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About Literature / Artist Member Grae MatternFemale/United States Recent Activity
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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.



When you leave me for the last and final time,
you say you will call soon. We will talk tomorrow,
you are sure. We are fundamentally still the same people
who could never have imagined a life without the other.

When you leave me for the final time,
all I do is hug you again, hard,
because this is the precise moment I learn
that you cannot wish something into
existence simply by wanting it enough.

You will not call me. I will not visit you.
Something between us has changed with the distance,
something that refuses to stretch and instead
breaks across the country leaving grooves in the earth,
deep and heartbreakingly, dangerously beautiful.

I hug you harder. You hug me back.
This is all we have left to give each other.

I hope, quietly and to myself, that further on
down the road, you will meet someone to fall in love with
and you will wake every morning missing
no one but the dog you had when you were seven.
And I want you to hold onto that ache because it’s a good one
and because it reminds you that not all pain
tears you apart and leaves scars that never fade.
I hope your scars fade but you still trace over
the skin on your wrist and remember how often you’ve
bled and also how often you’ve stitched yourself
together again and cleaned up your own messes.

I hope you realize that letting go doesn’t mean forgetting
and denying your problems won’t resolve them.
I hope you never learn to take yourself seriously,
and that you grow into your feet and your height and
the age in your eyes. I hope you settle down
eventually, that you don’t keep leaving
people, that you’ll plant your feet and grow roots down
into the soil.

I let you go. I love you so I let you go and back up. Inches. Feet.
Soon, eventually, miles.

You walk away. You don’t look back.
I know you’re thinking the same thing I am.
You’ll miss me. You hope that
I will be happy. You are not one for goodbyes.
You are not one to look back. You have a two-hour
train ride back to the city and perhaps you will think
of me at least once. You will wrap your arms around
your own shoulders and blame it on the cold,
you will laugh at some faded summer-tinted memory
of my smile when I’m drenched in rain. My name will
become synonymous with the smell of rain and mud and
green pine you can’t find where you come from, but
years from now you will not
remember why.
ephemeral (adj)- Lasting for a brief time, fleeting

this is kind of like a partner piece for "nascent", in that it's also an Honest Poem to People who Deserve my Honesty.

(I was gonna go with fugacious, but I just don't like that word as much :/)

(actually a fairly old poem but it's exam time)

(exams have nothing to do with the age of this poem, i just felt like complaining)

(it's exam time.)
Writing by Amazingly Awesome People
592 deviations
the temple of her body was torn open tonight,
desecrated and lit on fire. i swear, gods have burned
and felt less pain than i do as i write these words down,
because she’s crying in my bathroom right now and i have
to go and convince her that the handful of feathers
i have left in my palms could ever equal the wings he snipped
off of her tonight. she will never fly again. she will never
believe so wholly in herself again. her body is no longer
a temple, her body is a landmine, an open wound, a thousand
foot drop off of a bridge, a stranger to her. she will never
again be able to trust her body, to know her body.

this is not the first poem i’ve written about rape. but this is
the first poem i’ve written about rape when my hands
are shaking and i have a twenty second phone call still ringing
in my ears. it’s not about statistics anymore. i cannot
distance myself from the cold, hard facts by using pretty
metaphors about dissolving and beginning anymore
because a girl i remember growing up with is crying in my bathroom
right now and i have to go and try to convince that
her life is still worth living. how can i look her in the face
and tell her that bodies are temples,
that her body is precious, that her gods are strong and holy and
they will do anything to protect her sacred flesh?

how can i possibly stomach anyone ever complimenting
her again when i’ve heard her whisper the words he told her,
in the dead of night, when we’re holding onto
each other in the middle of a hurricane. “he called me pretty,”

she says. pretty. like pretty is a password
through a sacred door of resistance that has existed as a barrier for
generations upon generations of women, like pretty will excuse
your crimes and absolve you of your sins. pretty, like it’s a holy word,
like saying pretty on repeat will drown out her ‘please stop’s.

i can’t think of what metaphor i’m supposed to feed her now.
her temple is in shambles. no gods will step within a foot of her.
she believes in no temples, in no gods. what am i supposed to
transform her body into so that the next time she catches a glimpse
of the dark bruises on her throat in the grimy reflection of a mirror
she won’t reach for a bottle of sleeping pills?

darling i swear that your body is a forest,
your body is a city, your body is an ocean,
your body is a militarized fort, your body is a tree house
with a ‘no boys allowed’ sign stapled to the front door.
and if you can ever believe in anything again, please
believe that your body is yours and i will spend the rest of
my life trying to make up for the one night it wasn’t.
the aftermath
thank you for reading this have a nice day i'm sorry the world's so shitty right now
oh my god, i tell my friend after class, i want
to spend the rest of my life making him laugh.
she rolls her eyes and says that i shouldn’t
say that because i’m so young and i have no idea
how long my life will be and i tell her that that’s
the point.

that i may die tomorrow, but i want to be able to call you
up at two a.m. and read you my shitty poems and
pretend that i didn’t imagine the way
you twirl your pencil around your fingers as i wrote them.
i want to be able to pick out your heartbeat in a crowded
room because i’ve spent so long with my head against
your chest that your pulse is imprinted into my eardrums.
i want to be so gone over you that i smile big enough that
everyone else around me smiles too.

for the first time in my life, i can believe that god built
eve out of one of adam’s ribs— they must have
fit together almost as perfectly as you and i do,
identical down to their very bones, so that when
she shook in fear, he did too. and when they grew old
and their knees started cracking as they walked up
stairs, they learned to lean on each other to take
the pain away.

i bet she knew the exact number of  freckles he had
on his shoulders, and the exact number of sins
he carried on his hands. i bet his face lit up
every time she walked into the room and she never
failed to take his breath away no matter how stooped
and stubborn they got. there’s something beautiful
about growing old with someone and i bet
he thanked the devil every night for giving him that opportunity.

i want that forever kind of thing, that never say never
kind of thing, that ‘no you hang up first’ kind of thing.

listen to me like you’re dangling off the edge of a cliff
and my words are the only thing that keeps you hanging on.
i wanna be your first line of defense.
i wanna be your last laugh and all the things
that come in between.

i am tired of writing break up poems. please,
tell me about your sister and your favorite color and
the first time you realized you were breathing and how
long it takes you to open your eyes every morning
when you know what’s out there.

let me tell you about the people who’ve left
graffiti on the concrete walls of my heart. let me cry
in your arms until i’m laughing again. let me hand you
a can of spray paint and bare my soul to you. let
me never forget how often i’ve been burned before, but let
me love the length of your eyelashes so much that
i will gladly go through the pain again, just to be
the person i know i’ll become with you.

so just tell me your bad jokes and let me snort
into my palm until you’re laughing too. grin
at the stupid thing i do with my hands when
i’m nervous. catch one and never let it go.
give me so many butterflies that i’m causing
hurricanes on the other side of the world—

hear my voice from the doorway and look up
already smiling and honestly, i think that
would be enough.
11:10 a.m.
my family is on vacation in north carolina and when my family vacations, we vacation, so we're in the middle of downtown in this fancy flat thing (which is really, like, the perfect apartment and my dream for when i am old enough to legally pay for my dreams :/ but, well, c'est la vie baby, c'est la vie) but it's raining right now and it's night time out so all the streetlights are reflecting on the wet concrete and the windows and sirens keep going by and i have this big fuzzy blanket on and grape juice in a wine glass because im classy i guess and, like, the song hallelujah on repeat, and i just really love right now, this moment, and that hasn't happened in a long time.

this poem is actually about one of those moments i had a little while ago. here is another love poem. jesus christ. during that entire conversation, i kind of zoned out for a minute and everyone was talking to other people and i spent like thirty seconds just staring and then i just look away and mouth "fuck" and one of my friends on the other side of the circle mouths, 'what's wrong' and i'm, in my head, like, 'i done goofed again, Em.'
today it rained hard enough that the colors
of the street lights leaked out onto the road,
puddles of red pooling on the concrete
like blood getting washed away from
the battlefield. sometimes pain is fleeting.
sometimes it lasts forever. i know first hand that
humans have never done good things
with their hands, we keep our guiltiest sins etched
in the grooves of our palms. there is no absolution
for the calluses on our fingers, no matter how many
times we turn the rosary beads.

i almost crashed the car thinking about the way you were
enjoying the sun at the same time i couldn’t see
anything more than a faint streak of white
in the middle of the road like a chalk outline spanning miles
around some god’s body. you probably talked
poetry about the way the light filtered through the autumn leaves
and into your hair, kissing the skin of your cheeks
like a lover coming home after the war.

i want to come home now.
i want less storms and exit wounds,
more blue sky and sun-freckles.
i have felt your absence harshly and i know i
spend too much time checking over my shoulder for
any trace of the color of your hair or the sound of your laugh.
let me pick my way back to you, soaked to the bone
and grinning so much my cheeks hurt. i’ve kept my key. since the
moment i left, i have been ready to come back.

i will hang my muddy feet off of the mattress:
i will have walked miles by the time i reach you.
i will have held onto the belief that you would be
in the exact position i left you, arms tucked under your
head and both eyes closed, stretched out on a
five year old mattress. i will fall into a bed made for one
and squeeze my way back into your life.

i want you to know that we all make mistakes and
we all walk miles to repent for them
and some people find it hard to forgive someone wholly
but those are also the same people who find it
hard to give their entire beings away.
cautious gets you killed, i swear. cautious gets you
killed when you’re ninety years old and bald
and writing poems about the boy you almost
fell in love with when you were sixteen and didn’t
know how to care about anyone other than yourself.

i have never been good at taking that chance, that first
step out the front door of a home i’ve built
worlds away from the only one i’ve ever known.
the first thing out of my mouth when i see the bumps
of your spine will either be an apology or an acceptance
of your apology or an acknowledgement that
we have both done wrong by each other and we both nailed
our knees to the ground and our hands together
and begged for another chance to give away our ‘i love you’s.

i love you.
i have always loved you. i have loved you through
blisters and burns and highways and graveled roads.
i have loved you through construction and demolition
through hell and heaven and high water and low tide.

i have loved you quietly and blaringly, kept you
tucked close to my heart, worn you out of my sleeve.
i have scarred you and you have carved
your name into my skin—

i am never getting past you. i am tired of running.
please, when i knock on the door at three o’clock
in the morning, let me fall into your arms like
an absolution, like a baptism, like a thousand angels
singing me back home.
what a bible is worth in a bible belt town
to be very honest with you, this poem is a pretty shitty love poem, but i think i wrote it on the idea of someone leaving someone else and then wanting so much to return that it's all he/she/they can think about...idk it's an old poem. but i just got so excited about the title that i had to put it up here. like, man, i love the title. and i think it makes sense with this poem but title. :> have a nice thanksgiving if you're an american, and a good next week if you live literally anywhere else in the world

and just btw im sorry with all these religious references i'm piling up on y'all. i find the concept really powerful, even though i'm not religious myself and if anyone really has a problem with something that i write about or mention that i didn't use correctly or don't fully understand the meaning of, please tell me. <3
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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StarlightComet Featured By Owner Nov 3, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
*tries to favorite your entire gallery*
OfOneSoul Featured By Owner Sep 24, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hi, dear. :wave:

I just wanted you to know - I stumbled onto your piece "i don't have a dog" by accident and am SOOOO glad I did. I went to suggest it for a DD but then saw you've already gotten one in the last 6 months. I just wanted you to know how highly I thought of that piece. I read a lot of lit. on this website... and that poem was not only memorable, but touched me.

I actually recently considered the concept (of humans loving like dogs). Mainly because - I have a dog. My fiance and I disagree about him. I love him unconditionally and my fiance says he "hates" him. But then I thought to myself... you may "hate" him - but Rambo (my dog) still loves you.

I'll be watching for future amazing works from now on. Just wanted to stop by and thank you for sharing. :heart:
AcidSpades Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2014
Look, I know you're probably not going to respond but your poetry is amazing and you seem like a really awesome person. I wish I could write as well as you, and maybe even make a biography that sounds pretty damn awesome as yours. I like fireflies too, although I haven't actually seen them
Before. I guess we
Can blame owl city for that. Haha. And the rain is beautiful too. And you like supernatural.. So that gives you a bonus on why I even decided writing this weird comment.. And I really suck at endings... So, yeah. That's all. :p have a good day!
iMariposa Featured By Owner Aug 8, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for faving my journal!
jadeshade34 Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
keep up your amazing work, I hope one day you become even more famous and become a write. I love your poetry is very emotional and it tells that you are a strong person. havr a great day
Sannleikur Featured By Owner May 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
As I can see, you get this kind of response a lot but... I still find it oddly necessary to say something. You are an amazing artist. I'm not saying it from a technical standpoint, as I know very little of writing and especially poetry. In point of fact, I actively dislike poetry as most of it seems over done some how. I say it because while you are clearly a poet, I find myself drawn to read whats here anyway. You are someone who truly thinks as well as feels. I have the utmost respect for that, and as it is one of your qualities, you. Thank you for posting. 

p.s. If your mother really doesn't get your love of rain, than play storm tracks at night. It's incredibly soothing, and EVERYONE loves to sleep. maybe that'll clear the point up. XD
Kokorococoa Featured By Owner May 21, 2014  Student Digital Artist
iMariposa Featured By Owner May 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
You have an adorable smile! And your poetry is wonderful :love: :hug:
caIImejay Featured By Owner May 21, 2014
Your work is simply amazing to read, you are extremely talented to be able to write the way you do, beautiful work.
locosquirrel Featured By Owner May 15, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hi, you just sound like a great person and the words that you write cut straight to the bone and that's awesome. Yeah. That's all. :) 
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