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About Literature / Hobbyist Patricia WillenborgFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 11 Years
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"California redemption value" can be found...
...Along the Arroyo Seco Parkway,
Lying by the side of the freeway
In amongst the acres of plastic bottles and dried brush.
...Flashing by like epiphanies while heading onto the 101,
Or like the army of graffiti cats spread out over the Southland.
...Running alongside a mural in which the ghosts of determined athletes
Nearly overcome the rampant tagging that encroaches, smothering.
...In a car always ten years out of date but new to you,
And speeding along in gratitude for only an hour-long commute.
Poetry composed through the voice memo function of your mobile phone
Always makes the point plain:
We have the will to make the world new again, using the city's old bones.
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The Commute of Plenty
We crawl through the city on broken knees -
Penitent, penitent -
Doing whatever it takes to pay the rent,
From the commute to the office,
Shifting and writhing against each other
Through a maze of crimson and beige,
A daily pilgrimage down the lane of blood and dreams
To the doorstep of grey Gomorrah,
The roulette wheel of plenty.
While across the fields of dust and wheat
Sleepy Sodom is already on its first cigarette break
Bidding the city of angels to wake up already
With all the menace of shrill calls and terse emails.
Is she our sister or our mother?
Either way, we're as close to awake
As we're ever going to get
And as close to hell as we are to heaven -
Like every other day of the week.
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The Cinderella Generation
Scion of the Cinderella generation
Raised in the shadow of a warm 50s Eden,
Where Father knew best and Mom was well dressed
And the world was as God had made it.
Latchkey kid,
Daughter of the weekend dad -
Or every other weekend, in my case -
Raised in the age of steps and halves.
A step away from mother or father,
Half a brother, half a sister.
Fractured, we were told.
Our world was given to us broken,
Like the worst of Christmas toys.
And no refunds.
Destined to be broken, bruised.
How could we be real people
When we were reared by the "boob tube"?
We wanted our MTV
And our Nintendos and our Walkmans
To hide the sounds of parents screaming,
To cover the signs of our own weeping.
In glitter and makeup we covered them -
The bruises -
In Day Glo and Swatches we stalked
The neon Valhalla.
Spoiled little princes of the computer age,
So lucky to have our gizmos and gadgets,
So ungrateful for the clothes on our backs
(Made, as they were, in Taiwan).
Growing twisted in the radiation
Of Holly
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War of the Gastro Ninja
This is for the gastro ninjas
Sneaking up on the fridge late at night
Breaching the kitchen's defenses with steps
So light you'd never know how heavy they really were.
Gastro ninjas
Hiding cookies and snack cakes
Practicing that sleight of hand because
If no one sees me eat it, it doesn't count.
Practicing that Jedi mind trick:
"These are not the pounds you're looking for,
So move on, health Nazis."
Nazis versus ninjas
Wielding celery against bread sticks
In the war for the kitchen.
France surrenders.
But here the dinner table needn't be a prison,
And the bathroom scale needn't be an instrument of torture:
"We haf ways of making you talk.  
Did you know that you gained five pounds?"
Don't surrender.
Become the Churchill of your body.
No appeasement.  Tour the ruins of your Coventry,
Knowing they will shine again.
Offer nothing but blood, toil, tears, and sweat,
And know that they will be enough
To banish the sirens of the midnight hour,
Calling you to feast.
Take wh
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Muffin Top
I kept looking around for a bakery
Or a mother's random kitchen,
Someplace making something savory.
And it wasn't until I grasped the meaning
That I learned to hate our knack for applying terms
To every little fucking thing.
Taking up the job of Adam,
Naming all the things we hate about ourselves
After things we should be grateful for -
Muffins and pots and cottage cheese -
Until we have a full taxonomy of our disgust.
But still we have no satisfactory explanation
For why America's waistlines aren't shrinking.
We've pinned Man to the board
By his apples and pears
And there he stays, writhing
For his next dose of something savory -
From the fridge, if not from the mirror
Or the people pointing out other people's muffins in the street.
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Drug:Lover II
You were the opiate of my hopelessness.
You glittered like an oasis of the mind
- a place where I could lay my self down
and rise on waves of heat so intense
they needed no accompaniment.
In your hands, I heeded no mind, no consciousness that extended
beyond the reach of your fingertips.
Entered into the aura of your want,
I wanted nothing more and needed even less.
Something in me was starving and could not be sated
by food or drink or company.
Something in you was the key to the heedless animal
I didn't know I needed to be.
Some receptor in my brain was made specifically for your coming;
it lay open and waiting for a whisper of you,
until I lay open and waiting for a whisper from your lips.
At my worst I've been a whore.
At my best I've been an addict.
At your worst, you were an echo of what had come before.
At your best, you represent what could be again - lovingly.
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Mature content
Pleasures in Potentia :iconkismetrose:kismetrose 0 0
Persephone's Solstice Carol
Once upon a time, the Gorgon Medusa was preparing for the Yuletide celebrations in the grand cave she shared with her sisters, Stheno and Euryale, far beneath great Mount Olympus.  They were hosting the yearly party for the dread deities who could not smile at their followers (lest they lose their reputations), and the miscellaneous strange oddities that the Titans had thrown upon the world without knowing quite what to make of them.  The Graeae were already making a menace of themselves in the kitchens, much to Euryale's dismay, and the Furies were furiously helping Stheno put up the last of the decorations for the holiday.  
Thus, Medusa was alone, sensuously sliding her hands over the snakes that crowned her dreaded skull.  Away her fingers carried the skins of ecdysis, which sounds like a sort of Greek god all in itself but is actually a word that simply means moulting.  Every Winter Solstice, the serpents atop the Gorgon's heads we
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The Fugitive
This fairy tale is not about a girl or a boy who should be at school but is instead trip-trapping through a world full of traps. This fairy tale is about a woman who needs fairy tales more than any child ever could - a woman who needs her mirror to speak to her and sometimes for her, and knows it.
* * *
Once upon a time, there was a woman who had a reflection that greeted her eagerly in every glass, photograph, and even, when she was very lucky, in the shining eyes of others. It was a perfectly ordinary reflection, as far as reflections go. It didn't show a rock star or a pinup queen, glittering in the lights of the world. It wasn't as though most other people would recognize her reflection or think it praiseworthy - but that didn't mean it was a bad reflection. It exposed all the splendor that can be found in the spectrum between sinner and saint.
And since it did not make false promises or show mirages, you could say it was an honest reflection that worked hard to do well by its owne
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I usually say I have no heroes
When I was small I used to look at the flag and feel a swelling surge of pride and love that sometimes made tears sting the backs of my eyes. I had a sense, some grand sense of my country that perhaps no country could live up to, and it could wash over me so strongly that it blocked out everything else. It was warm, comforting, unrefined, a childhood emotion that lasted some years.
I have not felt that way in a long time now. My feelings have been complicated, put upon, embittered, soured, and betrayed. The grand beliefs and hopes that I had have changed. No, they are not gone, nor is my love for my country depleted. It would be much simpler if it worked that way. Instead, my hopes are tempered by the slow pace of change, the brittle limits of general reality. My grand beliefs are tarnished by the bruising filth that comes with life and humanity. The quaint stories of the Indians and pilgrims were Crayola-colored lies. Columbus did not find a new world. There's a crack, a crack in ever
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Mature content
Monkeysphere :iconkismetrose:kismetrose 0 0
The Butterfly
The butterfly hurts me. To this day it hurts me, and for the rest of my life I will be repenting of its death. Some of it is guilt, some of it is horror, but it is all inextricably intertwined with the dark, haunted world of my childhood.
It was bright that day, though. It was spring or summer. The neighborhood I lived in came into bloom during the warm seasons. My mom and I used to take walks up and over the hillside to look at the flowers and eventually end up at a house with a koi pond out front. There were all sorts of insects there, all sorts of life. But it will always seem haunted to me, I suspect, and shadowed. There were secrets in that neighborhood and fear hidden behind closed doors and closed mouths. I saw it, I felt it, I was part of it, but most of the people who lived on our block went about their lives oblivious to the madness of their neighbors. How lucky for them.
That day Kelly and I were heading up the driveway to play in the front yard, and I saw a monarch butterfl
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I know how people get addicted to opiates.
If the devil himself came to me now, ablaze with fearful glory and hooves announcing his passage with clops echoing throughout time like the surest doom, if he came right now to my living room and offered to trade my alcohol-filled cup with a substance that would erase all the pain of my mind, the pain of my soul, even for a little while, I would only be able to murmur my grateful thanks and open my hands. And I cannot doubt that I would open them.
Don't you understand that I would welcome the devil? I would welcome him - he would be proof of something beyond this, incontrovertible, real and even familiar. Don't you understand that I have seen evil in its guises but that it has proved nothing of what is beyond the curtain of death? I have smelled it on people, seen it aglow in their eyes, I have felt it in my veins, I have watched it on the news, I have seen it eat the health of people I loved, and in the end it has come to nothing. If only th
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Mature content
A Dose of Sin :iconkismetrose:kismetrose 0 2
The Sermon of English 101
Sometimes I feel like St. Patricia, preaching the gospel of academic writing to the unsure masses.
Yea verily, the thesis is a strong and mighty force that guides your paper from the beginning to its righteous end.  It is complete and perfect unto itself: it has a beginning, which involves the topic at hand; it has a middle, which tells the reader your stand or interpretation; and it must tell the audience the reasons you reached your conclusion.  The thesis is honed in the fires of logic and knowledge, and with it you may defend your thoughts against all who would stand against you.  
And yea, the thesis shall beget your paragraphs and topic sentences, each in turn.  Your paragraphs shall be as brothers joined in a common cause, and dedicated to holding up their father.  Every paragraph shall have a topic sentence to act as a guide through the rough seas.  All paragraphs will go out from the thesis and return to the thesis, e
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The Dreaded Bedroom
Since the later part of last year, my bedroom has been a haunted place.  Nothing was killed there, but blood was spilled and something *did* die there - at least, in a manner of speaking.
For most of my life, I didn't have a bedroom of my own.  My mother, a single parent who worked low-wage jobs, kept a roof over our heads but couldn't afford much extra space.  Sometimes we lived in a studio apartment with one room that was supposed to suffice for a living and a sleeping room.  I didn't get my own bedroom until high school, and by then, I was ripe for it.  When I discovered it didn't have a lock, I quickly improvised with a metal rod I could jam against the door.  I needed that private space, that inner sanctum where I could just be me without criticism or scrutiny.
My first apartment was also utterly mine.  I couldn't afford more than a studio, but one room was all I needed so long as I had my books, my movies, and
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Trespasser by DominiqueWesson Trespasser :icondominiquewesson:DominiqueWesson 465 51 The Secret of Nimh Map by arsheesh The Secret of Nimh Map :iconarsheesh:arsheesh 23 18 The Arishok - wallpaper by Tasharene The Arishok - wallpaper :icontasharene:Tasharene 262 147 The Witch and the Warden by Maiqueti The Witch and the Warden :iconmaiqueti:Maiqueti 222 80 Morrigan by NanFe Morrigan :iconnanfe:NanFe 2,297 32 DA2: Hawke, Fenris and Isabela by alsiony DA2: Hawke, Fenris and Isabela :iconalsiony:alsiony 561 146 dragon age: The Arishok by MathiaArkoniel dragon age: The Arishok :iconmathiaarkoniel:MathiaArkoniel 750 20 Dragon Age Inquisition by virak Dragon Age Inquisition :iconvirak:virak 2,862 264 Aztec Character Design by Lunarlueur Aztec Character Design :iconlunarlueur:Lunarlueur 294 57 Margaery Tyrell by Dopaprime Margaery Tyrell :icondopaprime:Dopaprime 5,349 139 The sanctuary of the Arkh witch by Koni-art The sanctuary of the Arkh witch :iconkoni-art:Koni-art 5,137 177 Red Wizard of Thay -  Learning new spell by Winterkeep Red Wizard of Thay - Learning new spell :iconwinterkeep:Winterkeep 18 5 Nar'hethi Isto'velve by ArtemisMorgan Nar'hethi Isto'velve :iconartemismorgan:ArtemisMorgan 20 8 Cerys 2 by ArtemisMorgan Cerys 2 :iconartemismorgan:ArtemisMorgan 14 1 Red Wizard Cerys by ArtemisMorgan Red Wizard Cerys :iconartemismorgan:ArtemisMorgan 15 4 Dark Queen Valsharess by Elistraie Dark Queen Valsharess :iconelistraie:Elistraie 329 39


If you want to see my actual journal, updated fairly frequently, click here.


Patricia Willenborg
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States


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LaMuserie Featured By Owner Jul 7, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thank you for the watch !
monicamarie1019 Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch! :) 
stephengarrett1019 Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
SYoshiko Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you for the watch - I see you write, if youre ever interested to commission illustrations to pair with your prose, hit me up. I'm going to open up again in Oct. 
kimsol Featured By Owner May 30, 2014

Thanks :icongromitplz: for the :+devwatch:

Notvitruvian Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2013
Thanks for the watch ;)
KimiSchaller Featured By Owner Aug 7, 2013
Thanks for watching! :D
Z-GrimV Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2013  Professional General Artist
Thank you for the faves and watch :)
Kachinadoll Featured By Owner May 31, 2013  Professional Digital Artist
:icondancekittyplz::iconrudeboyskunkplz::iconrudeboyskunkplz2::iconrudeboyskunkplz3: on my Man with a Horse .png :)
Izaskun Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2013  Professional Digital Artist
thanks a lot for watching! :hug:
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