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About Varied / Hobbyist Brytnee Agnes Dufrat20/Other/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 5 Years
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Statistics 148 Deviations 795 Comments 10,128 Pageviews


All that’s left
are the sirens,
collateral damage
that echoes, collapses
against the cathedral’s remains.

Walls you dismantled
by hand, each brick
a promise you held,
cradled between your palm
and fingertips –
took apart
like plucking feathers
from a dove.

Inside, my temple
is now ashes.
You held a match
to things I held holy;
took for granted
the secrets I told you, sacred
as Sunday morning prayer,
fuel for ritual fire.

You, a false prophet,
I, a heathen,
we set each other aflame.

I burn.
My hands reached
as high as they could –
gripped you, balanced
on your feet. You wore
moccasins, a warm tan,
soft wool lining.
The kitchen tiles,
old, worn down and
peeling upward at the walls,
colored an ugly white linoleum
with moldy green diamond
in between
where the tiles met –
it was our dance studio.
Your hand, calloused,
split and tired, reached
as high as it could –
no longer my dance partner,
you threatened to hit me
for what I had done.

I told you that my mother
always purchased doubles,
never singles, when we had
photographs developed,
damage was already done.
Drawing a crowd, the woman,
shuddering behind the counter,
offered to dispose of a set.
Softly, you spoke to this stranger,
paid for both, left for a silent ride
in your moldy green Ford pickup,
a deep-set glare at the road,
never looked to me.

My mother, out of town,
took with her my father, the illusion.
I met you
for the first time.

Years crawled like bed bugs;
each day you found in me
a new flaw; I weighed
too much, spoke
too much, thought
too much -
I was too much,
yet not enough.

You wore cruelty
like a fashion statement,
played God with sick
animals, only the privileged
allowed medical care.

November, I regretted
waking, getting up to face the day -
you. The house was always cold,
like you, like him.

Curled up, he felt like
taxidermy.  I knew loss but
never without a goodbye.. You told me
he was worthless, an evil
you were glad to be rid of -
you gave him to me as
a child; I had always wanted
a kitten, something warm
to hold.

You had always wanted


You made the house
a hotel for misery.

Blamed my mother
for your failures,
you were never one
to admit your mistakes -
am I one, too?

Foreclosure crept at our heels.
Instead of finding work,
you asked my mother
to take more hours -

the threat of homelessness
at our throats, divorce filed,
you wasted no time
moving on.


We left hell,
found home,

The apologies
dripped off your tongue
like every other
spoon-fed excuse.

I missed my father,


You married her
before I met her -
she wouldn’t let you
come around.

You gave her
our phone numbers,
she started fights,
and made excuses
why you weren’t around.

There was always
something, I was no longer

You told me that
you no longer had time.


It had been a year
since I last saw you,
and there you stood
with the new missus.

Ask, if we have your mail,
turn away, to leave -
I beg you to stay.


I want to talk,
you don’t want to listen.

No apologies, no excuses,
you blame me for
your absence.

I don’t believe it anymore.


You take my strength
for disobedience, climb
back into her car -
for a moment, I’m manic,
crying, go back in my head
to my dance partner.

Stepping in front of the
halted car, I make a final plea
to my father.

You, his corpse,
won’t respond to me.

Your wife, I imagine
calling my mother slurs
like she did through text,
she didn’t say anything
to me,

put her foot
on the gas.


Her car, small, compact
only reached my shins.

I had enough sense
to dash away, but still,
the intent was there.

You never called to
ask how I was, if she
hurt me; you
hurt me.


The kitchen tiles,
a summer forest green
granite, I dance.

Nobody else
is home.
Evolution of Fatherhood
Will go back and edit later.
A dull roar licks my temples.
It collides like heavy drum beats,
splattering my ear canals,
dripping in and sticking like honey.
Inside I am restless –
my subconscious and I at war,
an endless campaign
I cannot win.

If we were friends,
then he is a drunk phone call in the early hours,
keeping me awake.
He is run-on sentences of  discarded thought,
pausing long enough just for the alarm to scream.

At the end, I find myself awake, sleepless
perhaps lonely.

Only then does he stop to breathe.
I remember when you looked at me as if you were afraid of losing me – a certain look of battle preparation, a fierceness that almost frightened me but in the same moment, I felt safe. You had the same look each time I came to you, weeping, ready to lay my weapons down; you picked up arms and cradled me to your chest. We both came from separate wars and called each other refuge.
Now, it has been a year. The last time we met, you looked like silent retreat. I must have looked conflict weary; weak enough, where for the first time, you didn’t try to hold me.
Your shield has been dropped, cause forgotten.


Journal History


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LegolasPanther Featured By Owner Dec 21, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday and Seasons Greetings ^^

Wikita Featured By Owner Dec 21, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much! ^^
Happy Yule, Merry Christmas, and a very good New Year to you!
LadyFromEast Featured By Owner Oct 8, 2015  Professional Traditional Artist
Hello! Thank you kindly for adding me to your devwatch! :PinkBummy: 
Wikita Featured By Owner Dec 21, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Of course! :D
Fyrrea Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you by Fyrrea  
Thanks for your support La la la la I'm very happy you liked my art!
Have an awesome day Hug,
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