Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Hobbyist Jen Fowler39/Female/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 362 Deviations 11,997 Comments 30,042 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Literature
On preparing to never let go
Walking slowly down the hall, arms filled with the day's mail, we spoke of morbid things.
She wants to be reduced to ash and I want to know if I can keep her on my mantle.
She looks at me sideways with a curious face and forgets her footsteps.
It's a little bit morbid, she tells me, deciding it's time to continue shuffling along,
but I think the way I'm trying to picture her perfect urn is probably worse.
There's nothing that I can think of that suits her, though,
and I wonder if I even know her.
Do I scatter you somewhere? You can't visit scatter.
(I think good daughters plant guilt in the carpet pile to trip upon.)
But she doesn't trip, instead she ruminates on how appalling it'd be to divide her in fourths:
she laughs as she's divvying up her body parts for our mantles.
I tell her we'll set up a custody schedule, but only between my closest sister and me;
we're the ones that take care of her. But in reality, I'm not planning on sharing.
She tells me she wants to be in the n
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 121 61
Literature
Ribs
the ground breathed from empty lungs
in a cemetery holding down the seasons, 
and I wondered what life above deserved to be.
laying down frosty angel wings in fraud, 
I saw the possibilities in the evening sky, and
heard them in the gleeful laughter on the horizon. 
smiles broke in the most beautiful of ways across icy cheeks, 
and we headed back in for cocoa.

--
1/21/2014
Copyright © Jen Fowler 2014
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 12 10
Literature
the long road
one day you'll realize your importance doesn't fall
within a scale of 1 to 10. instead, it either exists
or doesn't exists or maybe ceases to exist.
one day you'll open your eyes and cease to be color-blind,
no more shades of grey to rationalize precedence or priority.
instead, you'll see yourself either filled with color or erased from the page,
or maybe if you're lucky, you'll find you're simply a work in progress.
one day you may be lowered into the ground before realizing
any such prophets, only to have someone else realize them for you.
one day you'll finally rest in peace.
--
9/11/2013
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 8 8
Literature
1.12
I've never before found myself in such a struggle, searching to find
the words, to disclose to you the clockwork of my insides—
the marrow I offer you to feed upon, in which you happily oblige.
I don't know if it's just that I can't find the right consonants and vowels
to lace together, but I tend to believe the words I need simply don't exist.
It took me knowing you to learn it was okay to make myself vulnerable,
to weave words from the strands of my muscle and sinew you flexed around your heart,
to chisel them out of my bones you softly scraped against,
to scrawl them out in the blood you bled from me.
You pressed your fingers against my flesh and I learned
to raise words like fingerprints, but they are never as unique.
Sometimes I yield and don't say a thing because
I've never been very good at foreign languages, and translating
the way you make me feel into something you can hold in your mouth and
taste on your tongue leaves me feeling inferior...but I'm learning.
Sometimes I
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 14 17
Literature
Kairos
The furnace finally shut off and I'm left listening to the house whisper moans,
the silence broken just enough for me to remember I'm alone.
The stairs creak an invitation, and soft bed sheets beg to caress my bare skin.
I'm almost ready, but it kicked on again.
A distraction. Daylight holds me here.
It's off.
My mind wanders to the weight of the down comforter;
it could be laid atop me, pressing feather-direction.
It's on, its hot breath encircling me;
warming limbs, competing for my attention.
Its rhythmical cycles remind me of sharp, flesh-covered jetties,
rocking against waves meant for shorelines.
It's off, and I'm off to encase myself in soft Egyptian tombs
and await the offerings of the afterlife.
--
12/5/2013
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 4 9
Literature
sillage
I hated that we were drunk when we made love,
but you were smoking your anxiety and
tossing me beers and
one bottle became a dozen and
we kissed in the bathroom at the bar and
pressed our curves into a Picasso and
maybe I fell a little,
but you caught me.
Our time remaining became scant hours and hazy memories
but I remember sitting in the backseat and
I kissed your knuckles when you bloodied them and
we drank some more while dancing in your living room and
we made the bed ours if only for the night.
In the morning you begged me not to leave and
it sounded like the most beautiful thing in the world and
I wonder if you'd still mean it,
but I already know the answer so no,
that wasn't a question,
but tell me again. God, please say it again.
Instead I left with your scent wrapped around me—
    My God, you smell so good
—and some bruises from your fervent appetite and
every intention of feeling you again and
again and
again.
You told me you had no regrets and
I told
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 24 22
Literature
You're only as good as the world allows you to be
She looks like The Joker without needing the makeup, the way her lips curl into sharp points at the edges.
It makes the madness sadness her face holds even more pronounced, yet she's expressionless.
She's a mess of smudged makeup and tousled hair, perfectly arranged. Every picture of her is the same.
It gives her that she's-so-damaged-she's-a-creative-genius look and she wears it well.
Her drawings are as boring and messy as the stare cast from her black, pleading eyes.
But they can't compete with her heirloom scars, carved so deep you can see the dark light seeping out.
And her words make you want to press fingers into your eye sockets before dramatically bleeding yourself out.
There's something beautiful about her, but I can't put my finger on it.
--
12/3/2013
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 7 6
Literature
R.S.V.P.
asphalt and concrete compete for my attention.
day will turn to night at highway speeds and
I will chase the sunset to see an early sunrise break
on the frothy waves of the ocean.
little towns and coffee shops will beckon—
hunger and caffeine excuses greater than out-of-the-way locations,
—but fear will hold my feet to the shore, time slipping through my fingers.
sea spray and salty tears mix well,
like dirty martinis toasted to regrets.
--
9/11/2013
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 6 10
Literature
6.21
The salty ocean air never hit my lungs,
nor the scents of baked yeasts and coffee beans.
My senses missed the warmth of the heat coming off the asphalt,
but picked up on your passerby-eyes finding me there.
--
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 4 4
Literature
in the offing
Sometimes I think if I could just find the right pressure to sink my teeth into you,
I'd set off some alarm that would awaken you.
Every little black and blue tattoo would mean something,
and you'd find a way to meet me for touch-ups,
because colors like that should never fade.
--
1/29/2013
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 6 6
Literature
Petrichor
I remember, quite clearly,
the feeling of rain drops that were your fingertips,
sliding down my back;
the way the droplets curled around my hips
and soaked into the top of my jeans—
that has been burned into my brain.
And I remember, like it was yesterday,
the feeling of rose petals that were your tongue,
gliding their way across the landscape of my stomach
and floating between my tan skin and the softness of the cotton
hiding me from the rest of the world.
Still, I forget, as if it weren't real,
that you love me.
I can't seem to remember
that I don't need drops of rain or the petals of roses.
I need only your fingertips and your mouth.
I need only a simple look; your eyes piercing mine.
I need only you.
--
Copyright © 2013 Flermigan
All Rights Reserved.
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 2 9
Literature
Routine
I washed my face with the hottest water I could stand,
thinking afterwards that the pink in my cheeks looked attractive,
but not really sure what I was trying to accomplish.
I decided my hands are more delicate than my face.
As I brushed my teeth, I paced the bathroom floor,
running random numbers through my head but not really counting
the white tiles I thought I should be doing something more than staring at.
So I was careful to step on all the cracks because maybe I'm an opposite.
I left the bathroom unsure of everything, vision blurry with glasses in hand.
At least that made sense to me.
The only clarity is his echo in my head:
"It's rare; most people never find that."
--
9/24/2013
Copyright © Jen Fowler 2013
All Rights Reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 8 11
Literature
There was nothing casual about it
Your lips whispered secrets,
permeating the skin on my cheek:
    holy:
           somehow,
                 forgiving our sins.
                 encouraging them.
    ineffable.
It still resonates. Reverberates.
Echoes on my skin.
I feel it
I feel you
         every night
as I close my eyes.
as I dream of you.
Inescapable.  Inevitable.  Fated.
My fingertips search my cheek;
there is no mark, no texture of a scar,
but they know the place your lips branded me.
Lost thoughts and nervous habit find them caressing that spot.
Eyes close and pulse quickens.
Breath unsteady. Bite of the lip and,
I'm there with you, again:
     your dark curls falling softly in my face;
     the scent of your skin overwhelming me;
     your hand holding mine.
I feel you lingering inside my veins—
     in that moment,
           I felt your lips smile,
           and your body gently quiver.
     in this moment,
           I am haunted by the memories,
           and the fierce pull of needing to feel you
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 10 18
Literature
hands
touch.
give, receive, give
feel.
sensations, teasing, emotions
lust, love, need
engage.
a graze, stroke, push
wait patiently for it.
grasp, caress, steady, shake
outline the contours; guide me
manipulate and bring forth
now.
ask permission.
hold and be held; interlock
match pairs, never let go
protect.
wave hello, goodbye,
and wipe tears.
remember.
--
9/11/2013
Copyright © 2013 Jen Fowler
All rights reserved
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 12 23
Literature
Bellyache
If you are lucky enough to survive a self-inflicted slip of the knife,
plunged headlong into the belly, rewards come as a torture device
disguised as a hospital bed, a scratchy blanket,
and a pillow too thin to suffocate yourself with.
A call-button will only call attention to your flesh wounds,
and the only care that will be taken of you is by strangers
who form opinions of your clumsiness they label as 'instability.'
Instability will come, too, as you shuffle across your hospital room
in your hospital issued socks with the tread on the bottom,
ensuring you don't slip as you trail your IV stand alongside you,
tangling yourself in the lines, nearly tripping;
traction enhanced socks don't prevent that.
You'll feel alone when the only person willing to hold your hand is
the nurse that holds your wrist instead, a half-hearted attempt to steady you.
It's now when you'll realize the ticking of her watch,
the way it echoes the ticking of the clock on the wall,
the way it echoes the pounding
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 3 5
Literature
Seam Stress
The heaviness settled in like an anvil being dropped on me. I couldn't take the fog inside my head and the lead inside my heart anymore, so I sat in the sun to melt it away. I wanted to sear every surface until I couldn't feel anymore. What kind of life is that, though, to never feel anything? To never feel the joy of love; the way it wraps its arms around your heart and traces its fingertips along your veins? Even the pain of looking back at love's scattered memories is necessary to understand how beautiful the feeling once was; how lucky you were to have ever felt its lips press to your cheek, its breath collect in the hollow of your neck. Love does these things, sews itself right up inside you to close the holes within.
You'll be told you'll find another. You'll be told to go, go and find happiness because all this is, is hurt, and nothing else. The problem is, your heart doesn't understand the complexities of bad timing or fear or settling for another because of low self-worth. You
:iconBeyondJen:BeyondJen
:iconbeyondjen:BeyondJen 87 43

Random Favourites

Literature
Alzheimer's
I can't remember what you always used to do,
           and that is
                   Puzzling
because once, I
                       reminded you every day.
"Remember when you used to--"
                        And you'd laugh
                                            and nod
                   
:iconAmeko-Shadowsong:Ameko-Shadowsong
:iconameko-shadowsong:Ameko-Shadowsong 10 42
Caring for Dementia by carts Caring for Dementia :iconcarts:carts 1,046 110
Literature
Wildcat Picnic
just watching him
makes my ribs ache
for unleashed hell..
for it's a rare man
who has the patience
to bleed me dry.
He's at the bottle again
while my emerald skirt
dances madly over the lawn..
He fires up the grub
with a ravenous growl
as my company asks:
         'What the hell is that'?
      That is careful chewing, I smile.
       And he doesn't like me watching him eat.
One of them nods
and tells me
I should make a run for it
Yet I do not move -
            His eyes are that familiar blue
                 I'd cling to his back,
                     if he'd let me..
       
:iconeqlrytes:eqlrytes
:iconeqlrytes:eqlrytes 25 19
Elephants Talk by eddiebadapples Elephants Talk :iconeddiebadapples:eddiebadapples 56 23
Literature
8
she conceals her inner
woes to prove invincibility,
indifferent as her immune system slowly expires
inside
alone, on
a lonesome day in the twenty-first century she refused and
all was lost when her head bounced— as if she was her own marionette

leftright

she gazed through souls and saw her own reflection, gazing back at her,
unfolding all those would've, could've and should've beens
surrounding
her
and she began to dismiss fear
i was eight.
she said
she grabbed her brains and threw them in the bin
as if living brainlessly was the cure to those superior flaws, she
supposed
she possessed the weakness to seal her lips forever and some more millennia
without wanting to scream for ears that couldn't listen
[she didn't believe in ears— except hers]
bins were illusions she wanted to see, specially designed for that self
to throw away the circle-shaped squares of life
i was eight,
she saidand i wanted to die.
:iconcapricordestin:capricordestin
:iconcapricordestin:capricordestin 28 0
Literature
the incomplete karyotype
1. The First Mendelian Letdown
One by one, we unload our Punnett Squares.
There are traits we could cradle like nostalgia.
Some of us spent entire childhoods scrubbing
away our freckles, hoping either to extinguish them
or to capsize them like floating candlelight.
Some of us cried when we drew blood, not because it hurt,
but because that's when we realized that we were
blacktop scribbles, chicken-scratch genotypes.
There are traits we wish we could toss away, but like coins.
Recessive claims heads, dominant demands tails,
but when our inheritance rolls into the gutter
we have to know what we're worth
without our pocket change to back us up.
We mourned of Mom's miscarriage
as its ultrasound, a sprouting
of fingers wrinkled like
second generation snap peas.
Eyes unopened, we never caught
maternal or paternal reflection,
either blue glass or cold steel,
guaranteed twenty-twenty
regardless of what he looked through
to see the sun.
---
Chromosome 2
There once was prodigy
who
:iconSolaces:Solaces
:iconsolaces:Solaces 27 32
Literature
Rebel, Rebel.
I am wrong and free,
and that is all I ever need to be divine.
:iconconformityphobe:conformityphobe
:iconconformityphobe:conformityphobe 4 1
Literature
Simple Math
Dying, I decide that I miss you again.
I add up my love for you,
and divide by zero.
:iconconformityphobe:conformityphobe
:iconconformityphobe:conformityphobe 6 8
Literature
1 in 5
It's easy
To be ivory white
To tower yourself
To plug yourself in
It's easy
Sleep through
Work commute
Sleep until
TV watch
Sleep
Repeat
It's easy
to preach
Abstract charity
It's easy
To write
Long range cheques
It's easy to forget
The starvation country
At the corner of King & Bay
:iconexquisiteoath:exquisiteoath
:iconexquisiteoath:exquisiteoath 8 58
Literature
Birdking
-1-
I caress your unfurling brow,
Triangles, the color red
Topaz and turpentine
The scent of (p){0,1}in[k/e]{1,1}
The corner of your eye
I am hammocked in
         Storm
               Cloud
                      Candy
-II-
The dew point is defined as the time
Where eye-thoughts of emerald replace vision with mist
-III-
Childish glee screams down the paths
Rubber ball like a swallow between trees, benches
This park is an echo
:iconexquisiteoath:exquisiteoath
:iconexquisiteoath:exquisiteoath 5 17
Literature
Drown Mondays
The best way I found
to catch my seven-twenty train
is to miss the seven-o-five, be late
and grow a glut of yin
from the corpses of yangs
drown mondays to breathe tuesdays
but I nibbled cake and kept it too;
I caught the seven-o-five
and the hands fell off the clock,
fell off my wristwatch
:iconpseudometry:pseudometry
:iconpseudometry:pseudometry 32 33
Like Father, Like Son by alangragg Like Father, Like Son :iconalangragg:alangragg 684 56 Drops by ThauChengCha Drops :iconthauchengcha:ThauChengCha 708 83

Activity


deviantID

BeyondJen
Jen Fowler
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
They say if you write, you're a writer. So, I'm a writer.

For all the writing I love to do, I seem to be really awful at conveying the important emotional stuff verbally or even sometimes in an email. I also repeat myself a lot. I believe it's because I feel the need to attack an issue from 27 different angles just to make sure you understand it -- because apparently, that's how complex I believe myself to be.

Like most writers, I do not get paid for it...ever. And that's okay. I write to express myself, because I honestly think it helps me understand myself better, and because I love writing.

I'm also a single mom, a lover, a sometimes fighter (but never a bully), a friend, a caretaker (no, not of the dead), a goofball, rebellious, a daredevil, a risk-taker, a lover of life and love, and I'm passionate. I think I'm also really lost but I'm finally starting to find my way.
Interests

Friends

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconthelunalily:
TheLunaLily Featured By Owner Jun 7, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Happy early birthday, Jen! :hug: :heart:
Reply
:iconzanilliawanglingshan:
Watch back, pls
Reply
:iconstormbringer23:
StormBringer23 Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2015
Been a while, girl. Happy birthday.
Reply
:iconspartan-locke:
spartan-locke Featured By Owner Jun 13, 2014   Traditional Artist
Happy belated birthday!
Reply
:iconcarryphoenix:
CarryPhoenix Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
Reply
:iconlonnyclouser:
LonnyClouser Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you so much for adding my work to your favorites!  :D
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
BeyondJen Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure! 
Reply
:icon1bench:
1Bench Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2014  Professional General Artist
I love you.,who are you?
Reply
:iconworldwar-tori:
WorldWar-Tori Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2014   General Artist
Thank you so much for the :+fav: and :+devwatch:
I appreciate your support Little Pixel Heart
Have an awesome day!
Reply
:iconslawekgruca:
Slawekgruca Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2014
Thanks!
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
BeyondJen Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
Reply
:iconpoetryod:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2014
:iconthankyouscript1::iconthankyouscript2::iconthankyouscript3:
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
BeyondJen Featured By Owner Jan 21, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
It was my pleasure! :heart:
Reply
:iconmoondrop1xd:
moondrop1XD Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the llama~!
Reply
:icongoldenkun:
GoldenKun Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the Fav :D
Reply
Add a Comment: