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About Deviant R. A. Fairchild42/Female/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
my spinal cord
I both fear and anticipate the day
when I finally come back to earth
and I and my suitcases smell just like you.
They told us falling in love is ethereal and sweet
but I promise these are lies;
falling in love creates the brightest of fires in the darkness we fear.
This fire is prone to flickering on and off
burns you if you venture too close
but you will eventually wither if you don't stay near.
It lights your pathways with daydreamy burning
but casts strange shadows on what you once knew
causing you to let the flames lick you just so you feel something.
You are all angled bones and roped sinew
and I am all stocky and short and a little too curvy
and that's just fine with me.
It is impossible to create bodies out of words
or intimacy with just nervous sex
and spacelessness with spaces.
The closest thing I have to touch
is the wind running her fingers through my hair
and my cat lying still and warm beside me.
I both fear and anticipate the day
when I finally look beside me
and we have
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Literature
fall
I made a tower so lofty and tall for myself
built out of all the accomplishments and sweet words bestowed upon me
and then I sat there, unsure of if I should climb higher or stop while I'm ahead.
I am now standing on the edge of a dark precipice,
all the snarling, twisting darknesses at the bottom
threatening to tear me back into their grasp.
I have fought them before and I have won
but it took my wrists and sensitivity with the blue ribbon.
Can you hear me, screaming for anyone to offer a shoulder?
We are both facing demons of unspeakable horror, my dear
yours behind and mine ahead.
Remember those glory days of diamond confidence?
Do you remember what it felt like to look high and proud
instead of burying myself inside of cybernetics
old pages full of confused words
and vague nonsense about nothing relevant?
Oh, oh, do you remember what it was like, sweetheart
when I didn't speak with this confused emptiness
when glow and dazzle were my middle and maiden names?
He loves me because I a
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Literature
Puzzle
We are puzzles, and we are each aching to solve each other.
Between us, there are technicoloured Lego pieces from older models and older times
there are bits of twine which were once guitars and our best friend bracelets and heart strings
there are pieces of paper which once folded into one another as perfectly as we do each other.
Between us, there are jigsaw pieces from Sunday school boredom and rainy afternoons
there are nails and screws nestled in the splinters of projects you once completed with your brothers
there are the glistening shards of a broken bottle I once threw into a mirror because I thought I could not be ever put together.
Between us, there are the frays of emotions we have worried on because we care too much
there is the empty space of our words which we try to use to express what cannot be expressed
there are the too-quickly ended kisses and the too-slow to start gazes which are crystal in our memories.
Between us, there are unfinished novels, thoughts, ideas, word
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Literature
lovers in the sukkah
I have a special talent for bringing things back to life.
He's a bit like a campfire in a way. He burns deep and hot and confuses fireflies and draws in stragglers who like a pretty sight. Feed him, and he'll burn brilliant hot and wane back down to a slow devouring.
'I won't let you fall,' the little boy smiled, holding onto the hem of my shirt as I swung wildly and clung to the tire swing.
I inevitably did fall, but it's the thought that counts, his little fingers digging into the cloth.
The sky twisted, black velvet courting midnight.
The sun and wind play with my hair while an old sailor's rope digs his arms into my hips and bruises unapologetically.
I never know when to say no to you.
Every time I see you, it is by mere miracle. I do not know if my god approves, or just plays tricks with my heart for Job's amusement.
Fire breaks the bones of the earth just as fast as it breaks my heart.
We have started breaking so many traditions and so many customs that we have had to reinvent th
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Literature
a little faster
what's it like to breathe soft and slow, guilt-free and beside yours?
how does it feel to run till your knees burst and your shins sever and your bones crush?
where are you in your puritanical slitherings, all twine and brown and tender things?
when do yours and I's silhouettes brush at the mouths?
why do all the pretty little insects of summertime hurt like I do in the barest sensibilities?
what are you, all jagged wingblades, honeyed summer hair, and snowflake eyes?
how am I to spin a cocoon when the carmines all conspired to eat straight to the juice?
where do we go when we've gone everywhere, the purgatory of traveling?
when will my teeth stop spitting out these foul little questions for my fowl little friends?
why do I love you still?
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Literature
what is essential
Empty thatches of wheat beating back against the wind --
that is what reminds me of you.
I am one of St. Christopher's lovers – stepping quicksilver all 'cross the globe
but I am not a faithful girl
for  all I really want is for someone to sit in a field with me, at four o'clock each noonday
calling on me, beckoning with spicy apples and bitter herbs.
Even the strangest of nightmares doesn't scare
but reality in all her tender fragility, terrifies every lingering sentiment of myself.
'Let me make this simple – do you like me still?'
I have the worst sort of burning habit about breaking down everything
and leaving the pieces in a pretty sort of disarray on battlegrounds
cutting fingertips in order to stay awake – to what end?
Technology is a cheap imitation of human intimacy
but what happens when we become the faux mirror images ourselves?
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Literature
Retrospection
Eat my heart like they ate the king's heart,
skewer it on a piece of river cane and nibble at it like the burnt crust of a marshmallow.
Once upon a time the princess sat on quicksilver waterfalls
and told  herself she didn't believe in princesses, therefore she should die.
He slid the vermilion pepper into her wide mouth and told her to shut her teeth
the burning echoed in every cavity of her chickadee body.
Overdue library books gather dust on the desk, listless with the empty promises
of love and sunshine she once imparted on their dry pages.
The slivers of tiger lily fish squirm in the dwindling water
and she promises to add more every day and it grows less and less each night.
Barely started, unfinished diaries sleep on the shelves of a stained bookshelf
along with childhood toys of names long forgotten and misremembered.
The princess was never bothered enough to buy a torchlight so she fetched a lantern
from some dusty store on the street with a little dust-girl and dust
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Literature
Bells on my wrist
He pointed lazily at the ceiling while we laid under a sheet of faux snow
we took a picture out of exhaustion and while I stared at it to avoid staring at you
I've memorized the hole-pecked tiles and the ceiling fan
and the warmth of your twitching hand in mine
which blindly squeezes when you forget your dreams.
Like wolves under observation we curled lazily in the see-through glass room
head on my lap, my hands in yours
rubbing away temptations and fears and breaths and doubts
and struggling to memorize every little nuance of you
when memorizing Juliet's cries were far easier for me.
