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About Literature / Hobbyist curls-and-yellingFemale/United States Groups :icondepression-abyss: Depression-Abyss
into the Abyss.
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Literature
Cement Kids
Whinding through consonant symphonies
down the slumb'ring choices
in oscillating pavements,
dark with the rain of literary cacophony
And letting a mercantile pair of eyes
shoot a reserve of resplendence 
up the bulging blue road
in the inside crook of an elbow
The intermittent false breaths; lies
of a titular falsehood, breathing 
into a puerile pair of lips 
the stark contradiction that is truth.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 7 5
Literature
Dissonant: Abilities/Desires
I'm stumbling into that feeling 
that accompanies 
Chopin playing over my tinny speakers
for hours,
old water bottles half-finished
for days,
and feeling inadequate enough
to want to be better.
And trying to better myself?
And trying to be better for myself?
For you? For me?
And still I feel incomplete.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 6 4
Literature
Street Lamp Fires
Not midnight yet,
I'm playing in the street
to the beat of your apologies
still.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 5 2
Literature
You Get One Phone Call.
And you only want
to hear that
I'm okay.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 5 2
Sharing a Laugh :iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 7 11 A song :iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 2 2
Mature content
The Policy :iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 1 20
Literature
Alibi
Here I am at 1 am
again, crying, again
my tears splashing indigo
on that book I've read again and again
afraid of messing up makeup I don't need
because I'm really just going to bed again.
I'm waiting for something
new to start again,
because it seems no matter where I go,
I get stuck in the same place again and again.
Someone tell life it's getting old.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 5 3
Literature
Still Awake
You kept me up most of the night
but long after you've fallen asleep
I'm still awake, manic,
thinking of how amazing it sounds
when you laugh.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 9 5
Literature
Synesthesia
I love how the freshly minted morning air
tastes, streaming sunlight through my window,
the steel gray color of icy air on my skin,
the way the bird songs look floating through the air,
the Thames smiling down at me from its frame.
It seems you are the only thing I taste
with my mouth rather than my eyes,
and the only thing I miss
with my heart rather than my mind.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 5 4
Literature
Fraudulence.
I am no creator
I am masterful at the art of 
mimicry, ambling through the 
dictionary of my mind, sulkily 
pushing words off shelves.
I am not an artist
I'm best at tracing heavy lines
through transparent pages until
they show up, throwing contrast
onto the planes of my face.
I am not a poet
I am skilled at being conceited 
enough to think you care about 
this lack of rhyme, this lack of thought
that I spindle into stanzas.
I am not a charmer
I spend most of my time alone
making myself palatable, and this 
magnetism doesn't come naturally,
it took me years to make you like me.
I am no friend
I do what I can to take from you
and trick you into thinking I give back
with that well of passion in my dark eyes,
full of poison you'll keep drinking.
I figured since we don't talk anymore
that it might be time for these lying lips
to whisper the truth, and
though the words are lost in the wind,
maybe they'll catch you,
looking at that letter I wrote when I left
and
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 12 3
Literature
It Was Easy To Move On This Time
I fell in love with your
voice today, on the
phone at 1 am.
When we were talking
about nothing, about everything
you spoke to my mind, and broke my heart
I couldn't see it until today,
when I realized your voice
spoke to me, and not
the girl I pretended to be.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 8 3
Mature content
Just Friends :iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 5 5
Literature
Self-control
Where did I go?
I'm lost, and there's
a line painted down either
side of my mouth,
holding back my tongue,
my glass eyes staring,
unseeing, in different directions.
And my limbs don't seem to
move unless the string is
pulled; my body is immobile, and
there's a hand in my back,
hiding from view.
I'm staring up at the
puppet master's hands,
seeing only a copy of my own.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 3 2
Literature
Distance
I'm hiding in your shirt,
missing you,
listening to you ask me to
talk to you,
just to have you respond like you've forgotten me,
a stranger to you.
It seems the tables are turned,
with you
so ready to give up
and me, never so unprepared
to live without you.
We've been laying in silence
for fifteen minutes
and I've already forgotten
what your voice sounds like.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 8 2
Literature
Imperfection
You
how can I compete
with your magazine eyes
and your runway waist
and your tv smile
and your Hollywood guile?
Me
How can they see
past these insincere eyes
and my habitual waste
of meaningless smiles
and intelligence defiled?
I am but an irreversible sin
and as weakness tears me limb from limb
my own flaws are so much clearer
when I look at you than when I look in the mirror.
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling
:iconcurls-and-yelling:curls-and-yelling 6 5

