
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