She doesn't understand we hadn't the time for modesty or resistance in those days
I thought this as you asked me if I wanted to stand and I said no
because what use was standing when your touch is a baseball bat to the knees
and we were doing something far more dangerous then fighting with knives
we were having our first kiss all coiled on a leather couch in a lazy summer rain.
A rash flushed full-bloom a
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Literature
ignition pulse
And you took a wooden match and struck it across the lines of the space between us
how it sparked, how it roared alive
the dizzy little fuse wire I ran about ourselves without a care began to alight
little flames raced across the streaks of gasoline we thought were tears
and then our hearts were on fire
and I let out a breath of darkened flesh-smoke
only to realize we set the whole world on fire, baby, we set the whole damn world positively aflame.
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Literature
i don't know
One of these days I am going to wake up and hate you
and see how long I can bear to go without
and today is one of those days.
I used to know it all
back when you wanted to set the world on fire.
Isn't change such a pretty way of dying?
I beat out a tempo on your taunt belly
and we considered each other
my heart thrumming with a sweet kind of fear.
You covered my arms, all black and blue with love
and I gave my fair share back with vivid red streaks
but I kissed you so soft on the neck before you left for good.
The times where we said nothing but touch
are the moments my heart falters at
because words can't express quite how flesh can.
It was dark, and our foreheads touching, we stared at each other
deadlocked magnetism
your pulse screaming in my lips.
After a chaste goodbye kiss, you were gone for good
and I was still here
staring at the ether in all the quiet I'd never realized I had.
One of these days you're going to wake up and love me
and swear to never go a moment without
and tod
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Literature
Burlesqueian love affair
The fireflies don't know what to do with me anymore
while summer peaks, her breath scorching.
I stare into the ripping clouds for a few dozen hours
and wonder what the devil he could be thinking.
Smooth legs, soft lips, curly purr, mesmerizing eyes
superficial knick-knacks I keep on my shelf for just the right occasion.
Calm talk, wicked smile, supple limbs, water-color gaze
just a few of the things he can't seem to take out of his daily attire.
You change temperaments like the birds change direction
and I burn deep and hot like only magma can.
Scream, deep freeze, then back into the balm again
but I'm just the sweetest little drizzle on your skin.
Four hundred miles don't do a thing to help us
but boy, I fear what four centimeters could damn us into doing.
And when four millimeters just aren't enough and we reach negative
that's just pretty much when we'll pray again.
The cicadas don't know what to do with you anymore
while the burning fades, her breath fading.
You stare into the cott
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Literature
Looking in
how do we forgive
what has not been done?
a spider creeping into the panel
henna spiral'd 'cross her hands
while she cried 'what have I become' in yellowed letters
I want your hands digging into my thighs
antiques are a pretty thing that fetch a pretty penny
I cannot wait till I become a pretty thing
burning lace stretched to choke
her love is a strong, thick thing she thought he knew
but he so oft acts like it's a disgusting corpse
hiding in the raspberries, her lungs are butterflies
he didn't think she heard every gasp of his crying
and she did, so synchronized with her own
dazzling gold dancing across the umber sky
he loves her and calls her pretty, but with a brother's affections
and this is nice and all, but she's starving for a paramour
she'll dance a ballet till she freezes
how do we forget
what has not been done?
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Literature
Dear Wally
A moment of brief applause of the girl who stares with frost-glazed eyes at an orphan's death
and weeps like a grieving mother for a week old kitten's faded glimmer.
Sugar-coated lacing cross'd betwixt his fingers as strands of hair parted
gray and fading, she cut them from her like the left-overs of a plague.
The monks say long-suffering will create a newborn man
yet I wonder, staring through the glass, what it will carve out of me.
A freckle on the left eye, a misaimed dart of russett
yet on the cheek, a mark of exquisite beauty.
The peacemakers asked how much she gave to him on an hourly basis
and he lied through his half-wired jaw, but she didn't bother to correct him.
The frightening, ever-blooming belief that I am truly not alone in this world
makes me wish that I was deserted – to depend on a breath is more terrifying than none at all.
When she thought of the beauty's eyes, she thinks of mangoes
and when she thinks of the blood boiling in her dark skin, she thinks of rum.
H
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Literature
Tyr's sky
'I'm scared,' he told me while a storm waged war on his front porch
but he did not fear the storm – no, he feared me
me and my careless freedom he couldn't understand
but in all honesty, to an extent I fear it as well.
With words too kind for this hour of nightfall
sinuosity calls claim to any logic, purloining it into idle tops
for little girls pounding down the hall in military uniforms.
The damnedest thing is that you know precisely
what your disarmament will do to a sick fool like me.
You poisoned the apple I pressed to my lips by moonlight
slipping into my heart and into the lily-white blanket I slid into.
I popped scarlet geranium blooms from their bodies
as a girl of the most virginal sort collected them into bouquets with soft pity
settling them into vases as she ooh'd and aww'd at simple beauty.
Not even a book around my neck of eternal wisdom keeps me from making human mistakes –
I learned this too harshly as I crumpled in a stairwell, knees dirty and broken
yet no
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Literature
Wench
I am no musician
but my heart is consumed by hazing melodies to you.
I'll blink my heartfelt tempo into the indigo sky
and I'll climb into an iris while I wait for you.
The mess will rise and fall with your gentle breathing
as we cling to the reciever, nine hours of constant vocalization between us.
Carmine lips were demure as they performed an angel's mathematics
mine own bit deep till sangria stained the core once more.
You are my captain
and I am your firefly.
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Literature
The experiment of dolls.
Logic dictates there is no justifiable answer as to why you cause this heart to feel aligned
but I know it is because yours is too
four hundred and thirty miles too far.
We want to slide off clothes like the snakes do
twisting ivy vines of fearful beauty
blinking lazily at me in my disillusioned dreaming
and how we want to take unforeseen advantage
overpower one another as much as we want to love one another.
She would tell me this is not healthy at all
but how can she talk, plucking ruby wet flowers off of the plants
her own lover once fondled?
I always choose dare
but my knuckles doubt my philosophy as they bleed between the rivets of skin.
Perhaps the subtleties of exoskeleton to exoskeleton contact
are far too tempting for any starving girl to resist
and Aqua had a point after all.
[Hearing you speak those three
small words together in a coherence
as you referenced to my persona
causes me to question my firm belief
that the lengthier the explanation
the better the emotion
because h
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Activity


deviantID

GreenRain22
R. A. Fairchild
United States
Current Residence: Kentucky
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium
Print preference: Legible
Favourite genre of music: All.
Favourite photographer: Swen Halverson.
Favourite style of art: Anything.
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: iPhone
Wallpaper of choice: Anything amazing.
Skin of choice: Not the one on me.
Favourite cartoon character: Malchior
Personal Quote: Varies from day to day.
Interests

Oh, DeviantART.

Journal Entry: Tue Jun 15, 2010, 8:41 PM
How I love thee. :heart:
Free journal skins for all. :D
So like, I know I haven't published much poetry lately, but I have been writing. Prolly will publish a good chunk when I get back from vacation -- June 24/25th -ish. :]
Must be goin', darlin'.
- Fairchild

  • Listening to: Monster - Lady Gaga
  • Reading: Eragon (for the billionth time) - Paolini
  • Watching: Iron Man 2
  • Playing: Final Fantasy XIII
  • Eating: Ginger snaps
  • Drinking: Blood of babies. :3

Comments


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:iconrelic-angel:
Relic-Angel Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday~! :heart: 
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:iconkaypikefashion:
KayPikeFashion Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2012  Professional Artist
:iconbowbunny1plz::iconbowbunny2plz::iconbowbunny3plz:
:iconbowbunny4plz::iconbowbunny5plz::iconbowbunny6plz:
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:iconestallidos:
estallidos Featured By Owner Jan 21, 2012   Writer
thanks for the favorite!
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:icongreenrain22:
GreenRain22 Featured By Owner Jan 21, 2012
Thanks for the beauty.
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:iconyancis:
Yancis Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
Tnx hun for the fav & may the LOVE be with ya! :)
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:icongreenrain22:
GreenRain22 Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2011
No problem darling!
Reply
:iconyancis:
Yancis Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
Very:tighthug:!!! :)
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:iconinabsentia:
InAbsentia Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
:tighthug: And thank you again!
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:iconinabsentia:
InAbsentia Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
:hug: Thank you thank you!
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:icongreenrain22:
GreenRain22 Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2011
No problem! :heart: You have fantastic artwork.
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