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About Varied / Hobbyist IsabelleFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 5 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 398 Deviations 2,661 Comments 13,636 Pageviews

Newest Deviations



These days, I thumb through stars,
step through all the flowers
with thorns. I don't take care of first

His van floats away. Anniversaries
float away. Everything carries in on the breeze
night, everything lets itself go.

I don't make promises anymore.
I'm concerned with my own skin and bones,
my own arms and legs.
If there's thorns to step through,
they're my thorns.
Loyalty and Promises are Different Things
Just a really rough poem edited out of a freewrite. It's definitely not finished yet.
The streets have made her lean
but it’s the park that gives her muscle.

It’s at home where
the ghosts of past wounds
bloom on her fur.

We can’t see the fists, the kicks
that live inside muscle memory,
just the way she scatters and shrinks

to avoid taking up space.
She’s the fastest dog in the park.

I wonder what’s made her a contender
for their brotherhood,
where they exchange their own language
while we stand clumsy, two-footed.

I’ve never seen her smile inside the space of four walls.
I can see why she’ll never feel the need to please,
why she’ll never give the ball back.
What I've Learned From My Dog
The first draft of this was a much happier poem, but not one I was satisfied with. This poem is much, much better.
I doodle a scoop of moon on cone
a flowered-over gravestone
that says "we fucked here."

I compose a song in the midnight rain
and forget it the next day.

I help a friend sort out her life for an hour
and get a shoutout on her Facebook status.

Tire swings appear. Colored pencils vanish.
The rain still comes and goes.
I wrote this reeaaally fast o_o
I am sitting next to Jimi Hendrix
who is flying through the warm air,
the slow headlights, the chatter.

The streetlight is my favorite shade
of orange--warm.
It feels like breathing to sit here alone.

I’ve returned from a place where one applause
bled into the next, where mic was passed
hand to hand, pink crinkle paper fluttering.

I feel like someone now, now that I’ve stood and spoken,
now that I’m sitting on a park bench, reedy arms
and painted toes.

I find you can only write poetry
when your mind is open.
My pillow is made of teeth
that claw me when I sleep,
I have scars when I wake,
people notice the bleeding.

I swim
in and out of consciousness
sometimes above water
sometimes not.

My bruised eyes
aren't angry
just drowning

in the teeth.
Sleep Deprivation
This poem is incomplete


forgetyoself's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States

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Mandala-Jim Featured By Owner May 24, 2015  Professional Traditional Artist
Apologies for the delay..I'm playing catchup after a long holiday.. I just want to say THANK YOU for the watch! :D
forgetyoself Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
You're so welcome! Your work is beautiful!
KariLiimatainen Featured By Owner May 1, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
:thanks: for the support ..!! :rose:
Pajunen Featured By Owner Feb 25, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the :+fav:
FangsAndNeedles Featured By Owner Jan 23, 2015  Student General Artist
thanks for the fav :)
forgetyoself Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
you're so welcome! ^_^
shaitu Featured By Owner Jan 21, 2015   Photographer
thank you for faving
forgetyoself Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
you're welcome :meow:
shaitu Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2015   Photographer
:) thanks
BlueCaroline Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you Isabelle & Happy New Year!

Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake  :snowman:  Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake 
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