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About Literature / Artist Member Grae MatternFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 3 Years
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I've decided recently that I need to delete most of the old stuff on here. I'm probably not, but if you want to read poetrythen ignore all old stuff.

Thank you so much for either if you choose to favorite/comment.



there’s tea you still need to drink.
you left it on the counter again, because you’re
always forgetting where you put it.
it’s probably cold by now, but
it’s there for whenever you’re ready.

here’s a blanket to lose yourself in.
you don’t have to give it back.

here’s another book i think
will make you cry if i ever find the courage
to give it to you. i’ve underlined every
line that made me want to scream, that made me
want to rip out my hair and destroy everything
beautiful about myself, that made me want to
drive across a desert in the middle of the night,
that made me fall in love with everything wonderful
the universe has left to give me.

i can’t find the words to tell you what it’s about.
i guess it’s about growing up and finding love
but it’s also about figuring out how to exist comfortably
and it’s about people who are good and people who
are not always good and the things they do and the worlds they tear
down and build up again and it’s about boys who kiss each other
with lips and fists and girls who learn to breathe with
only one pair of lungs and girls who feel their worlds end
while they’re sleeping. it’s about rubble and aftermath
and the stubbornness to keep existing in your own skin.

and for a couple of chapters, one guy wants
to commit suicide and i relate to that so much
but i don’t think that’s something i can ever find
the words to tell you. so instead i will give you this
book and say, “today, i didn’t want to get out of bed.”
and you will nod and agree and you will not know
what i mean and i will know too much.

drink your tea before it gets too cold to touch.
curl up and turn the lights down low and read
this book, cover to cover. underline every part that makes
you want to live a little bit longer. write your name
on the back of the front flap--

you can keep this one.
in honor of a friend, who's feeling a bit under the weather. well. inspired by a friend who's feeling under the weather. i just had to turn this poem into talking about me. no one should be that surprised.

this isn't a happy poem and before y'all ask it isn't based off any one book, just a little bit from a lot of books. but also i'm pretty sure when reading this that most people have one book they're thinking about. comment which one it is below. I'm out of good things to read anyway.

the last book i read was Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe and it definitely inspired a fair amount of this poem. if you haven't read it, i highly suggest you get on that because literally it's the most beautiful prose i have ever read. I've given it to, like, half of my friends and they keep it for a few months before finally starting to read it, and then they finish it in a day. 

this will probably be the last actual poem, poem i post before my birthday (tuesday i am turning seventeen on tuesday ohmygod yes).

PS: thank you thank you thank you so much for the DD oh my god thank you thank you thank you so much so sosososo much oh my god i about cried. that poem was one poem i wrote for a friend who asked for a poem about how people really 'view her" and i was so afraid that i would post it and no one would like it or favorite it and usually i'm not really concerned about favorites but this time i definitely wanted the poem to be liked because it wasn't for me it was for her so i just really want to thank every single one of you who favorited it or read it or commented on it. (for those of you who don't know what i'm talking about one of my poems, "i would do anything to get you to love yourself" just received a DD)

love y'all. have a nice weekend.
Writing by Amazingly Awesome People
594 deviations
to the most recent douche to break my heart,
i know it’s not your fault. i’ve been told enough times
that the blame lies primarily in the differences between
the two of us. i am not what i seem—you had no idea
what you were signing up for. when i write poems
about lying in bed all day, i am not doing anything
you would classify as fun. i am counting dust molecules
in the air. i am counting out the number of times in a minute
that i think my heartbeat will stutter in its strut. i am counting
backwards from one hundred, breathing out on the evens and in on
the odds. i am counting down the days until you leave me.

don’t waste your breath with the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech.
i know the truth. i know you kissed me for the first
time because you thought you could be my dream catcher,
because you thought perhaps your arms would be enough
of a defense to ward away my nightmares. instead
you end up playing doctor in a psych ward, searching me
nightly for razors and pills and unhappy thoughts.

it’s me. it’s me and the way i refuse to step on cracks
or eat peppers or hold your hand because the weight of
five extra fingers sliding in where they don’t belong
makes me want to scream. i am not what was advertised
in those books you read that were probably called
‘how to love a depressed chick’ and filled with pages
upon pages of stories where love truly conquered all.

loving me more than i do is not going to make me whole.
no matter how many times people complimented Beethoven
on his ability to play the piano, he still could not hear
the notes he pounded out. no matter how much yellow
paint van gogh swallowed, all he did was paint more sunflowers
and cry louder. no matter how many times you hold me
in the night and whisper that you will love me until i can love myself,
i will not stop shaking apart in your arms

you are not my savior, you are my boyfriend.
there are no white horses around here,
no dragons to defeat and princesses to whisk away.
there’s never an ending. you can’t kill the monster
that doesn’t have any body except for mine.

i am not easy to love and i am not easy to fix
and loving me comes with a warning sign
that says that some days i will not want
to kiss you but it is probably not your fault.

it’s not you, it’s me.

don’t love me under a condition, an asterisk of
waiting till i can leave the house without my hands shaking.
don’t love me in order to save me from myself, i can promise
you that that doesn’t work. i can promise you that
sylvia plath didn’t turned on that oven with the
intention of baking her husband cookies.
virginia woolf did not weigh her pockets with wedding
rings when she jumped into that river. i will not
write poems crying over how sweetly your love filled my veins
until i no longer felt empty inside.

love goes so far, but we only ever existed
in inches. you never cared enough to stay for
that extra mile.
it's not me, it's you
not directed at one specific douche with a savior complex, but more generally directed at everyone who believes that all it takes for a depressed chick to be happy again is a cute boy. to this one dick, and all the ones that came before and will come after him.

have a nice day, lovelies.
i know your type, i’ve seen them around here
before, browsing through my poems like
you’re flipping through vinyl records, trying to find
that one disc you were listening to the first time
he leaned over and kissed you.

the only way you’ll ever be able to love yourself
is if he leans over and kisses you again, is if someone
tells you about the seven wonders of your soul, if
someone sits down and writes a list of all your beautiful
fault lines that you’ve never been able to forgive.

you want to love yourself and you want to be loved,
but i know it’s hard to believe that you’re holy,
when your hands still shake when they touch food and
your breath always quickens when you drive
over bridges and no one can look you in the eye
when you ask them if you’re beautiful.

look, you’re stardust, you’re snowflakes, you’re
the sky’s gift to us, you’re comets on a cloudy night
when no one looks up to appreciate how beautifully
you burn up, you’re the tracks airplanes leave as they
fly, you’re the birds migrating south, you’re the third
generation of monarch butterflies making their way back
north to a home they’ve never seen, you’re a hurricane
on a holiday, you’re venus, the roman goddess of beauty,
you’re the moon singing here comes the sun,
you’re the sun.

let me play hey jude for you even if i don’t know
the chords, let me find the boy to kiss you
at an altar, let me tell you about the seven ancient
wonders of your soul and the seven natural wonders
of the person you’ve become, let me
make a list of all the good things i’ve seen you do
since you were twelve and a prediction of the
amazing places you’ll be when you’re twenty-four.

i know everything hurts right now, that your hands
are shaking even when you’ve got every reason to hold on,
that you’re fighting your demons in a war that’s tearing
you to shreds on the inside out, that it takes work
to be as okay as they expect you to be everyday,
that the drag of air through your lungs feels like
being dragged through the dust after you’ve already fallen,
but you’re breathing, you’re blinking,
you’re braving the battle,
you’re beginning.

stop browsing through my old poems
looking for the right fit.
this is the one for you.
i would do anything to get you to love yourself
this poem needs no dedication, as she says she'd be able to tell when i wrote a poem about her.

literally waiting till the last minute to post this one because this is the last poem i wrote in 2014 so it should be up in 2014...

have a great new year's, everyone. sincerely and from the bottom of my heart, i love y'all and i want everyone to be safe and happy and well fed and happy and in love if that's your thing and i'd give all y'all hugs or kisses or, like, high fives/air fives if you don't like to be touched that much by strange girls, if i could but i can't really but honestly and truly i hope everyone finds even better ways to love themselves. buy a bath bomb. eat a jolly rancher. walk a couple of miles before going to work. hell, run a few of those miles if you want. wear pretty black undies or dress all in black like you're about to attend the funeral of your self-hate.

i would do anything to get you to love yourself (title drop).

seriously though this year i just want every single one of you (the people reading this, the people reading this who know me in real life, the people reading this who are skeptical about my existence and hope my internet connection dies, the people reading this who like me enough to favorite my poetry and to tell me they thought it's decent shit) to do better this year. even if last year was ace, make this year even better.

and above all else, just do right by yourself. if anyone deserves it, it's y'all.

she has maybe five new year’s resolutions
and they all sit heavily on her shoulders.
she takes a step and smiles at a pretty boy
and three of them slide off.


he gives her chocolate at the right time
and smiles at the right times.
so she lets him take off her clothes,
and lets him stay the night.


march is spent sticking fingers down
her throat, twisting
in a way she swore she forgot.
her boyfriend breaks up with her.
he wouldn’t have if she wasn’t—
if she was—


it’s like this:
she gets out of the hospital
when they think she’s survived her april showers.
she’ll be a may flower, they say,
but she knows better:
she’s henbit.


getting high with strangers
doesn’t change anything, but it’s the first time
she’s laughed since—
then a guy asks her if she loves him,
and it’s not hard to say yes.


On their fourth date, he boasts that he can
swallow his pills dry. she can too, but she
can’t mimic his pride.

she’s never found it satisfying to be broken.


he calls her his universe the day before they break up.
she spends all of sunday outside until
the stars appear. the universe, she realizes
eventually, was made to be



After school starts, the sky seems smaller.
Once, she wanted to be astronaut,
But now it’s hard to imagine being anything
except trapped between an apathetic existence
and an unattainable death.


The weather gets colder. So does she.
on a Friday, she steps on a maple leaf on the
way to english.  that night she goes home
and recreates the color.


(they heal.
she doesn’t.)

she doesn’t want this and
in early mornings
(during that time of day where
everything feels eternal),
she shakes with pent up rage,
too afraid to



the temperature drops.
trees shake in the wind, rubbing their
arms and wishing they still had coats.
she learns to bite through her tongue.

now, everyone is wearing long sleeves.


it’s Atlas all over again.
she’s promising herself things like change
and happiness until her shoulders
droop with all the ways she would be better
if she could just be different.
warning: this is possibly the shittiest poem i have written since i was, like, twelve. k thx

BUT. here is the thing with this poem. each stanza i wrote in a month. so i wrote the first one waayyyy back in January, the seventh one in July, etc. etc.

And each stanza has the same amount of words in it as its month has days. like, so, january's stanza has 31 words, march's has 31 words, but June's has 30 words. (if one stanza actually doesn't and it has one word less or one word more, pls don't tell me i think i'd cry)

So, the poem sucks but it took me a really really long time to write it, and i haven't edited each stanza after the month was over. It was supposed to be a study on, like, my writing style and how it changed throughout the year.

**also, idk if anyone is confused, but in April's stanza it mentions henbit, which is a weed that grows pretty much everywhere, and no one really knows its name.

i didn't really mean for this to happen, but a lot of the stuff that this girl goes through are based off of conversations i've had with other people/things i've done throughout the year, which personally i think is really cool but whatever. my favorite stanza is probably july, maybe june, or even december.

continuity was probably the biggest problem, since, like, i didn't really start it having a set storyline for this girl to follow. you just follow her through one year of her life and sometimes things happen and sometimes things don't and the end of the year doesn't always mean a happy ending. 

additional warning: this is not going to be the last poem i write about 2014 but the last one will, hopefully, be better.

(i love you guys, have a great one.)
you guys give me a Daily Deviation??? I love you all so so much. I mean, seriously, seriously thank you. Every single one of you is amazing and perfect and just wow okay I'm still wow'ing.

And it's more than just a DD, you know, like, I'm super touched and flattered and all these other adjectives on the response "welcome to the real world" got. I loved reading your comments about how you perceive the real world and what you were afraid of when you were graduating college/high school.

Which is another thing. I can't even begin to describe how amazing comments like, 'I just graduated high school and I think I needed to read this' or 'Just finished college, this helped me so much'. Good. Thank god, because that's what I wanted that poem to do to you. I wanted people to read it and feel, well, maybe not helped, but at least not so alone. My oldest sister graduates college in June, and today is my other sister's high school graduation and today was the last exam of my sophomore year of high school, so we're all another step into having no idea what we're going to do later and I know it scares me and it probably scares them, too.

So I'm just really glad that people read this poem and liked it, or even if they read it and hated it, or read it and messaged me all the ways that I'm an ignorant, privileged sixteen year old. This is true. But like I said earlier, I wrote "welcome to the real world" so people could read it and feel like they're aren't the only ones facing these problems. Cause sure, from what I've seen the Real World sucks and it's awful and yeah, there's little bits of 'this is great' but it's mostly twenty-somethings wishing they were preteens again. And it would doubtlessly be better if no one thought they were the only ones going through the same adjustments.

I got off all track--I just really wanted to say that after the week of exams I've had and Ending Of The Year blues, this was amazing. Thank you so much. I'm still smiling.


MisfitableGrae's Profile Picture
Grae Mattern
Artist | Literature
United States
I hate talking about myself for any length of time. My favorite part of the summer is the fireflies. My mother doesn't understand why I like the rain so much, but let's just put that on the ever-growing list of things my mother doesn't understand about me. I don't know what to do about that. I do this weird thing where I don't reply to comments and don't tell everyone that follows me that I love them but I love them and on Bad Days, I reread the comments and look at my watchers and I smile and fall a little bit more in love with humanity in general. I'm allergic to every nut but peanuts. I am a horrible human being. But some days I can convince myself that that doesn't necessarily mean I'm not a good person.

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deviantartchiz Featured By Owner 3 days ago
LeftUnfinished Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday! birthday cake Hide Birthday Emote My Dork Dance  Hope your day is fantastic!
WindFragments Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday! :cake: :hug:
Hope you're having a good day :D
Psychia98 Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday; I hope this year is good to you :)
Marry-A-Marauder Featured By Owner 4 days ago
happy brithday! :D
DalekCaanII Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday! ^-^ :party: :cake:
Hyurikken Featured By Owner 4 days ago
Happy Birthday...Hug 
Xmzv Featured By Owner 4 days ago
Um. Hi! : D I'm a recent watcher of yours c; Whispers ; you're an awesome write by the way 0:
Happy birthday :3 *Flies away majestically 
LadyBitterblue Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hey, I just hope you always remember how amazing and talented and inspiring you are. Your poetry is one of the best things to happen to me on bad days. Keep your head up, dear.
MisfitableGrae Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2015   Writer
i seriously can't even tell you how much this means to me. thank you so much.
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