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About Literature / Hobbyist Jen Fowler38/Female/United States Recent Activity
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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 122 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 9 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 25 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
our changing seasons
Watching you walk into the room
It was like a Winter rainstorm
Like those days you plead for a change
And when it finally comes, you want the old back
I caught your eye and for just a moment
It was all the same
A brief glimpse of a smile
And a glimmer in your eye
Until you were drenched in the memories
Sucked back into a season of cold, unyielding misfortunes
Covered by the dead leaves and bare branches
That were ours
They can’t keep you warm anymore
They won’t
And they shouldn’t have had to
Twigs and trunks are only good for one thing
And those fires came and went
Like the Summers and the Springs
Those times that things should have grown
We were always so broken when they didn’t
Welcoming another change
Those changes you hated so much
Pushing the rake across my back
Into my lungs
It was cold air
It was always the coldest air
And the moment you left the room
I sprung back to my life.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 10 26
Perhaps. :iconflermigan:Flermigan 12 29 stare :iconflermigan:Flermigan 16 85
Literature
Wishful Memories
I remember how she would tickle her inner arm to fall asleep
and when she woke up she would lift her heavy eyes to give me a soft smile
like I was her dream.
Still blurry, still in that place between our thoughts and our fantasies,
she would breathe me in like I was her life
and blow me out like brilliant flame.
Her body still pressed against me, I could feel her stretch
to find my arms, my fingertips, anything she could find
to mark her awakening.
And I would find her, all over again, every morning
like it was our first time seeing each other's sleepy eyes
and morning hair.
We were like angels, so perfectly placed in a sleigh bed
hugging the morning and kissing the lips of everything
we had ever hoped for.
Together like we had always planned, caught in a swirl of tangled thoughts
like the tangled sheets and our tangled arms,
never to be undone.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 9 51
Fly :iconflermigan:Flermigan 5 20
Literature
The Catch
I thought it would be easy
You just have to let go, you said
I told you, it's too much like falling
Well that's the point
Letting go
Just to see if you're caught
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 7 48
Literature
bite my tongue
I am concealed
Beneath these tattered jeans
And against this red and black wall
Blending so perfectly with this background
I wait
Wait to be found
Or wait to be forgotten
Close my eyes and hold my breath
I'll be dead within the hour and you'll be long gone
You speak
I'm speechless
Motionless and breathless
As you search beyond the hollow walls
Again and again until you pass right through me
I am nowhere and everywhere and you'll be giving up soon
You touch
Feel that place
You know so well
Makes me weak and wet
You wipe your fingers on my jeans
You still don't know and maybe you never did
Maybe you were never meant to see beyond simple grays
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 12 18
Literature
Somatosensory
I want the heat of my heart
to lava flow through my veins
and burst through my fingertips,
just so you can know what I feel
when I touch you.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 15 50
Literature
5.27
I remember having this notion that everything would be alright.
Our fingers tangled in my hair, entwined above your head.
Your eyes peering into mine through your brown strands.
The way you feel underneath me, the way you have always felt.
It is perfect, fluid intimacy mixed with too much emotion to write about.
You are my idea of love and sex come to life.
And for you, I am passion personified.
Things just work, things just feel so right.
Beads of sweat drip down to the sheets from our stomachs.
Muscles tighten and sighs escape our kissing lips.
It is perfect, fluid emotion mixed with too much intimacy to write about.
And you are mine and we are each other's.
And we are exactly where we want to be in this moment.
I remember having this notion that everything would be alright and it has yet to fade.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 12 45
Literature
Facts and Myths
I am a realist.
I prefer sunsets to sunrises
and I believe that true love only
happens once in a lifetime.
Though, I'm not exactly sure what that means.
I think in even numbers
and count my lucky stars
that I have yet to be in love.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 14 49
Literature
Smell the flowers
I am just about sure
I can't do this anymore.
Everyday another fight,
another reason to give up.
Counting out pills and
choking them down dry.
It's an awful, Goddamn job
I never signed up for.
And it's endless and it's brutal
and I want to be done.
Every aching breath she takes is
one breath closer to the end and
I cry.
I scream and I check the oxygen levels
and I check the pressure of her blood and
I cry.
She forgets that it's Monday and
she yells at me for correcting her and
I cry.
These days, one after another, these nights,
sleepless and horrifying.
I cry.
How do you give up when you're it?
How do you face the mornings when
you know how the day will go?
How do you walk away from someone that is
dying?
You don't.
I can't walk away from her.
She has given me everything.
A home, love, and a life.
And now my life is hers.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 16 32
Literature
The Perseids
I'm sitting in a room with no windows.
I've lost all concept of time
and I'm still trying to figure you out.
I watch you close your eyes and slip away
while I float off on shooting stars
you forgot to wish on.
And as my feet tickle our
heavenly pillows and white rivers of
sheets and blankets
it is your face that pulls me down.
It is your breath that is my gravity
and your heart, my anchor.
I don't know what you dream
or what those forgotten wishes
could possibly be.
I only know this night
these four walls
and a sliver of hope
found between the lights
of a meteor shower.
I hold onto this hope
as I hold onto you.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 12 24
devID :iconflermigan:Flermigan 6 62
Literature
A Wish
I can't ask for a hug
or a second of your time.
I can't ask anything of you
but this-
Please  
write my name in the sky.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 27 34
Literature
Her Story Pt. 1
         It happened months ago and I still hadn't cried. I mean, I still hadn't cried about it specifically. Maybe once or twice after a night of drinking but I don't think that counts. My Mom was the kind of woman that, if you didn't know her, you'd think her rude. You'd think she was one of those mean old ladies. She wasn't, though. She was selfless and funny. My Mother carried herself like Kathy Bates in Misery, but really, those of us who knew her, knew she was more like Kathy Bates in Titanic. The unsinkable Molly Brown. A woman that spoke her mind and cared more for other people than she ever would for herself. I think that's why she lasted so long, being so sick. I think she was living for me.
         I don't know everything about my Mother's life, in fact, I know very little. The things I do know make me believe she was a superhero. I suppose every kid thinks that of their mother. In my
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 10 17
Literature
11:38
Separately the same but
together,
so different.
"But we all change",
you say,
with a smirk and a cigarette.
You tongue your teeth and
I know,
you're lying.
We breathed that same,
salty air all Summer.
You let me rest my
head on your shoulder
and I let you
fuck in my bed.
It's all the same.
A little give and a
little take.
8 hours asleep and back to the
porch,
back to the bottles.
More nicotine than oxygen
but
that was us.
Those were our rides.
Those were our
words.
Our high pitched
Dylan harmonica
and sweet, little songs
we sang
to one another.
Our silly, naive
hearts.
Dancer's hands,
freckle faced,
matching birth marks and
a time in our lives that
screamed intensity and
passion
so fucking loud,
I think the whole world could hear it.
And I realize you're
what
I'm missing.
We will always have
that Summer.
Those slow days,
those crazy,
always midnight
nights.
We're still there.
We're just a bit
changed.
:iconFlermigan:Flermigan
:iconflermigan:Flermigan 9 23

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

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Add a Comment:
 
:iconzanilliawanglingshan:
Watch back, pls
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: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!
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:iconcarryphoenix:
CarryPhoenix Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
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: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! 
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: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!
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:iconslawekgruca:
Slawekgruca Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2014
Thanks!
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:iconbeyondjen:
BeyondJen Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
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: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~!
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:icongoldenkun:
GoldenKun Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the Fav :D
Reply
:iconbeyondjen:
BeyondJen Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
You're very welcome. :)
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