Shop Forum More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Artist Julie FolgersFemale/Unknown Recent Activity
Deviant for 15 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 94 Deviations 644 Comments 3,093 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

looking back
its not a booth like in the movies
dark, with shiny wood and a window
that is really just black wires
like the crappy fence that runs
between my neighbor's house and mine
and just like i can see my neighbors through it
you can see the man in the white
through the gate that is just black wires
although they never let that on in the movies.
its really just a boring white room
white ceilings that are as shiny as a bald man's head.
i look at this stranger and he is bald too.
i feel my own hair and it feels soft and smells too spicy
for this room of baldness.
the silence floats around
but it's bald too.
its wearing a toupee of reverence.
ps. screenshot from lytle/mats.html
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 1 1
put down the looking glass
the moments are for the stealing
they don't stop for anybody
floating like kings
on white feather floats
and i'm swimming in my insides
as they turn inside out
and evaporate into my eyes
but the good news is
i'm alone again
closing my eyes to all that is
or floating
or sinking
or spinning around me
a constallation spells your name
in the stars that appear when i rub my eyes too hard
and when everything else dissappears
(including my discarded bottles with insecurities that never made it across the sea)
you are quite beautiful.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 2 7
The Lost Chamber
the first boy i ever loved lives in a freezer in my heart
it is a white room, walls covered with ice crystals
he sits in there night and day
hating where he is, shivering in the room
but i know he wouldn't be happier anywhere else
underneath the ice there is padding on the walls
i don't know if he went crazy when he got in there
or if he went in there because he was crazy.
the blood doesn't pump there anymore
but people say once it did
as the empty veins run like old pipes
hidden in the padded walls
they are almost beautiful with blue rust
and shimmering icicles.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 1 9
he lived in her face, or so it seemed. his moods, whether warm, frightened, or furious seemed to be screened in her young features. today, while looking at her, i could tell that he was angry. it showed in the tightness of her jaw, the shadow in her blue eyes, and the shimmer on her eyes' pink rims. she was constantly in a battle to win back the strings to her own face, reaching for one string in public, trying to draw the corners of her mouth upward, toward all things good, the sky, angels. but he always held the strings. today he felt like tilting them to the left, and she was dragged along, not able to show her frusteration as the strings slipped completely out of her hands.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 0
The Phoenix In My Cigarette
i feel like i'm losing you slowly.
and it makes me realize
that i am just a cigarette
dangling over an ashtray
as everything inside me slowly glows orange
before curling into itself
and turning to black ash
that will crumble at the first angry touch.
some parts of me are still glowing though
but maybe
i need to turn completely to ash
just in case i'm a pheonix.
maybe it is worth it to die
for that rebirth
that goes against every law of physics
as my much too aggravated dust
slowly forms around the air and is
inhabited by a warm orange glow
and maybe after a lot of practice
i will grow into something
a little bit more pleasant than a cigarette.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 9
Why I Love Writing
i started writing poems in eighth grade. i remember when i started writing my first poem. i was in the bathtub, with my head halfway underwater, and i thought something that made me sit up and say hey, that sounds nice. i dont remember what it was, but while my hair streaked out underwater around my floating head, my head inside was writing my first poem. after that, i got such a rush, that i started writing poems about everything that was going on in my life. of course in eighth grade i was very naive, and most of them were about liking older and rarely seen guys, and getting mad at my parents. (in other words most of them were horrible.) i often tried to rhyme and pretend i was writing michelle branch lyrics. ( "yoooooouuu get meee, when nobody understands, you're there to hold my hand" ) it was when i first fell in love and i poured all my frustration into horribly cliche poetry that i looked at over and over again, shaking my head at the injustice of it all. then i found deviant ar
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 1 10
Don't Remember Me By That
i open my mouth
and the words
spring out like
vending machine soda
bubbling all over
and making a mess
i bet if pop
came alive one day
it would feel quite
bad about all that.
and you stand
wide eyed
your feet cemented
to the shifty floor
until you bite your lip
and turn on your heel
and walk away.
and here i was
with nothing to say.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 12
Maybe Tomorrow
he stepped in and out of himself
as if he were nothing more
than blue and yellow tennis shoes
i thought of this while i looked at him
and then i looked down
at my own feet
my feet felt like they
were swollen
but my shoes were really
just too small
i looked up
and i saw him looking at me
i could see that gray
that crept around
the corners of his eyes
when his mind was running
and his muscles were tense
i willed it to go away
but i guess today just wasn't our day
ps. screenshot =
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 7
Knocking Down Walls
words are climbing ladders
in my dna
or maybe just divine
intuition seeps into
my circuits
not just my brain
in the resulting confusion
those absenses of words
make thin as air poetry
that leaks through my pores
i let it show.
you let yours show too.
and all is right with the world.
ps screen shot =
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 8
What If
he never stepped on the cracks in the road
he didn't know what would happen if he did
probably nothing
but maybe something.
on rainy days there were puddles
and occasionally they reflected rainbows
stepping one one of those
had to be bad karma.
he said he always loved winter
roads paved white with options.
i always understood.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 2 16
the shadow-faces
in my head
are jealous of you.
of the way the
eager light
clings to all your corners.
bouncing off of my eyes
and making primsatic
colors on the floor of my mind.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 12
streamers floated in the air
until their bright colors
shrunk into smell.
lilies and peaches and
hung on to snow tipped pores.
eventually the parasites came.
(the color of dread)
moves in catch-22s
turning inside out
what once was a hanger.
leaving it hanging
on its trail of dust.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 9
Clap - To Save A Pixie-
"do you believe in magic?"
he asked her
geniune as a 50's malt shop.
she turned towards the wind
and let her answer float back.
luckily it was lost in her hair.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 14
Clap -To Save a Pixie-
"do you believe in magic?"
he asked her
geniune as a 50's malt shop.
she turned towards the wind
and let her answer float back.
luckily it was lost in her hair.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 1 0
"do blind people see in all black or all white?"
he asked her,
as she rocked his small body in her lap.
her foot tapped a small beat
on the ground
as she put just enough force
to rock a little boy to sleep.
"i don't know darling."
he shut his eyes
and squeezed them tight
so that small lines
snaked out from the corners.
"i see black."
"that's just the back of your eyelids baby."
"the backs of my eyelids are pink."
"close your eyes, but don't squeeze them....
keep looking. and  don't open them until you find the answer."
he shut his eyes, but didn't squeeze them.
she continued to tap her foot steadily
until his breathing became as regular
as the morning rays and velvet nights.
ps screenshot = late_story.shtml
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 10 45
III. The Fossils
His feet were the color of the ground
sometimes cement gray
sometimes as marshmallow white
as the hot sand on a beach far away.
you could see through his hands
when he held them up to a window.
he wore gloves
when the weather turned the streetcorner
a nuclear bomb gray.
:iconservechilled55:servechilled55 0 12


Flower Girl 14 by jademessiah Flower Girl 14 :iconjademessiah:jademessiah 2 1
I could float endlessly in the
Shadows that pool near my feet.
Adjacent to the angels where
The rabbit hole has taken form.
I could free-fall through sulfuric updrafts
Slowed down by no more than friction
With eyes wide and thoughts ponderous
As to what bottom I should be hitting this time
Off of mountain-tops I could scream
Bellowing what air I could grasp and
Discharge. Echoing the revulsion of a
Hollowed out shell, bereft and adrift.
I could wall this all up inside and feed
Off of myself until my Inner Light fractures
Through my skin. The weakening ever-expanding
From the gnawing and clawing and fading.
I could sit at the threshold of an open doorway
My knees to my chin, tendons stretching, eyes
Straining to see the outline of a bed
In a darkened room left empty from loss but full of life
I could sink like a stone and travel the distance to
The ocean floor. I could fly on the wings of angels
And accept the clouds for the simplicity that they contain.
It could all be done in one fe
:iconkindred:kindred 6 31
Bedroom Muse by berniethegiraffe Bedroom Muse :iconberniethegiraffe:berniethegiraffe 5 22 Effulgence by berniethegiraffe Effulgence :iconberniethegiraffe:berniethegiraffe 34 72 --sticksandstones-- by devilicious --sticksandstones-- :icondevilicious:devilicious 1,368 743
How many people see what I see? And are they just as sad?
More stupid questions.
They're not stupid.
Oh, of course they are. You're a sophist and an egotist, so the questions are always stupid.
That was unkind.
Why did you say it then?
It's true, and sometimes you need to hear what's true. Even when...
When what?
[Desperately] What did you mean?
Nothing. What do I ever mean?
You meant something.
Certainly. Everything means something. But leave me be a while.
Leave you be. Always it's you, but I am the egotist.
Oh, just shut up, will you?
If I stopped talking we would never talk.
Then what would we do?
We'd think of something I'm sure.
Sure. What?
Maybe something better. Maybe nothing. Who cares?
I do, and you don't. That's the difference.
Just be quiet a while.
Of course. I'll be quiet, and the world will end.
Oh, it will not.
It will.
That's the most preposterous...
It will, and then maybe you'll take me seriously.
How could anyone ever take you seriously when you t
:iconsarasvatia:sarasvatia 3 7
we are so modern
We're so modern. We've got cars that cradle our bodies and explode in our faces, with teeth and claws that dig into the ground and drink oil. We've got children who age like dogs , who eat only canned food, and who live only canned lives. We've got straws that can suck the moon out of the sky and shoes that let us walk out into the stars, though we'd prefer to drive. We sleep in artificial wombs and wear strap-on mandibles to chew our food for us. We have microscope-glasses that let us see that lice are really miniature angels and which let us steal their halos (to use as toe rings). We ride dolphins to work, and amusement parks and pixie-sticks have replaced sex. We keep ghosts as pets, and we live in igloos made so they will never melt. We are too modern for our own good.
:iconfireflycatcher:fireflycatcher 3 11
Spicewood Destiny by emryst Spicewood Destiny :iconemryst:emryst 1 2
beauty is disastrous
i am a skin city
bursting nuclear into
a million specks
that could be
a million stars
or could be
in a breath
take me
into your lungs
breathe life
into me again
i'll be born in a sigh
after a bout of
french kissing
and when
the last lips
part to leave
the last sigh
after the kisses of
the last love
i'll walk off the cliff
at the world's end
sinking into night forever
:iconzphoenixdownz:zphoenixdownz 1 9
Eye of Gaia by echo-si Eye of Gaia :iconecho-si:echo-si 8 34 Beatley Caricatures by swankyfunk Beatley Caricatures :iconswankyfunk:swankyfunk 10 6



Julie Folgers
Artist | Literature
Favourite genre of music: mellow
i want some help. i'm looking for some good music. tell me some good artists. i like singer songwriters, especially acoustic. convince me why they are great too.


Add a Comment:
PenWieldingPoets Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2005   Writer
~PenWieldingPoets is a newly formed community for poets that use meter.
If you use meter, or would like to learn, please drop by!
livingpoetsociety Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2004   Writer
undefinability Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2004
I really do hate that I hate rap, but it feels so good listening to something else.
And thank you, I appreciate that my thoughts are considered and pleased.

I'm fine, there's nothing real new happening. I can't write, and I have a job - and I haven't spoken to you in ages. How the bloody hell have you been?
I deleted my watch a while ago, and completely forgot about a bunch of people. . sorry. :(

I have missed you, though. :)
livingbyair Featured By Owner May 31, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
I :heart: you.
livingbyair Featured By Owner May 29, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
Sure thing babe :P
undefinability Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2004
Yeah, those computers tend to do that from time to time. The trick is to cover them in oil, light a match, and it will never happen again.

I swear.
livingbyair Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2004  Hobbyist Writer
i miss miss miss you.
undefinability Featured By Owner Mar 29, 2004
I'm quite well, actually. Everything seems to be flowing my way for a while - let's hope it stays. I need more to get back into the flow the prose and actually read others, but that will change.

How come you've been avoiding the computer? Just too busy?
undefinability Featured By Owner Feb 19, 2004
I'm glad you understood it.
Add a Comment: