Weekend Journal Feature

*Plus bonus Featured Artist!

I've stated this before - but if anyone would like to nominate a specific person for a feature in my weekly art journals, please leave a comment or send me a note. It can be anyone, whether you think an artists deserves more views, support, or just plain ol' love for his or her art.

Special Artist Feature: ackapella :


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<da:thumb id="517364815"/> <da:thumb id="519676888"/> <da:thumb id="519518863"/>
<da:thumb id="520051308"/> <da:thumb id="519827159"/> <da:thumb id="525843622"/>
<da:thumb id="525521036"/> <da:thumb id="521871277"/> <da:thumb id="540305110"/>
<da:thumb id="533806903"/> <da:thumb id="535671080"/> <da:thumb id="541668958"/>
<da:thumb id="547425360"/> <da:thumb id="548016719"/> <da:thumb id="553554273"/>
<da:thumb id="554733552"/> <da:thumb id="556088794"/> <da:thumb id="556111794"/>
<da:thumb id="555162100"/> <da:thumb id="555162182"/> <da:thumb id="554976725"/>


And, without further ado, inspiring and amazing works of art:

<da:thumb id="551671736"/>

   





 



 

viii. habitualyou’re afraid of the dark
and i can’t sleep with the closet door open
you eat cereal without milk
i love tomatoes, hate ketchup
it’s funny how unromantic
a bullet point list of traits is
when you spill them off to someone else.
you remember being the bitter single
while vomiting the details of being two
to the one
and it feels strange.
but here’s the selfish part:
i never want to lose that joy,
i sum it up only as loving someone
for their truths, until every stupid little fact
is a part of them
a part of the love you share.
we pay bills, we plan,
we stare at pregnancy tests
and don’t feel terrified.
i didn’t grow up with you
but it’s a privilege to be grown up with you
and no, i don’t think adulthood is mortgages and nurseries
i think it’s patience and pain
and trust bridging the space between the two
i’m stronger for you
and babe, you’re so much cooler
for me
i prop myself up with your kisses, stealing
at least one for FFM Day 29- What's Left BehindIn a dim parlor, the men sat in clusters, some chatting with ghosts, others staring mutely. Men muttered and cried, gritting teeth in agony- they reached for limbs that weren’t there anymore.
Someone slammed a door, distant, but cacophonous. Someone coughed, loud as a landslide. Charles flinched. His eyes flitted from body to body, looking for a distraction. The room was stifling, smelling of old blood and myriad maladies.
A boy across from Charles whispered to himself, eyes vacant, face cheerful. In a voice like bullets, sharp and quick, “I’m gonna drop it, I’m a coward, don’t let me drop it, just please take it away from me.”
Charles saw what the nurses and doctors couldn’t, but it never passed his lips. The sunlight spilled across the floor in gashes, rending the boards, blood swirling in the grain of the wood.
The men weren’t trapped in their heads; they were falling out of them. Their skulls were cracked open, many literally. They sw