DEEVA.EM

ABOUT ME

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So, what have you come to show interest in?

£10 OFF MOTHERS DAY COMMISSIONS

• Art

• Writing

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• Prices

Click here to find my range of prices for my artwork as well as my gallery

• Gallery

TERMS OF SERVICE

MUST READ before deciding to request from me

• Digital commissions

• Tattoos

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COMMISSION PRICES

My prices vary from piece to piece so if you are unsure or you need something that isn't shown below feel free to contact me via email, instagram or snapchat.

DIGITAL ART

Simply ask me what you want, and I’ll let you know if I can do it or not.I specialise in drawing fictional characters and OCs in my style
I can change up my style depending on what you want of course, this will effect pricing.

Feminine Characters Favoured

Stand by hourly rate

DELIVERY

Typical Delivery time depends on needs but will be 3-5 business days on average

Delivery in 1-3 days = + £7
Delivery in 3-6 days = + £5
7+ days = free

CANVAS PRINTS

These prices will add onto the prices of what art you would like me to do for you. If you need any help with this you can ask me directly.

NOTE: If you want another size or a print on another material or object, message me
Prints can be done on Canvas, T-shirts, Cups and more! Email me or DM me on instagram and i can supply you with more information.

TATTOOS

DISCLAIMER: I am a beginner artist therefore I have discounted prices but also less experience.
I am currently trying to build up my portfolio and gain experience thus the cheaper prices.

Prices vary based on complexity of each tattoo as well as colouring needed.
Please also note the prices are not fixed.

⚠️ Home visits only currently.

GALLERY

OC’s & Portraiture

2024

League inspired OC portraits

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READ CAREFULLY

I. BEFORE COMMISSIONING

II. DURING COMMISSION

READ CAREFULLY

By commissioning me, you agree to these terms. If you fail to abide by any of these terms, I will publicly blacklist you from ever commissioning me again, and warn other artists.

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Tattoo terms and conditions

TATTOO DESIGNS

Or skip to the real thing…

• Tattoo Terms

READ CAREFULLY

I. BEFORE COMMISSIONING

II. DURING COMMISSION

READ CAREFULLY

By commissioning me, you agree to these terms. If you fail to abide by any of these terms, I will publicly blacklist you from ever commissioning me again, and warn other artists.

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© Deeva. All rights reserved.

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DISCLAIMER: I am a beginner tattoo artist therefore I have discounted prices but also less experience.
I am currently trying to build up my portfolio and gain experience.
By agreeing to let me tattoo you, you agree to the following

Design

If the tattoo is custom and needs to be designed, this design fee will be included in the tattoo price.
The client will be able to see the design and confirm the design 48 hours prior.
I will also prepare the final design in front of the customer on the day of session so as to avoid misunderstandings or confusion.

(scroll down)

• Design tos

Tattoo Booking

Price and payment

Session terms and agreements

All Customers must notify us of any health conditions or regular medication before a deposit is taken to secure a session. Even minor health issues must be discussed prior to the creation of an appointment. If requested a client must bring a GP note stating that in the professional opinion of the GP the condition/medication should have no impact on the clients ability to receive a treatment. Should a GP note have been requested failure by the client to produce such a note before or on the day of the session would result in the client’s booking fee being lost and the session being terminated without exception.

This includes;

Be sure to do your research beforehand and let your artist know!

Occasionally, I take photographs during the tattoo process. You can choose to consent to this via the consent form you will sign upon booking.
Photos of the final piece are mandatory

Upon booking, and occasionally before sessions also, a consent form must be signed, agreeing to these terms.

HOME VISITATION

Currently, I am only providing a home visitation service

This means if you want to book a tattoo session with me, I will have to come to you, or you to me. (Mostly the former)Because of this and health and safety regulations, you need to meet a criteria.

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POETRY & LITERATURE

I’ve always loved to write.
Poetry and literature has always been something I’ve turned to when I’ve had times I’ve never fully being able to express myself.
I can hide what I’m truly trying to say, or maybe even better expose it through metaphors and rhymes.
I can tell a story of my own, or others, in creative ways.Below I’ll have the categories of my poetry & literature. I won’t include everything I’ve ever written, but the most recent ones.

• Domestics & Sexual Assault
• Mental health & Illness
• Parenting & Childhood
• Life & short stories

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Insight

Unfortunately, domestic violence is something I’ve been exposed to my whole life, the same with sexual violence.
These issues are serious, and very common. They affect the person going through it, and also those around them.
If you’re struggling or someone you know is, please reach out ❤️I write about these topics so awareness is spread. I write about these topics so I have an outlet for my experiences, so I don’t keep it all bottled up.

DOMESTICS

I was once wrapped in chains of sorrows and tossed into a sea of despair by an invisible force.
The water surrounded me and whispered words it said that defined me. Worthless, untalented, alone. The words seeped through my skin and were absorbed by my body, entering my blood stream and becoming one with my mind.

In the shadow of an abusive home, the main victim often takes center stage in the retelling of the harrowing tale. In my case, it was my mother who endured the 12-year ordeal. People recount her struggles, the mistreatment she faced, as if narrating a story to a stranger. Yet, there's a silence surrounding the others in that home
-the secondary victims, who may not have borne the primary brunt of the abuse but were victimised nonetheless.
Night after night, the echoes of shouting reverberated through the walls, accompanied by the arrival of the police in the early hours.
As a child, I recall descending the stairs in my princess dress, witnessing the authorities conversing with my mother, and imploring her to have him arrested, to stop him. Her head shook in refusal, leaving me feeling powerless.
The familiar sight of holes in doors and dents in walls from shattered plates served as a haunting reminder of the tumultuous environment. Every little thing could spark a heated argument, and I would sit on the stairs, yearning for it all to end. My young voice pleaded for the shouting to stop, hoping to be heard amidst the chaos that enveloped us.
No one spoke of how I grappled with the aftermath-the stress of witnessing my mother's frustration, my stepdad's heartless laughter.
I found myself alone as she locked herself away in her room, shutting me out along with her pain.
With the birth of my little brothers, I was tasked with comforting them too. Admonished not to open the door, I, just a child myself, had to shield them from the manipulative tactics of their father, who sought to exploit their innocence. I bore the weight of explaining why they couldn't see their own father, always caught in the middle, burdened by responsibilities beyond my tender years.
As I grew older and began to grasp the full magnitude of the situation, my mother's conversations with others about her hardships ceased. Instead, the weight of her confessions fell directly upon my shoulders, becoming my own burden to carry.
Amidst the accounts of my mother's struggles, no one spoke of the other victims within those walls. I was deemed unscathed, but the scars of witnessing abuse and carrying the emotional toll stayed with me, silently etched into the fabric of my being.

Amidst the vivid hardships my mother endured, the deep scars etched upon her heart, this is not a tale aimed at casting blame upon her or denying her victimhood.
Instead, it sheds light on the often unnoticed victims within the walls of a tumultuous household.
My father, imprisoned for two-thirds of my childhood, once praised the life I had lived, but how could he truly know the intricacies of a childhood he was absent from?
While it may have been worse, that doesn't negate the tumult I experienced.
Throughout my formative years, I bore witness to the relentless cycle of domestic violence. The strain and emotional detachment caused by such turmoil left my mother unable to fully tend to my needs, leaving me wanting for the care and nurturing a child deserved. My exposure to such an environment exposed me to life's harsh realities, imprinting lessons that lingered into adulthood, casting shadows over my relationships and sowing seeds of discord.
This narrative is not a condemnation, but a testament to the collateral damage that remains hidden in the shadows of domestic upheaval. A testament to the enduring impact of a chaotic past on the souls that yearn to heal and forge a better future. In sharing this story, we strive to foster understanding, empathy, and a call to break the cycle of abuse, to safeguard the sanctity of every soul within the walls of a home.

In an abusive home, I grew,
With parents' anger, harsh and true, Shouting, spitting, names they threw,
Emotional scars, my heart it knew.
Patterns learned, abuse passed down,
An angry man, always around,
Toxic love, my life's background, Fearful, vigilant, tightly wound.
Relationships toxic, one by one,
Endless fighting, life undone,
Thought it's all, life's only sun,
No escape from harm's cruel run.
Then came one, capable of change,
To mend the wounds, make me feel strange,
Addressing issues, love's exchange, Kindness, goodness, life rearrange.
A lesson learned, love can be right, Healthy, worthwhile, in its light, People can be stars in the night,
With this new love, my heart takes flight.

SEXUAL ASSAULT

Avoiding the sight of your body, especially certain parts, becomes a desperate desire. You wish to erase any acknowledgment of its presence, to disown it entirely. For if you were to accept it as part of you, that would mean acknowledging the painful experiences that shaped it.You huddle into yourself, clutching your knees while lying on your side, the weight of sobs making it difficult to breathe. You resist the truth, those words echoing relentlessly in your mind, a chaotic swirl of thoughts racing too fast. "Please, no. It's too painful. Why me? I'm so foolish. It's my fault. What should I do? I'm utterly alone. It can't be real, just a terrible dream. I need to escape. This isn't who I am. I want out."The sensation of your skin becomes stifling, a revulsion at its connection to you. You can't resist scratching at it, hoping it will somehow detach. You resort to hitting your head, longing for lasting damage, even a visible mark. Anything to make the inner turmoil tangible. The mantra of fault replays relentlessly, and you know it holds true. The tears keep streaming, your nose congested, throat raw, face swollen. Your breathing spirals into erratic patterns, calmness a distant memory.A sense of impending doom consumes you. Questions about the nature of life and the harshness of reality intensify. Loneliness tightens its grip as you realise there's no one to lean on in this agonising moment, not even yourself. And is it even justified to complain? After all, you believe it was your actions that led to this torment.Eight hours pass without you moving, trapped in this cycle of pain and self-blame.

A dance of blame, unspoken yet reverberating, echoes through the corridors of perception. “Why?” they inquire, in hushed tones, tracing paths of uncertainty upon wounded souls. “Could you have stopped it?” they muse, a chorus of queries, each note etched with a shard of doubt. “Did you say no?” the question lingers, trailing shadows in its wake.

In the depths of one's being, a disconnect forms—a profound sensation that the very vessel which once defined identity has somehow slipped away. No longer an extension of self, the body feels alien, as though an appendage that clings relentlessly, an unwelcome burden.In the hands of others, it becomes an instrument of manipulation, an object at their mercy, reinforcing the haunting truth of its affliction. Violated, defiled, its sanctity shattered. Once radiant, it stands as a somber testament to its scars, rendered devoid of the beauty that once graced its contours.Acceptance is elusive, a bitter pill too large to swallow. To acknowledge these parts as an inescapable reality would be to surrender to a narrative where flesh and bone are reduced to commodities. The body, once a canvas for dreams, becomes a mere piece of meat, a slice of cake.Yearning to shed this identity, to claw away the veneer, is an unyielding impulse. The impulse to strip the skin, the face, to carve away every vestige of allure, even to sever the bonds of hair, all in a fervent bid to shield from prying eyes and voracious gaze.Yet, no alteration, no ink upon the skin, no diet regimen or cloak of fabric can erase the desecration within. For beneath the surface, an insidious invasion transpired, an irrevocable ruination etched into the very core. The body, once a temple, now a haunting testament to the depths of its violation.In the shadows of anguish, the plaintive whisper emerges, a lament etched in longing: "I wish this were not my body."

PTSD & AFTER

In my soul; concealed, a hidden domain,
A dark past resides, unseen, a bane.
A series of events, shaping my soul,
Causing fractures within, taking their toll.
Nightmares unfold, a nightly parade, Unwanted memories, by day invade.
No respite granted, no refuge, no rest, Bound to relive them, a relentless test.
In the deeper part of me, it remains, A haunting legacy, etched with pains.
Unseen scars whisper, a haunting decree,
No escape from the echoes of history.
Flashbacks assail, unwelcome and cruel,
In the simplest moments, they become the fuel.
I cannot escape the prison of my mind, Where fragments of trauma intertwine.
The world feels unsafe, a constant dread, Triggered by sounds, by words left unsaid.
A trust once blossomed, now torn asunder, My faith in humanity lost in this blunder.
I'm left believing my worth is my flesh, A vessel for others, to use and possess.
Love seems elusive, forever out of reach,
As scars mark my being, lessons hard to teach.
Self-blame echoes, a relentless refrain,
As tears stain my pillow, consumed by pain.
"'It’s your fault," the voice screams, unyielding and loud,
A burden to bear, a heavy, suffocating shroud.
Alone, I face the aftermath's bitter sting, No solace or refuge, no comfort to bring.
Hating my reflection, despising this face,
A canvas of reminders, in every trace.
Love feels like a mirage, forever denied,
The warmth of affection, a dream set aside.
I'm left with the remnants of shattered dreams, Drowned in the darkness, where hope fades and redeems.

Imagine, if you will, a fractured mind. With every gentle closure of your eyes, you're suddenly acutely aware of the intricate web of cracks that spider across your consciousness. Each fissure a testament to the fragility within, a stark reminder of a mind hanging precariously by a thread of sanity. Desperation takes hold as you clutch onto that fragile thread, yearning for it to hold against the tide of chaos that threatens to engulf.
Deep down, you know it's futile. The damage has already been done, irreparable and permanent. The mind, once whole, now resembles a mosaic of shattered glass, the pieces held together by the tiniest glimmer of rationale. It's a broken masterpiece, a canvas splintered beyond recognition.
It's not just the visual, though, that pervades your consciousness.
The fractures are felt, every splinter, every sharp edge scraping against the inner walls of your skull. A symphony of agony resonates as each fragment collides, a cacophony of chaos echoing within. It's more than just knowing you're broken; it's feeling it, embodying it, a physical and metaphysical sensation intertwining in a dance of suffering.
And within this fragmented landscape, a malevolent presence lurks.
A devilish spectre, like a maleficent tenant, has taken residence. It's there, weaving its sinister games between the crevices of your mind, manipulating every thought and emotion. A puppeteer of your own despair, you question whether these tormenting whispers are your own or the haunting voice of an intruder.
The weight of this realisation, that this shattered existence is indeed yours and yours alone, becomes a suffocating burden. A scream forms at the edges of your consciousness, yearning to break free from the confines of your throat. The knowledge that you are irrevocably broken, that there's no going back, tightens its grip, threatening to unleash the primal howl that echoes within.
With each tear that traces a path down your cheeks, warmth akin to blood, you feel a sense of release. As if you're emptying yourself out, pouring the anguish from your very core. The air grows thin, and every shout that escapes your lips leaves you lightheaded, teetering on the precipice of oblivion.
In the midst of this tempest, self punishment becomes an instinct.
A desperate desire to atone for the shattered self you've become.
Normalcy, that elusive concept, seems like a distant dream, an unattainable horizon. You claw at your own mind, as if trying to reach the untouchable, as if your fingers could mend the irreparable
tractures
Bitter tears stream down like rivulets of pain, tracing trails of vulnerability. Each sob, each choked breath, carries the weight of a soul burdened beyond measure. The voice within becomes a relentless critic, a chorus of self-doubt that further feeds the flames of despair.
In the midst of this turbulent storm, you long for the respite of serenity, a refuge from the ceaseless torment. And so, you stand on the precipice, battling the forces that threaten to consume, yearning for the elusive light that promises to guide you from the depths of your own fractured psyche.

In shadows deep, the past does creep, Haunting whispers, memories steep.
Corrupting the soul, a relentless toll,
Yearning to break free, to reclaim control.
Yet another part, a voice so wild,
Yearns for danger, the reckless child.
Towards hurt it's drawn, seeking the thorns, A craving for chaos, where the heart mourns.
Why, oh why, this conflicting desire?
To dance with danger, to be consumed by fire?
Is it a quest for redemption's embrace, A second chance to rewrite life's pace?
Or perhaps it seeks a twisted release,
To inflict more pain, the soul's own disease.
A self-destructive longing, tangled and confused,
Lost in the labyrinth where darkness is fused
Within these contradictions, an unknown yearning
A desire lurking, silently burning.
Could it be a plea for liberation and growth, To face the demons, to honor the oath?

In the shadows of the mind's delicate dance, Exist moments of balance, a newfound chance.
A break from burdens that weighed heavy and
deep,
An ethereal lightness as sorrows retreat.
Yet, as fate would have it, along the way, Reminders emerge, where memories sway.
A glimpse of the past or an old habit's touch, A catalyst for curiosity, a moment's rush In these fleeting moments, a choice is made, To dive deeper, explore the shadows, unafraid
To research, to converse, to seek understanding, Or surrender to the currents of past's commanding.
In harmless curiosity, knowledge may thrive, A path to self-discovery, where the truth may arrive.
But often, as now, it veers towards self-destruction,
A treacherous road, a perilous junction.

A whispered voice tempts, "Take the plunge, my dear,
Embrace the pain, relinquish what you hold near." The reasons that anchor, the millionfold ties, Are shields against darkness, against impending cries.
But, what if a reason, or two, were to fade?
Would the path then entice, with allure unswayed?
A precarious contemplation, a chilling thought, As the heart battles desires, tangled and fraught.
Does the dark part seek control, a twisted game?
Or is it a misguided ally, fueled by pain?
The answers obscured, elusive and unclear,
As the mind wrestles demons, navigating fear.
In moments of clarity, control may feel secure, A fortress of resolve, steadfast and pure.
But what of the times when the tides shift anew?
Will strength prevail, or old patterns ensue?
Uncertainty lingers, like a mist in the night, As questions persist, seeking truth's sacred light.
Are wounds healed, or is this a transient respite?
A fragile interlude, ephemeral and finite.

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Insight

Mental health is always important, and always a factor. It affects everything we think and everything we do. Having a healthy mind leads to a healthy lifestyle.
Sometimes, your mind can be your own worst enemy however. It can be the one thing dragging you down.

My issue isn't that I don't think I can find anyone who is willing to put the pieces I've fallen into together, but that they won't be able to find all the pieces to begin with.

The inner voice shouts at me, no pity in sight.
It tells me to keep moving, to not allow my mind to give up even if my body already has.
It tells me letting my body give up was my failure and burden to bear, and it’s my fault, so I can’t complain
And now my mind is fading it’s also my fault, but I can’t sit and cry, I need to punish myself.Punish myself it always says, you deserve it.
You let it happen, you always do.
You make excuses you avoid the truth.
You play the victim but you’re the villain, even in your own story. It’s all you.
They’re all right you know, it is your faultYou speak of all you’ve been through, who cares? Everyone’s been through something. It’s been two years for the worst of it, why are you still wallowing? Why aren’t you over it?
You let things trigger you, you do it on purpose, you ruin yourself on purpose. You probably do it for attention.
You complain everything is so unfair but it’s because of you it’s unfair, it’s your choices, take accountability.
You’re the villain, don’t complain.
It’s your fault.
You made those choices, you didn’t stop them, you let them into your life. Don’t blame them or anyone else, it’s your fault.
Your life is your own responsibility, you’re an adult now.
Stop being lazy, get up and do something.
It isn’t enough. It isn’t okay.
Stop making excuses for your own behaviour, stop finding reasons to do nothing.
This is why you don’t mean anything, this is why you’ve never achieved anything.
You won’t ever be enough and you never have been. No wonder everyone’s left you, no wonder they told you you’re too much. No wonder they think you’ll be better off dead.
You’re just a stranger to everyone, no one has that deep care for you. Not even you have that care for yourself, because you know you’re not worth it.

You're not enough, don't lie
It's your fault, you deserve to cry.
You sit in your own tears, thoughts churning Self pity and care with love you're yearning
But why pity you, if your problem is so small?
Why pity you, if it's your fault they occured at all?
Anything bad that did happen was small and doesn't deserve a thought, get over it
Everything that's happened overall was because of your choices, you deserved it.
Remember though, no matter how much you try to get better it won't be enough, because it's what you deserve.
And even by saying that you're just putting yourself aren't you? You're trying to write about how you blame yourself but deep down it's because you think it's unfair, but is it?
Is it unfair? Or the truth you can't bear?
No matter what you do, it won't be enough.
No matter how you think, it won't be enough.
Your mind is shattered, fractured and broken.
You are broken, you are nothing.
You won't ever be enough.

In the depths of the human psyche, emotions dance like ethereal spirits, weaving a tapestry of the soul's journey. For each person, the melodies of feelings resonate uniquely, composing a symphony of experiences. Among the harmonies of anger, fear, disgust, joy, sadness, and love, I find myself traversing an enigmatic landscape, where emotions take on hues and tones known only to me.
Within this inner labyrinth, anger and sadness seem to meld like intertwining vines, gripping my heart with an unyielding force.
They ensnare me, rendering me blind to escape routes, leaving me to grapple with a tempest of emotions. When anger seethes within, a dormant beast yearns for release, demanding to scream and shout, yet there lies a paradox of stillness that envelops me. In moments of sadness, an overwhelming desire to flee this emotional realm envelops me, seeking solace beyond the confines of reality.
Amid this whirlwind of emotions, joy happiness, and love make fleeting appearances, yet they linger like elusive phantoms, subtly evading my perception. Like a delicate bloom, happiness graces my spirit, and I find myself smiling without conscious effort. Laughter erupts like a chorus of joy when in the company of cherished friends, or when gazing upon a beloved, evoking feelings of care and passion. Though their presence can be intense, they pale in comparison to the relentless force of the darker emotions, perpetually capturing my attention.
Yet, amidst the tumult, there exists another sensation within mean intoxicating cocktail of happiness and euphoria, tinged with a bittersweet undercurrent of sadness. In these moments, an impulsive drive surges through my veins, leading me to embrace daring and reckless behaviors. I ascend to the summit of life, relishing the ecstasy of existence, until the inevitable crash descends upon me
In the aftermath of euphoria, the world crumbles around me, and I find myself in the throes of a soul wrenching tempest. My mind shatters like a fragile glass, and the grip of insanity tightens its hold, suffocating my every breath and fragmenting my thoughts. In the depths of this abyss, I am consumed by self-loathing, resenting every fiber of my being and questioning every action I have taken.
Through the passage of time, these emotions ebb and flow, moving in tidal waves of highs and lows, with little room for the placidity of in-between. A symphony of intensity orchestrates the grand performance of my emotions, leaving me feeling alive, a true embodiment of myself. In moments of supposed "normalcy," I find myself adrift, a vessel devoid of completeness, grappling with uncertainty and longing for the vivid hues that colour my soul.

Amidst the chaos of my inner voice, No pity, no respite, just harsh noise.
It urges me to keep pushing on,
Even when my body feels withdrawn.
Blaming myself for the pain I beat,
My mind fading, in despair.
No time to sit and let tears fall, I must punish myself, heed the call.
The voice insists, "You deserve the pain, You let it happen, you're to blame Excuses and lies, you often weave,
A villain in your own story, can't you believe?"
Though I speak of my trials, my heart's strife, The voice dismisses, "Everyone's been through life.
Two years have passed, why still in dismay?
Get over it, move on, they say."
"It's your fault," it repeats, relentless and cold.
You made those choices, your story unfolds.
The unfairness you feel, you brought it near, Take accountability, your conscience clear.
In your choices lie the source,
Stop making excuses, seek a different course.
You're not enough, it resounds in your ear,
An echo of doubt, fueling fear.
Everyone's left, they've told you so, A stranger to all, nowhere to go.
Even within, you find no care,
A belief that you're not worthy, it's hard to bear.

In the quest to be better, I strive,
But this longing, this yearning, I can't contrive.
For I am never enough, it seems, Not to myself, not to others' dreams.
What is enough? I ponder deep,
Seeking approval, the pain to keep.
Yearning for acceptance, I'm in a bind, Longing for my parents' nod, to find.
In all I do, I seek their pride, To be acknowledged, side by side.
Talents, words, they count for naught, For it's their approval, my soul has sought.
My hardships fade, accomplishments too,
In the shadow of what I should pursue.
Not pretty enough, not skinny, they say, Not smart enough, not the right way.
Striving for qualifications, I strive, Yet it's still not enough to be alive.
Doubts plague my mind, relentless and rough,
Never enough, never enough.
Why think I'm worthy, why feel so tall?
The voice inside says I'll always fall.
Forget my parents' dreams and doubt, It's my fault, I should figure it out.
I'm pathetic, inside and out,
A human soul, filled with doubt.
I struggle to accept the truth's sting, In my heart, despair's echoes ring.
The darkness creeps, it taunts my soul,
No matter how hard I try to be whole.
A worthless, pathetic being, they say, But deep inside, I still hope and pray.
I yearn to find worth, a glimmer of light, To break free from shadows, to take flight.
The journey is tough, the road is rough, Yet I'll keep on trying, and that's enough.

In the depths of my being, a relentless struggle brews. It's as though my mind is cleaved in two, torn between opposing forces.
The torment is intense, and within the confines of my soul, I feel an incessant scream, an ache that reverberates like a relentless drumbeat. It's like I'm trapped within a fortress of lead, swallowed by an all-encompassing darkness.
My throat feels raw, parched, as if I've been crying out for salvation for eternity. But no external cry can break these impenetrable walls that surround me. Frustration mounts, and I find myself clawing at my own self, a desperate attempt to release the pent up emotions that threaten to consume me. But the lashings out only deepen the despair.
A realisation strikes like a bolt of lightning - the escape I crave cannot be found outside, for it is not this prison that binds me, but my own inner turmoil. The root of the issue lies within, and only by delving deeper inside myself can I hope to break free from these chains of suffering.
Externally, I am a picture of serenity, a mask that conceals the torment within. My body remains motionless, unaffected by the storm raging inside. I present a facade of contentment, ensuring no one suspects the turmoil that engulfs my very soul.
But this facade is my burden to bear alone, and the isolation gnaws at my heart. The fear of judgment and misunderstanding keeps me silent, trapped within the confines of my own silence.

Once upon a time, a brave soul emerged. Gasping for air on the other side, a smile of relief adorned their face, for they had conquered the odds. They turned their gaze back to the treacherous lake of quicksand, a reminder of the perils they had overcome.
In that moment of self reflection, their heart sank as they witnessed another soul succumbing to the same peril. Screams echoed through the air, desperate and filled with fear. Others stood on the outskirts, reaching out in a valiant attempt to lend a helping hand. But alas, their efforts were in vain, for the sinking soul pulled them into the depths, unwilling to release their grip.
Undeterred, our hero grasped a stick, a beacon of hope in their hands. With unwavering determination, they sought a lifeline to save the sinking soul. Yet, each attempt fell short, the stick not long enough, the branches not strong enough to bear the weight of
their despair.
Hours passed like fleeting moments, a relentless battle against time. Moments of calm teased the sinking soul, only to be swiftly replaced by frantic yells for help. The hero stretched out their hand, desperately urging them to seize it, but their pleas were unheard amidst the tumultuous cries.
"I can help you!" the hero shouted, their voice filled with compassion. Yet, the screams drowned out their words, lost in the chaos of anguish. "Stop moving'" they implored, knowing the peril it posed. But the sinking soul remained oblivious, their ears filled with the quicksand's grip, deaf to reason.
Desperate to make a connection, the hero flung a stick to catch their attention. Eyes met briefly, a flicker of hope amidst the turmoil. Extending their hand, the hero beckoned, only to be met with a sorrowful shake of the head. The sinking soul continued to scream, sinking deeper into the abyss.
As the sands of time slipped away, doubt began to cloud the hero's mind. Could they have done more? Should they have done more?
The weight of uncertainty pressed upon their heart. But deep down, they knew they had given their all, their empathy and efforts poured into every endeavor.
For in life's circle, we can only do our best, offer our support and care. We
cannot torce salvation upon those who refuse to see it. The hero found solace in knowing they had tried. that their actions had come from a place of compassion and genuine concern.
And so, the tale teaches us a valuable lesson: that sometimes, despite our deepest desires, we cannot save everyone from their chosen path. We can only hope that they find the strength within
themselves to rise above their struggles. For in the end, it is not solely our actions that define the
outcome but the choices made by each individual as they navigate the ebb and flow of their own journey

In a world that weaves its tales of light and dark, A swan glides, serene, through waters stark.
Its graceful form, a sight to behold,
Yet misunderstood, its story yet untold.
With wings as white as purity's embrace,
The swan embodies grace, its essence interlace.
But eyes deceived, they cast judgment's haze,
Mistaking virtue for a villainous maze
As whispers float on winds of doubt, The swan remains poised, undeterred, devout.
It seeks to spread compassion's wings wide, To heal, to understand, its noble stride.
Yet some perceive its elegance with mistrust, Painting feathers of virtue with shades unjust.
They brandish accusations, sharp as spears, Blinded by misconceptions, clouded by fears.
But let them cast their shadows, let them blame,
The swan shall rise, untouched by the game.
With wings unfurled, it soars above the strife,
A symbol of unwavering grace, the essence of life.

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Insight

Come on, no one’s childhood was sunshine and rainbows and no one’s parents are perfect

Unwanted. The word echoed through the depths of a heart tormented by life's harshest trials. Amidst the agony, a revelation unfurled: adversity reveals true companionship, unearthing the souls who weather the storm by your side. In those moments of despair, as air escapes in gasps, and tears seem to wrench your very heart from your chest, a stark realisation pierces the darkness-there's no one to turn to, no sanctuary to seek.
The mind retraces steps to a time before the world turned callous, back to the innocence of youth, when dreams were woven from movies and stories. Those fairytale princes, those nurturing parents who were once the embodiment of solace and reassurance-now, they seem elusive, absent from reality.
Within the inked confinements of prison letters, etched words from a father's hand resonate the solemn duty to shield, to nurture. Yet, where is he now? Where was that protective embrace when it was needed most? A mother's love, professed through words and birth, crumbled, leaving behind a vacuum where warmth and devotion should have thrived. The weight of abandonment lingers, an indictment of one's very worth.
In the crucible of suffering, the truth crystallizes: if even those bound by blood and boundless love deem you unworthy, how could you expect validation from anyone else? "unwanted" transcends mere label; it's a cavernous chasm of inadequacy that engulfs the soul.
As the spirit falters beneath the weight of trauma, an internal symphony of self-blame crescendos. Every action, every effort, feels insufficient, tinged with the hue of wrongness. In the depths of despair, tears mix with whispered self recrimination life's hardships, all the unrelenting trials, are an orchestration of your own doing.
Yet amidst the wreckage, the quiet yearning lingers- an elusive hope that maybe someday, amid the wreckage, a flicker of worth might emerge from the ashes of self-doubt. A whisper that perhaps, just perhaps, the notion of being enough could find its place in the narrative of a wounded heart.

In my dreams, a world unfolds, where laughter dances and hearts are consoled. Within this realm, a mother's love takes flight, holding her child's hand in the warmest light. They walk together, smiles bright and true, exploring a world with skies of blue.
In the embrace of movies and TV, mums and daughters share a bond so free. Makeup and hair, a tender exchange, a testament to love that will never wane.
But as the morning sun breaks the night, reality comes rushing with all its might. The dream retreats, like a fleeting song, leaving a heartache that lingers long. Four years have passed, yet wounds persist, the constant pain, a relentless twist.
The hope that lingers, an enduring thread, whispers of love in the words unsaid. But hope can be a double-edged art, it keeps the dream alive but can break the heart.
Once I held a place in your heart, so dear, a cherished child, so loved and near. Yet you walked away, leaving me to wonder why, abandoned and adrift, asking how and why. Did my presence no longer have a place? Why did you vanish, without a trace?
Alone, I traverse this labyrinth of emotions, yearning for love, seeking life's notions. Amidst the turmoil, a glimmer shines, of memories past, of love once divine.
The pain of your absence, a heavy load, questioning if I was truly loved and showed. But in my heart, I still hold tight, to moments of Love, day and night

To the parents I once knew, a plea from your child's heart, A longing for the love you promised, but now seem to depart.
You brought me into this world, a gift you chose to give, With vows of endless love and care, for as long as I shall live.
In your arms, I felt so cherished, special and adored,
Letters filled with love's sweet words, a bond we both explored.
To help me grow, to guide me right, you said it was your task, But as I grew and found my voice, your warmth seemed to unmask.
"You could've been more," you whispered, a message hard to bear, Subtle hints turned into silence, leaving wounds too much to bear.
Your presence slipped away from me, your self became your all, And I, your once-beloved child, now felt abandoned, a heavy fall
I could've been more, you said, I could've been enough,
Yet my heart longs for the love I miss, yearning for your touch.
But now I stand, a grown soul, wondering why it's so, Why did you leave me all alone, where did the love go?
Was I not the one you chose, the child you brought to life?
Am I now just an inconvenience, a burden causing strife?
I try to understand your path, the choices that you made, But in the depths of my heart, I still feel the love's cascade.
I wish to be more than a memory, to mend the fractured past, To find a way to heal the wounds, to build love that will last.
For that little girl within me, once filled with love and trust, Hopes to rediscover the love she once believed was just.
So to the parents I once knew, with all my love, I plea,
Embrace the chance to reunite, to set your child's heart free.
For even now, though hurt and torn, I hold onto the hope,
That we can find our way back home, where love and healing cope.

When the night is dark and the sea is rough, A beacon stands tall, but its light's not enough.
The one meant to guide, to lend a hand,
Seems lost amidst shadows, unable to understand.
In the depths of despair, the darkness prevails, The lighthouse falters, its purpose derails.
The steady glow that should pierce the night, Flickers and wavers, casting doubt and fright.
Through the raging waves, seeking safety's embrace,
We yearn for the lighthouse, a comforting space.
But its beam grows dim, its warmth withdrawn,
Leaving us adrift, feeling lost and forlorn.

I wish you were no more."You failed me," the words resounded, a bitter lament echoing through the chambers of a wounded heart. "You never shielded me, never held me close when I crumbled within. Those moments of anguish, where my soul seemed to wither both inside and out, should never have been a solitary pilgrimage as long as your breath still danced in this world."The irony of empathy, cloaked in your own past struggles, a cruel paradox that marked your presence by its absence. The whispers of understanding, the promises of solidarity, they crumbled under the weight of abandonment that repeated itself time and again.Mistakes etched into the painting of existence, their indelible marks a painful reminder of the lack of guidance that should have steadied your steps. In the absence of a guiding hand, you navigated treacherous waters, wrestling demons alone, grappling with shadows that should have been banished in the presence of unwavering support.The ache of longing, the ceaseless craving for a love that remained elusive, it has worn thin. The threads of hope frayed, unraveling into disillusionment as the years marched on. The fervent wish that one day you'd be embraced with a love so genuine, so true, feels like a distant mirage, fading further with each passing day. The futile yearning for transformation, for an awakening of comprehension to the havoc that's been wrought, it clings desperately to your spirit, refusing to release its grip.Yet, the dawn of clarity beckons, harsh as it may be- a recognition that this path you tread is one you walk alone. The destiny that unfurls before you is solitary, a solitary journey marked by the echoes of pain and resilience. A heart once brimming with desperate yearning now contemplates a chilling desire, whispered in the depths of darkness—a longing that perhaps, just perhaps, the chains of your past could be severed if only their source were no more.

In shadows cast by neglect's cruel touch, 1 yearn for solace, I yearn so much.
A girl's heart aches, as dreams slip away, For parents who falter, who fail to sway.
Their absence lingers, an echoing void, In their hollow presence, I'm left annoyed.
My longing for love, it fades like a sigh,
As I embrace the thought, "They're gone, they've died."
In this lonely realm, I find my peace,
Where pain and disappointment slowly cease.
Imagining a world where love is pure,
Where memories of neglect have no allure.

The rope between us, tense it may become,
I seek ways to mend, what caused this outcome.
In self-reflection, my faults I do seek,
Yet slowly, the truth dawns, and I reach a new peak.
The faults were never mine, they lie with you,
Frantic overthinking yields to acceptance anew.
If you must go, then depart from my
heart,
Shielding myself, I refuse to be torn apart.

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Insight

Short stories and tales. Lessons

The Penny and the WellIn a quaint little village, nestled between rolling hills and lush meadows, there stood an ancient well. This well had seen generations come and go, heard countless secrets whispered into its depths, and witnessed the wishes of many who tossed coins into its waterOne sunny afternoon, a curious penny found its way to the well's edge. It wasn't an ordinary penny; it was a shiny, copper coin with a lustre that caught the eye of everyone who passed by. The penny gleamed with youthful exuberance, while the well, despite its age, radiated wisdom.The penny, feeling confident, said, "Well, dear well, I've heard so much about you. They say you have the power to grant wishes. Grant me my heart's desire, and I'll make sure I'm not forgotten."The well, its voice deep and soothing, replied, "Little penny, I have witnessed many like you come and go. I have seen wishes for wealth, love, and happiness. But, remember, it is not I who grants the wishes, but the universe that listens. I am here to guide your wishes on their journey."The penny was undeterred and gleefully tossed itself into the well. It swirled in the cool water for a moment before settling at the bottom.Days turned into weeks, and the penny began to feel forgotten. It lay in the company of countless other coins, all bearing wishes of their own. The well, however, kept a watchful eye on them, knowing that the universe would listen.One day, a farmer's son, while drawing water from the well, noticed the shiny penny resting among the older coins. He picked it up and smiled, thinking it was a lucky find. With the penny in his pocket, he felt fortunate and decided to use it to buy a lottery ticket.To everyone's surprise, that lottery ticket turned out to be the winning one, making the farmer's son a wealthy man. His newfound wealth allowed him to support his family, build a school for the village, and improve the well's surroundings.The well, which had patiently witnessed this turn of events, said to the penny, "See, little coin, your wish was granted indirectly, not by me, but by the goodwill and intentions of those who crossed paths with you. We each play a part in the grand tapestry of life, and sometimes, the universe answers our wishes in the most unexpected ways."The penny, humbled and wiser, found contentment in knowing that it had played a small but meaningful role in the happiness of the village. The well continued to stand, its waters shimmering with stories and dreams, reminding all who approached that wishes, like ripples in water, have a way of finding their way back to those who make them

The bee and the butterflyThe bee said to the butterfly, 'Why do you flutter about so freely, while I toil endlessly for nectar and honey?' The butterfly, with its delicate wings shimmering in the sunlight, replied, 'I dance in the moment, embracing the beauty of now, while you, dear bee, create the sweetness that lasts for all to enjoy. We each have our purpose in this world, and together, we make it more colourful and sweet.

The ballerina and the toy soldierOf course, we remember the tale of the ballerina and the toy soldier, two unlikely lovers whose devotion knew no bounds. Their bond was a testament to the power of love and the willingness to go to great lengths for one another.
As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the ballerina's dancing became a beacon of hope, inspiring other toys in the shop to believe in themselves. Her grace and determination taught them that they too could break free from their limitations and follow their dreams.
In this story, the ballerina, once poised and graceful, now cowered in the shadow of the toy soldier's oppressive figure. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, surrendering to the tormentor before her. The toy soldier taunted her, as the fading bruises on her face and arms served as a grim testament to his cruelty.
The ballerina had forgotten her days of freedom when she pirouetted with abandon. Her once vibrant tutu was now torn and dull. She longed to regain her old self, to dance with the same lightness of heart she once knew.
Summoning the remnants of her inner strength, she attempted to rise onto her delicate toes, a metaphorical act of defiance against the oppressive soldier. Her first attempt faltered, and she stumbled.
But she persisted, determined to reclaim her lost grace.
Day by day, the ballerina practiced in secret, behind the curtain, hidden from the soldier's watchful eyes. She rediscovered her love for dance and found solace in the art she cherished. As her movements grew more graceful, she began to regain her former confidence
One evening, as the toy soldier and his friends left to admire the other girl toys on display, the ballerina seized her moment. With a newfound resolve, she leaped onto the stage, performing a breathtaking dance that dazzled the entire toy world.
The soldier returned early, and bore witness to her triumphant performance. The ballerina had not only learned to dance again; she had found the strength to free herself from his oppressive grip.
With a final graceful pirouette, she spun away from the soldier, leaving the toy world behind, dancing into the unknown with a newfound freedom in her heart.
Until a crack. A snap. A flash of the toy solider behind her and then she found herself spinning toward the ground and falling off the shelf.

…Cast the first stoneCasting echoes of a troubled past, there existed a man adorned with the weight of sins amassed.
Countless mistakes, like burdensome gems, he carried upon his weary shoulders, shaping a tapestry interlaced with threads of despair.
Regrets stained his soul, clinging like shadows.
But amidst this bleak landscape, a whisper of redemption beckoned to him, gentle and persistent in its proclamation.
Yet, when another soul faltered, stumbling along their own difficult path, the man claimed his perch, high above their flawed footsteps. Through distorted lenses, he beheld a reflection that distorted the truth, an illusion of superiority draped in a guise of false perception.
The faults and missteps of others became stepping stones for his self-elevation, a chance to distance himself and ignite a spark of perceived transformation.

The lost soulIn a world shrouded in uncertainty, there lived a lost soul, adrift amidst the ebb and flow of life. This soul, haunted by questions without answers, embarked on a quest to uncover its true identity, purpose, and worth.
Through the twists and turns of existence, the soul found itself in diverse landscapes and encountered a myriad of characters who seemed to possess an innate understanding of their place in the grand scheme of things. They radiated purpose, confidence, and a sense of belonging. Meanwhile, the lost soul stood on the outskirts, feeling insignificant and inconspicuous
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as the soul ventured further into the labyrinth of self-discovery. It sought guidance from wise sages and sought solace in the embrace of nature. Yet, the more it sought, the more elusive the answers became.
In the depths of contemplation, the soul pondered the vastness of the universe and its own minuscule existence within it. It grappled with the realization that it was merely a tiny speck in the cosmos, an infinitesimal fragment of the whole. Doubt gnawed at its core, whispering that its presence held no significance.

But amidst the abyss of uncertainty, a flicker of realization emerged. The soul began to understand that the search for identity and purpose was not a linear path. It was not a destination to be reached, but a journey to be embraced. It was in the pursuit itself that meaning was found.
Through introspection and introspection, the soul discovered that it was a complex mosaic of experiences, emotions, and desires. It learned that the absence of a clear purpose did not negate its worth. Instead, it opened up a world of possibilities, where the soul could shape its own destiny.
The lost soul realized that the true essence of its existence lay in the connections it forged along the way. It discovered that it mattered, not because of a preordained purpose, but because of the impact it could have on others' lives. In the simplest acts of kindness and compassion, the soul found solace and purpose
with this newfound understanding, the lost soul embarked on a different kind of quest-one that sought to make a difference in the lives of others. It embraced the idea that significance could be found in the smallest of gestures, in the ripple effect of its actions on the world.
And so, the soul journeyed forth, guided by the light of self-discovery. It knew that the answers to its questions might forever remain elusive, but that didn't diminish its worth or purpose. It realised that the beauty of life lay in the mystery, the constant exploration, and the unwavering belief that it mattered, not because of what it knew, but because of who it was becoming.
In the tapestry of existence, the lost soul had found its place--an ever-evolving story, woven with purpose, connection, and an unwavering belief in its own significance.

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