Favourites

Summer-Wallpaper-v2 :iconideasplayer:Ideasplayer 55 32
Literature
windswept anna
I dream a whiskey slur
 and unlearn the tones of sadness
  through an hour and a glass
the stars shape themselves into longing
     nightscapes of light- flashing frenzy
   of colors, one of them bronze (and beautiful)
breeze floating through your skin, my god
  my god, oh
my god I'd love to touch you
  
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persist in hope
love knuckles blue
   and bruised; love broods
among meek starry murm-
 a drum chanting lungless
love answers, returns
  burns brighter a path to light
and from it, too
 where dark is darkest
love knows it will not always prevail,
     but
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Literature
Sleepy Eyed Girl
ivory bones within nebulous tones,
maundering breath,
with wandering drones,
pawning her off,
with the ruins of trones,
              where she lay,
                             as a clone,
                                         of herself.
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:icondid-i-hear-torture:Did-I-Hear-Torture 1 0
Old friends * Avatar * :iconprydley-studios:Prydley-Studios 3,030 192 Shego - Kim Possible :iconkinpatsu-cosplay:Kinpatsu-Cosplay 898 31
Literature
amaranthine, specious
say never, say always
the wet worm dives
through mud and wallow,
through unhappy sunday rains
and a starless black dome rises
up over our enchantments;
we collapse into ruins of lack-
luster imagination, thick backward bending bows
of refraction packing itself into frail, end-of-days architecture
the storm will tell us nothing,
the storm will tell us nothing,
the storm will tell us after everything is gone
we'll be an oblong little ditty dot
left in an altogether inconspicuous spot
along a majestic timeline
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:iconnawkaman:nawkaman 9 5
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Literature
liminal spaces
i saw a monochrome girl with red wine lips at the airport today
she was crying into her headphones
and i fell a little bit in love
i spent my yesterdays and loaned out my tomorrows
for the sound of your smile, you remind me
of babys breath with veins mapped across your skin a map
for me to trace you might not be my home but
you are the journey for which i pack my bag
i still miss you like a stitch in my side sometimes
i lost count of how many stitches i got from last loves but i know
theyve healed over and i no longer have
ugly black thread stark against fragile skin
you are too fast for me- she said let there be light, once,
i clapped my hands together clasped them, gasped
at the breathlessness you left me with
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Mature content
381 :iconviesturslinks:ViestursLinks 121 6

Activity


Real world problem: why is it that the acoustics of a public restroom are conveniently arranged to echo your personal urination across the Earth to stinkin Uzbekistan???
It irritates me.
Okay so I've been asked to explain my latest poem, Cement Kids (please read it if you haven't. It was hard work Wink/Razz )
I suppose there's been questioning as to whether or not I just threw together a bunch of big words in an effort to try to sound profound.
I guess there's always someone who'll think that.
But I know the poem doesn't make much sense if you just read it, unless you sit there trying to puzzle it out. I must admit that was a bit of my intention so here is my poet's remorse.

So I sent this email to one of my friends trying to explain the poem.
And now I know you're not supposed to explain your art or whatever, but I really want you guys to know what I think this poem means.
But also on the other hand know that I almost never am able to articulate everything that it actually does mean and that I often write my poems as a bit of a blank canvas on purpose so that the reader can project onto it despite the fact that I have written out my emotion candidly and purely. 

But I tried to explain it. (Kindly read the poem before you read on) So here:

"Whinding" is obviously misspelled. I wanted it to be a mournful thing. So "whining" and "winding" is blended here. "Consonant symphonies" is my way of saying words. Maybe lectures given by adults, maybe school, maybe conversations with friends. Words heard throughout lifetime, but not exactly remembered. Maybe they don't matter? Maybe they matter a lot. I don't know, that's up to the reader. 
So you're traveling through your life, looking at your choices. Slumbering because they're laid to rest. Things you've already done. Oscillating pavements are the roads ahead and maybe the roads behind. Differing pathways that you can choose and even the pathways aren't definite.
The dark rain of literary cacophony is pain. Lots of pain. Pain in choices, pain in words, pain in relationships, everything. Pain that is staining your past and your future, painting the pavements of those oscillating roads.

"Mercantile" is relating to commerce. Commercial. Eyes selling you something. But they're eyes; they're personal, right? Wrong. They just represent a cold corporate selling you something. But you let them. You fall for it. That reserve of resplendence: reserve is that it's saved up. Waiting for you. Resplendence is riches and glory, but maybe too much. Maybe a bit too gluttonous. Maybe you've fallen too far. The bulging blue road inside your elbow is your vein. The resplendence is going straight up your veins, into your bloodstream. Something that was good at first but now it's too much, too sweet, and it's taking you over. Are you addicted, or are you just lost in it? You don't know but it's taken you further than you want to go. 

Intermittent means something is constant but it stops and starts. Those are breaths. Nothing that is alive stops breathing for a long period of time. That's why they're false. It's something pretending to be alive, trying to convince you it's alive by breathing every so often. But it's not convincing. Is it you? Is it the world of resplendence you've gotten so used to? Is it someone you thought you loved and you thought might love you back? You don't know, but you know it's lying. The word "titular" means it has a title. It's large, grandiose, a big lie, something you know is a falsehood. Now you know at least. Maybe you didn't know before. Maybe you did and you pretended. But everything is different now. Because now reality has hit you. "Breathing into a puerile pair of lips" is supposed to be a kiss. But it's a kiss of death. Puerile means juvenile, innocent. But that kiss is showing the stark contradiction that is the truth. And now you realize it. And now the innocence is gone. And the poem is left off with that jarring sense that you've been lied to this whole time. The smack in the face from reality. The moment you wake up like you've been doused with cold water. 
And then you're left there to dry. And that's it. Good luck dealing with it. That's what you're left with.

So as a whole, the first stanza is kind of looking back at life and the choices you've made and maybe letting it be colored with regret. And looking forward at the choices you're going to make and maybe letting it be colored with fear.

Second stanza is falling prey to the world, to life, to love, getting swept up in it and never realizing where you're headed until you're lost. 

Third stanza is losing your innocence because of what has happened, and waking up to reality. I wanted to create that jarring sense at the end. Kind of like "now I know the truth, so now what?"
And there's no answer.

Oh and the title. "Cement Kids."
They're kids, we're kids. Like I pointed out that puerile pair of lips. Innocence, yes.
But it's lost now. We're stuck. Cement. 
But also, I associated Cement with cities. We're growing up on the streets, but the streets are in our mind. 
That's the best way I can logically explain it.

That's the poem. I hope I haven't ruined the artistry by explaining it.
I don't like that they took away literature tags
Hello, all!
This is a concept I've tried many times to explain to friends and foes but I have a hard time articulating it!
So why articulate when you can write?
I'm better at that anyway.

So GET READY TO LEARN. SIT ON YOUR DEVIANT BEHINDS AND PULL OUT A NOTEBOOK AND A PEN AND BUCKLE UP YOUR SEATBELTS CUZ WE BOUT TO GAIN SOME KNOWLEDGE (FROM A FLAWED AND POSSIBLY EXTREMELY BIASED BUT STILL KINDA VALID SOURCE)

(I made this term and its definition up. Just my way of explaining things.)
The Law of Proportionate Depreciation- the law stating that any adaptation of a particular work, regardless of the platform, will depreciate in value and quality in comparison to its original incarnation; and that each successive incarnation will depreciate proportionately in comparison to the preceding incarnation

So you know how people always say "the book was better"? This is a more fun and comprehensive explanation of that.
Let me explain and give examples! (Yay science!) (This is not science!)

Okay so I'll give good example(s) and bad example(s). Although this does happen to be a law that has an overall negative trendline, there are things that are affected by the law that are still good. Yes, a "depreciation in value and quality" does not imply the thing is bad. It implies it's just...not as good as the first. 

Let's start with the amazing Queen Rowling and her beautiful Harry Potter franchise. 
Oh, I love Harry Potter. Obviously. But I will say this:
the books were better than the movies.
Now I will try to explain why the law applies in the context of Harry Potter.
Why do many die-hard HP fans like the books better than the movies? Simply because the books have more. There are more nuances to characters and plots available, plotlines and story arcs and characters completely untouched in the movies, etc. The books are simply deeper and more complex, that's the gist. 
(Now there's also nerds like me who like to just analyze literature and fawn over Queen Rowling's writing and style, but that's beside the point.)
I will also say, however, that the Harry Potter movies happen to be some of the best book-to-movie adaptations that I have had the good fortune to experience. It is beautifully acted, wonderfully written, amazingly shot, and I'm nearly prepared to call at least 4 of them flawless. I'm not one of the fans who doesn't like the movies, because I am willing to treat the movies as relatively separate from the books. That is, I'm not line-checking the movies with a book in front of me. I appreciate the movies as their own art. And in their own art, not seeing them as less because they don't follow every single line of the book (that's not what the Law of Proportionate Depreciation is concerned about), I will say the the movies simply are not as complex or thought-provoking as the books. Simple as that.
Now not because Daniel Radcliffe's eyes are blue, not green. Not because Peeves wasn't there. Not because Ron didn't have freckles or Hermione never did S.P.E.W. That's not what I'm talking about. They just aren't as good.
But don't get me wrong. This is a good example because I LOVE HARRY POTTER. The movies, the books, everything. 

Now here's the thing about fanfiction and headcanons and au's and stuff: some of them are really good, but they follow the rule. Each decreasing level of work depreciates. Like so:

Depreciation by curls-and-yelling

That's a really rough and really bad representation of it, but it's the best I can do. And again this is not to say that the movies or fanfictions are bad (though some of them are... *cough* My Immortal *cough*). Just that the quality decreases as the work descends further tiers away from the original. 



So to make that more complicated and fun, let's use the work that helped me come up with the law (bad example time).Also part of the reason I've nicknamed it Meyer's law. Twilight. (If you are the rare creature that likes Twilight, leave now. I am about to trash it.)

Okay so among circles of intelligent people that actually read actual books, it is pretty much agreed that Twilight is a depressingly horrible stain on the Best Seller's list (thank you past self for contributing to its success. *sigh* preteen me is such an idiot). 
Okay yes, we know. Twilight is terrible. I could go on an elitist book nerd rant about the horrible writing and flat ridiculous characters and obvious pandering to tweenage girls that think they're smarter than they really are, but I won't. Because then I'll sound like a jerk.
But I will talk about the depreciation because it goes longer than you think! Yay!
So the Twilight books are appalling to literature. 
The Twilight movies are worse. So so much worse. Horribly written, horrible delivery, actors that obviously don't care, characters even more annoying than they are in the book, etc etc. The movies are worse just because it makes all the horribleness visual. 
And then there's tier 3. The fanfictions. 
Or the most famous (or infamous) fanfiction of them all: Fifty Shades of Grey. 
So I only read one chapter and a few quotes here and there. I won't comment on the subject of the book for obvious reasons, but I'll comment on the writing.
Man oh man. Meyer's writing is flat and basic and boring. 
James' writing is so much worse. 
Actually, it may be of the same quality, but thrown into sharp contrast with the hot kinky sex that is the main device driving the plot forward, it seems even more flat and basic and boring; the characters less dynamic, the story less compelling, etc. 

And then. And then, they made it into a movie. The execution of which was depressingly bad. Not disappointing (low expectations), but depressing. Flat characters made even flatter by incompatible actors, poor pacing, etc etc. The movie was the fifth tier descending from a line where the first was already terrible. It's an excitingly good time to rant about the perils of American culture when faced with the Twilight/Fifty Shades of Grey line of depreciation. 

And that line was the best example I had to illustrate the Law of Proportional Depreciation. 
Which was something I had a hard time putting into words, that's literally the only reason I wrote it here and criticized several hundred peoples' hard work. Or just work, I'm not entirely sure. 

And I suppose all rules are made to be broken. 
I can't think of any exceptions off the top of my head.
Can you?

Heh I should be doing homework anyway. I was just procrastinating.
 
Whinding through consonant symphonies
down the slumb'ring choices
in oscillating pavements,
dark with the rain of literary cacophony

And letting a mercantile pair of eyes
shoot a reserve of resplendence 
up the bulging blue road
in the inside crook of an elbow

The intermittent false breaths; lies
of a titular falsehood, breathing 
into a puerile pair of lips 
the stark contradiction that is truth.
Cement Kids
Op. 48 No. 1
27 Feb 17
Loading...
Okay so I've been asked to explain my latest poem, Cement Kids (please read it if you haven't. It was hard work Wink/Razz )
I suppose there's been questioning as to whether or not I just threw together a bunch of big words in an effort to try to sound profound.
I guess there's always someone who'll think that.
But I know the poem doesn't make much sense if you just read it, unless you sit there trying to puzzle it out. I must admit that was a bit of my intention so here is my poet's remorse.

So I sent this email to one of my friends trying to explain the poem.
And now I know you're not supposed to explain your art or whatever, but I really want you guys to know what I think this poem means.
But also on the other hand know that I almost never am able to articulate everything that it actually does mean and that I often write my poems as a bit of a blank canvas on purpose so that the reader can project onto it despite the fact that I have written out my emotion candidly and purely. 

But I tried to explain it. (Kindly read the poem before you read on) So here:

"Whinding" is obviously misspelled. I wanted it to be a mournful thing. So "whining" and "winding" is blended here. "Consonant symphonies" is my way of saying words. Maybe lectures given by adults, maybe school, maybe conversations with friends. Words heard throughout lifetime, but not exactly remembered. Maybe they don't matter? Maybe they matter a lot. I don't know, that's up to the reader. 
So you're traveling through your life, looking at your choices. Slumbering because they're laid to rest. Things you've already done. Oscillating pavements are the roads ahead and maybe the roads behind. Differing pathways that you can choose and even the pathways aren't definite.
The dark rain of literary cacophony is pain. Lots of pain. Pain in choices, pain in words, pain in relationships, everything. Pain that is staining your past and your future, painting the pavements of those oscillating roads.

"Mercantile" is relating to commerce. Commercial. Eyes selling you something. But they're eyes; they're personal, right? Wrong. They just represent a cold corporate selling you something. But you let them. You fall for it. That reserve of resplendence: reserve is that it's saved up. Waiting for you. Resplendence is riches and glory, but maybe too much. Maybe a bit too gluttonous. Maybe you've fallen too far. The bulging blue road inside your elbow is your vein. The resplendence is going straight up your veins, into your bloodstream. Something that was good at first but now it's too much, too sweet, and it's taking you over. Are you addicted, or are you just lost in it? You don't know but it's taken you further than you want to go. 

Intermittent means something is constant but it stops and starts. Those are breaths. Nothing that is alive stops breathing for a long period of time. That's why they're false. It's something pretending to be alive, trying to convince you it's alive by breathing every so often. But it's not convincing. Is it you? Is it the world of resplendence you've gotten so used to? Is it someone you thought you loved and you thought might love you back? You don't know, but you know it's lying. The word "titular" means it has a title. It's large, grandiose, a big lie, something you know is a falsehood. Now you know at least. Maybe you didn't know before. Maybe you did and you pretended. But everything is different now. Because now reality has hit you. "Breathing into a puerile pair of lips" is supposed to be a kiss. But it's a kiss of death. Puerile means juvenile, innocent. But that kiss is showing the stark contradiction that is the truth. And now you realize it. And now the innocence is gone. And the poem is left off with that jarring sense that you've been lied to this whole time. The smack in the face from reality. The moment you wake up like you've been doused with cold water. 
And then you're left there to dry. And that's it. Good luck dealing with it. That's what you're left with.

So as a whole, the first stanza is kind of looking back at life and the choices you've made and maybe letting it be colored with regret. And looking forward at the choices you're going to make and maybe letting it be colored with fear.

Second stanza is falling prey to the world, to life, to love, getting swept up in it and never realizing where you're headed until you're lost. 

Third stanza is losing your innocence because of what has happened, and waking up to reality. I wanted to create that jarring sense at the end. Kind of like "now I know the truth, so now what?"
And there's no answer.

Oh and the title. "Cement Kids."
They're kids, we're kids. Like I pointed out that puerile pair of lips. Innocence, yes.
But it's lost now. We're stuck. Cement. 
But also, I associated Cement with cities. We're growing up on the streets, but the streets are in our mind. 
That's the best way I can logically explain it.

That's the poem. I hope I haven't ruined the artistry by explaining it.

deviantID

curls-and-yelling's Profile Picture
curls-and-yelling

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Hi. I am a poet. Sometimes I write prose.
I'm 18, and I'm a freshman in college.
I am not your average teenager.
I am much more excitable and bubbly in real life than I am here or in my head.

I love love, beauty, words, knowledge, curiosity, politics, dance, and people.
I have an intense passion for music.
I plan to spend my life with literature.
I've been through hell and back several times, so if you need help, don't hesitate to contact me.

Here is the sad spectrum social media I participate in:
PHHHOTO: maybevette
instagram: maybevette
Interests

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:iconpearwood:
pearwood Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2016  Hobbyist Photographer
A blessed birthday, young lady!
Steve :D
Reply
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday! :tighthug: :heart: :iconrainbowcakeplz: I hope you're having a wonderful day! :squee: 
Reply
:iconevilscarrlett:
EvilScarrlett Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Have to say Happy Birthday tonight instead of tomorrow because my Monday will be so busy! Have a great day!!! Sprinkle Pop birthday 2015 NaNoEmo - #21 Birthday Dance Happy Birthday (3) 
Reply
:icondeepgrounduk:
deepgrounduk Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2016
Hi, and thanks for faving Kings Cross Station Roof, much appreciated :D (Big Grin)
Reply
:iconghostoftheemptygrave:
Thanks a lot for the watch :)
Reply
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so very much for the fave and the watch!! :glomp: I really appreciate it! :heart:
Reply
:iconcurls-and-yelling:
curls-and-yelling Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Same to you! Thanks :)
Reply
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
You're super welcome! :tighthug: :heart: 

So...what's your House?  I'm a Ravenclaw. :iconravenclawplz:
Reply
:iconcurls-and-yelling:
curls-and-yelling Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thought I would be Ravenclaw but according to pottermore, I'm a Slytherin. Not only have I learned to accept it, but I've learned to love it. So I'm a Slytherin :)
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