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About Deviant Senior Member Kathryn O'DriscollFemale/Unknown Groups :iconthewriteplace: TheWritePlace
The Right Place for Writers!
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Deviant for 7 Years
2 Month Core Membership
Statistics 1,438 Deviations 58,986 Comments 352,257 Pageviews

Who, me?

Examples from my Gallery

Here are some of the works I've submitted recently that I am particularly proud of or think might be of interest to people trying to work out who I am as a writer.

To see more of my work click here or if you wanna see the ones I like the most click here!

Hearts [B/Blue] by RevPixy

Dirty LooksDon't cellophane the roses
they can't breathe under your denial of their needs.
They can't be watered down to nothingness
by the will of your want for them not to be -
don't wrap them up, packaged neatly
the way that would would like them;
that's not how things grow or bloom.
They can't flourish without their roots, let them feel them!
Let them have them! Let them remain grounded
and unafraid of your storm or governance.
Don't cellophane the roses
with tidy little labels to explain their 'mutations'.
Don't tell children not to touch them if they have
more thorns than usual, brighter petals, less fragrance -
don't corner them and cube them into segregation
so they remain separate from the wildflowers
that you happily let trail all over - no!
Don't cellophane the roses
just because you've never seen them before.
The Laws of AttractionHe likes to tell me how stars work.
He explains that Hydrogen ignites, collides, infuses -
and while he’s talking I am trying
to stifle the reverb in my heartbeat.
I try and stop my heart going supernova.
He tells me that the Hydrogen fuses into Helium
and eventually the star runs out of each -
I try not to be forcibly reminded
of every time I run out of Oxygen when he smiles at me -
I’m trying to listen.
He details how the stars elements burn out
one by one
creating heavier elements that burn less brightly.
I’m comparing stars to love
and smiling
because to me, Hydrogen, Nitrogen or Iron -
a star’s still a star at all its stages
and I love the stars.
He whispers to me
about how these elements disperse
how they reform and relapse
and I recall how stars become everything
He’s got his hands in my hair and his grip round my heart
so when the silence falls I can’t help but rush;
‘There’s static energy in my

EmbeddedI'm trying not to wake up with your mouth on my mind.
Trying not to sit up with a jolt and a flash
of vertigo because I'm not used to you not being here
to ground me.
I'm trying.
I'm trying to close my eyes without imagining yours.
Trying to get back to sleep and not think
about how much easier that was when you were here.
When I couldn't breathe
because the smell of you made my heart swollen and tense,
when kissing your neck was an imperative
not an option
and I couldn't question the pleasure under your smile -
- that smile - God I should have kissed that smile when I had the chance.
Hands smooth sailing hips and waist, delving,
digging, desperately trying
to break your lakely composure.
A crack in the ice to tell me that I was
more than convenient
and I would have been lost...
but I would have been lost in you.
I find myself lying alone
in a bed that reeks of regret
because I touched, you closed your eyes, you sighed, I touched but damnit,
we didn't kiss.
So I'm
Far and AwayWe can still be children.
Don't fret on facts or filing, they can wait til morning,
they can wait for us, they won't charge on without.
We can still be children -
the moon can still be a target for us to chase after,
the stars a map of the implorably possible!
We can still be children.
You and I can still explore fields and hedgerows
with our hands and hearts,
with soil in our noses and mouths
we can taste the regret of some mistakes
and we can relish in the making of others; we can.
Don't fret on age or adages, they will wait til morning,
if you want to, my friend, we can still be children.

Back To BlackSable bristles dipped in ink
seep black branches into the dipcurve
at the base of her spine.
I wrote it where she would never look;
because even if she could see it
she wouldn't be able to see it.
She'd laugh and say 'I know',
but she wouldn't know, she wouldn't see.
Held my wrist with my other hand
to stop my handwriting shaking
as I imprinted this poem onto her unsteadily.
The ink sinked into her pores and I wondered
if she might feel it that way,
but she won't.
I'll dry the ink and kiss it goodbye
and not care when it smudges onto my lips
because it wasn't written for her to read.
Because even if she had found it
by mirrors and contortions,
she wouldn't see it the way I do.
She wouldn't know
that when she rinses the poem from her spine
and it scuttles away into the drain
I'm still tattooed.
Mouth. Throat. Lungs. Heart;
blackened with the toxic words
I was trying not to say out loud.
I finish my script, pack my brushes and depart.
She can't see it a
In The StarsIn the stab of the night,
when there is no moon
or modern light to guide you -
there will be stars.
They will burn themselves out
with the vehemence with which
they shine for you.
They will desperately radiate
their message to you
across lightyears of dead air,
they are full with it.
They are children
holding their breath
until you beg them to stop.
They are waiting for you
to be ready to hear them.
In the ache of the night,
when there are no whispers
or echoes to guide you -
there will be stars;
and those stars will be couriers
baring these words to you
emblazoned with their royal seal.
They will be eternally pressed
in the spaces between space
and space.
Somehow in the cracks
of infinite nothingness
you will find my words.
Wedged behind a stereo
until you think to move it.
They are waiting for you
to be ready to feel them.
In the grimace of the night,
when there are no tears
or smiles to guide you -
there will be stars.
They will be distant eyes
full of my love for you
that will watc

SolitaryTrigger warning: Discussion of sanity and suicide.
The plan had been so simple. Thirty six hours in solitary confinement, Meredith was struggling. Last week this had all seemed so simple. So obvious. It seemed like she had devised the perfect escape plan. Things weren't working out as intended.
Firstly, and above all else - even breathing or thinking - there was the thirst. Her throat roared with it and she could feel its acidic anger snarl its way up and down her throat with each breath. She'd imagined discomfort, but not pain. She was starting to reconsider.
Her tongue was sore. The slab of meat in her mouth felt like unswallowed food as it got drier, and the taste when she could summon enough saliva to swallow was rancid, and reminded her of her ex boyfriends unwanted dry probings. In a desperate bid for freedom a few hours ago she had tried biting through her tongue, people did it in prison so she knew it was possible, but the pain was too sharp to work through and she didn'
The DancerHear me read it
The night I met Jessie she was beautiful. She swayed to the almost intolerably loud music as if her bones were made of it. She was something unknown. I remember the sharp cut of her hair had run across her cheek, parallel to her carved-out cheekbone. It looked like a wig, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her, and see if she felt like plastic. Who could ever believe that someone so perfect could be so real. I regret that. I regret doubting her reality.
Eventually she bought me a drink; she called it an Appleté but trapped in the pulsating fuchsia lights of the club it looked purple. It tasted like jealousy; sour and eye watering. When I told her this she laughed a little, apparently she'd heard that one before. I drank it anyway. I wanted to slot into my assigned role in her fantastical world.
We talked a little. She served other men drinks. The ones in the shadows could have been my reflection. It was confusing. The

HaloHear me read it
A halo of rope around my neck,
Is the closest to heaven, that I'll ever get.
I was crying so hard that the tears were pooling in my ears as she held my chin back. My eyes and nose streamed and meant I choked for breath around each new handful. I'd like to say she was methodical, orderly. But she was not. She had a surgical tray of containers and ripped heartfuls out of them at random. Pressing her hand down over my mouth so that mashed potato filled my mouth and I had to swallow it to breathe. I gagged and writhed under her hands but she held me down until my mouth was clear enough for oxygen and then as I inhaled and coughed as potato tried to get into my lungs her left hand would press down with something else.
It wasn't always like that. Sometimes she'd hold my nose and press my tongue down, tipping vodka directly over my tonsils. Sometimes she'd let me have little pauses to cry. Most of the time though she would go too fast, force too much into my small, convulsing throat, and I would vomit. My body rejecting her attack. It wasn't

IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
GangrenousThe bloated tongue full of helium
that escapes the ephemeral and lifts up, skyward –
is stuck in a congealed throat
draped with the closed curtains of bile and blood
souping a dam across her vocal chords. No more words.
The hair is brushed, later, out of its nooseloops
until it is straight and lies flush with the velvet,
in a box only just big enough to bury the dreams of a life
lived without pain
bubbling out of the now dead lips with each breath.
Skin soft turns hard – in the way that all girls do as they age
but she does not age.
She couples only with the wooden box, painted falsely white,
that covers her body and face.
It is the concealer, the mascara, the war paint never worn.
The chemicals of her unusually sewn-together body,
combine in a way geneticists cannot explain
to exude the only smell it can. Of her –
but it is not the familiar any longer. Not the smell of milk and dust.
Now, the acids boil together, to purge her of her pain.
The familiarity of her fades

My Most Popular Works

You'll Never DieHear me read it!
They say that if a writer falls in love with you then you never really die.
Instead your body is laid out in its funerial shrouds and moulds are made. Soft impressions of you to be pressed onto the blank faces of future loves.
Every time I write of taking comfort in a safe place in a storm, it will be your forearm. Every half-made smile will be on your lips, and every touch will be constructed from the residue beneath your fingernails.
When I metaphise of trees' blood, the leaves that give the energy so that a willow can provide shade for those in need, it will be your blood, it will be your light drenched kisses.
Every tear on every face will taste of the sweat that you put into keeping me happy. Every soaring song of love will be played through your windpipe, your trachea my instrument of choice.
For every time that a hero has the strength to walk on, I will use your feet. I will weld them to my own and walk a mile. Wal
StitchesHer name is Stitches and I love her.
She doesn't believe that - she says it is an improbability.
She doesn't say impossibility and that gives me hope.
No one but me knows why she's called Stitches.
I've run my hands over her soft white skin,
Flushed with the fevers of midnight.
I've touched it.
I've let my fingertips explore the hitches in her skin,
Where her body couldn't quite heal itself.
Old memories of gaping holes and vicious lies.
From her shoulder to her wrist,
From her knee to her ankle,
Any where she can negotiate a knife - she is Stitches.
It makes her cry sometimes.
She says she doesn't like being a rag doll any more.
They're old scars, robbing her flesh of its innocence,
Betraying her old soul - etching it out - a tally on her skin.


Some Beautiful Comments About My Work

See all of my precious reviews here :blowkiss:

... Speech Bubble by socksyy"You are without-a-doubt one of the most impressive writers I've had the pleasure to read from. As a young writer myself, I look up to you and your beautiful usage of words." - RebbleDiamonds

... Speech Bubble by socksyy"heartbreakingly beautiful. Just raw and honest and everything that makes reading poetry worthwhile." - Flermigan

... Speech Bubble by socksyy"Honest, economic, filled with verbal realism, and pitch perfect. Sensational work." - Dmofosho

... Speech Bubble by socksyy"this is Ginsberg for the 21st Century." - exquisiteoath

Think DeviantART should have a 'Reviews' widget? Me too. Click here to fave the suggestion!

My Groups

Groups I Contribute To / Own

Check them out by clicking the avatar or the name!
We'd love to have you involved :love:



A group that encourages people to reach out and build support networks. We have a chatroom here and we try to provide a safe, supportive environment in our group and chat for everyone.

A group that collects all kinds of visual arts in square formats! It's really that simple but I love it.

This group was a collection point for the project positivity collages but now lies dormant waiting for something positive and powerful that will contribute to our community. If you have ideas, hit me with 'em!

I'm currently on hiatus due to ill health but I do contribute features of Fashion Photography to the Senior Selections group because its an incredible way to highlight talent and Fashion photography is my secret love.

Hearts [B/Blue] by RevPixy


Eternal Features

I am delighted to have some of my RL best friends here on DeviantART. These people keep me alive and kicking every day (often against my will) so if you wanna meet these beautiful souls please be kind to them as I am very protective!


Some of the people who I hold deep in my heart, those who inspire me and my work or who just make my life more bearable. <3



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OHAI There!



Previously known as `KathrynODriscoll and `Flutterings

Hearts [B/Blue] by RevPixy

Kate || 28 || Female || Demisexual

Bath Spa University || British || Eccentric || Dreamer || Lost
Self Harmer || Mood Dysthymia with Major Depressive Episodes
Broken || Social Anxiety Disorder || Mixed Personality Disorder
Suicidal Tendencies || Mesmerised by Stars and Seas || Dog-lover
Addicted to Poetry || Old Soul Trying to Save Others Like Me
Disability, Mental Health, Gender & LGBTQ Activist || True Feminist

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaMLittle Hearts Divider by JEricaM

Contact me on other websites by clicking above!

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaMHearts [B/Blue] by RevPixyLittle Hearts Divider by JEricaM

© Kathryn O'Driscoll. All rights reserved.

All the materials contained in my deviantART gallery may not be reproduced, copied, tubed, edited, published,transmitted or uploaded in any way without my full written permission.

All characters belong to me unless otherwise stated in the artist's comments.

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaMLittle Hearts Divider by JEricaM

My names Kate, I've been here on DeviantART for approximately forever.. I like to help people and make people smile. I write quite dark, disillusioned poetry and prose about the world, mental health, disabilities etc - but at the end of the day a lot of hope, belief in humanity and love sneaks in there too.

I am 28 years old, currently a mature student at the incredible Bath Spa University working towards a degree in Creative Writing, looking to use my gift to influence representations of mental health and disabilities.

Nice to meet you!

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaMHearts [B/Blue] by RevPixyLittle Hearts Divider by JEricaM

Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Joined DeviantART on Oct 27, 2007
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet First Daily Deviation 'Grace' on Mar 13, 2008
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Given `Seniority on Dec 9, 2008
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Second Daily Deviation 'He Loves Me Not' on Aug 29, 2008
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Third Daily Deviation 'Branches and Apricots' on Mar 22, 2009
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Fourth Daily Deviation 'Fisherman's Blues' on Dec 26, 2012
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Fifth Daily Deviation 'Tattoo' on Jul 1, 2013
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Sixth Daily Deviation 'Wrapped Up In Herself' on Jan 10, 2014
Heart Pixel by Snowfleet Seventh Daily Deviation 'Ironman' on Sep 21, 2014

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaM

Avatar made by Kezzi-Rose just for me :love:, thanks babe!


narwhal. by omgAshley

Help with DeviantART

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaM

:bulletblue: LINK: Contact the Help Desk
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:bulletblue: LINK: Help / FAQ Gallery
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:bulletblue: FAQ #56: How can I get noticed on this site?

Pixel Water Drop by Kawiku

Help for Literature Lovers

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaM

:bulletblue: ARTICLE: How to get more views on your literature
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: What is Flash Fiction
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: How to critique without being a jerk
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Writing useful critiques
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: A guide to group-hosted contests and competitions
:bulletblue: LINK: The official Community Volunteer run literature group
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Getting started within the lit community
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Revising and Editing
:bulletblue: LINK: Publishing Resources
:bulletblue: LINK: Useful writing blogs
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Poetic terms and techniques
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Sentence variation
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Passive vs Active voice
:bulletblue: ARTICLE: Pacing and Show vs Tell

narwhal. by omgAshley

Suggest a Lit DD

Little Hearts Divider by JEricaM
Just send a thumb and why you think the piece deserves to get a DD to our Community Volunteers:

:iconthemaideninblack: :iconirrevocablefate: :iconsingingflames: :iconliliwrites:

Hey Beautiful!

You don't need to say thanks!

It's so sweet of you to drop by to say thanks for faves, watches, llamas.. but you really don't need to thank me.

I favourite works that I like so I can see them again in the future, or so I can create feature journals (if I feature you deviantART will notify you!)

I watch people for all kinds of reasons. I might just wanna see your future art, journals, collections.. I might just think you're funny or cool.. or sometimes if I see someone giving really thoughtful feedback to literature or photography (my two main loves on here) I watch them to see if they contribute art to the site later on. Because often people with the most constructive feedback apply it to their own work and have beautiful works to show. So even if you have nothing in your gallery yet, if I'm watching you thats for my own reasons and you don't have to thank me OR reciprocate.

I give people llamas mainly if I see them being a good community member. Good, thoughtful comments on literature are my soft spot so if you are a lit lover, that's probably where its from. I also try to return any llamas I get.

SO, all of these things are for me! You don't need to say thank you. Just go be a wonderful, thoughtful, inspired deviant and I hope to talk to you properly soon!

If you have a question, thought, or just wanna chat feel free to leave a comment though.. but be warned I am a full-time student and an officer within my Uni's SU so sometimes it might take me a while to reply!


Add a Comment:
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner Edited 3 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
:iconlatebirthdayplz: Sorry I missed it, been out of the country for a while
BATTLEFAIRIES Featured By Owner 15 hours ago
Thank you for Favouriting my stuff! Here's your invitation to come and ask ONE question of the Djinn --> 'Ask The Djinn' stamp by BATTLEFAIRIES <-- clicky clicky
seraphiclungs Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Writer
Oh wow, it really means a lot to me that you watched me. Also, I love your customized boxes' wallpapers. :love:
BloodshotInk Featured By Owner 1 day ago
Aw thank you! You're profiles really pretty too. I thought I was already watching you and only realised today :Blush:
seraphiclungs Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Writer
Haha it is all good; I can't wait to devour your gallery. Lol. :heart:
Add a Comment: