It's all in your head,
every last strain of insecurity,
and it's turning you ugly.
You internalize your own pain,
swallowing unspoken words and
bitterness until it lines your
stomach and you become
addicted like
it was an over-the-counter
drug; and now you're constantly
high on your own self-pity,
because it's easy to succumb,
easy to revel in your own despair,
easier to just open your eyes
but never actually wake up.

When I look at you...

Time stops for a while,
The rest of the world drops away,
Taking the backseat to your smile.
You are so beautiful.
All that matters is this moment,
this moment.
When everything feels out of reach,
When I can't take anymore,
The second before a tear hits the floor
You grab me and look me in the eyes,
in the eyes.

I can see your heart,
And for once,
I know that I'm safe
And that everything will be alright
Because I'm with you,
I'm with you.

dating you

Blue skies as far as the eye can see
Puff, puff on my majesty
Blank stares in the gallery
We’re all stars according to astronomy
Don’t you know I shine at night?
Dreaming in the same frequencies
Clouds align so beautifully
I’m way beyond what I used to be
You have no idea what you do to me
Don’t you know you get me high?
Parted lips but we let the music speak
Making love artistically
Just wondering how far is too deep
Bright lights, the city never sleeps
Don’t you know I feel alive?
The passion ignites the heat
Inhaling the perfume of peace
Can’t tell you of all the secrets I keep
But you ask me why I don’t need to breathe
Baby, don’t you know I know how to rhyme?

my tells and don't tells

This is why I remember.
This is why I cleave.

Because you knew the things
in me that I had kept
secret. Ego thinly
veiled and the heavy
chalk of verse
outlining my form
       in transit,
and you know
wordless
words thicken
my veins
when I speak.

All of my tells and don’t tells—
given answers to
questions which
yet, unasked,
you already know;
receiving resolution,
able to be still....
for once.

memorization

Can I trace my fingers softly over your features?
Timidly breech my curiosity with my hand,
and carefully run a finger along the bridge of your nose to the tip,
and count the number of fingerprints it takes to reach
the peaks of your cheekbones and cascades back down again,
and may I memorize the shape of your lips?
Can you hold still long enough to let me feel the creases in upon your eyelids?
Do you notice how such peculiar colors float around behind them?
As if someone dropped paint within us as children and left our minds to swirl images with it;
do yours create landscapes of faraway places like mine do?
Do they form old memories like faded photographs?
Do they create new worlds and birth a scenery in vivid detail?
With intrepid fingers and with intent, can I draw the line of your jaw,
and escape down the steep waves and hollow caverns of your neck
until the horizon of your shoulders becomes set
with the last colors of the sun and incandescent stars float around us?

Can I keep searching your eyes? Peering in, trying to learn the art that is you?
I need to memorize you, so I know that you were real, when you, too, poof out of existence.

so happy I could die

"I will always make you feel safe. I will always make you feel wanted.
Kaelee, you deserve to be happy."

I died.

when we lay together quietly,

listening to perfectly mood-fitting music, and when certain lyrics stick with me because they can't say it better:

"I belong to you, you belong to me, my sweetheart"
"I know that I'm sleeping because this dreams too amazing"

sensuous

it's the way my eyes jump wide with sensuous surprise as you make your way inside, the way we multiply and divide each other's primes with each fingertipped prick running from leg to chest to face to neck and back again. nails writing backs like desperate pens carving sinful poetry into skin. soon like trees in the wind we take the appearance of motion by our own volition I watch with devotion your pursed lips slip to reveal a mouth half open in no longer candid delight. brain signals lungs gasping for more of your air as i comb my shaking fingers through your hair, we collapse by natural chemical highs and with each breath recognize, we are indeed alive

I want to read

I want to read your story
your skin’s braille
words written
in the lines
of our scars
and find poetry there.

I want to read your verses
your sinking touch
words written
in the spaces
between breaths
and find existence there.

I want to read your words
your soft whisper
words written
in the air
next to my ear
and find peace there.

It’s funny how quickly you disarmed me, how efficiently you breached every tier of self-preservation and unlocked the riddles beneath each illusion, almost as if someone had given you the cheat-sheet to what I thought had been my impenetrable heart. For so long, I was forced to stand as lone sentry to my own frailty, and so I buried it beneath every imaginable trapping of steel and sarcasm and somehow, you've managed to smelt steel and sarcasm alike to reveal a prize so un-beheld, I can barely recognize it anymore. Stranger still are the quiet bursts of elation that light up behind those barricades you scaled so irrefutably, like bonfires to my sanguine surrender.

hypotheticals

What if
I knew what your thought process was like?
delve straight into the anatomy of your mind
without trying to criticize you? And maybe I'd
analyze you, but I'm emphasizing
the fact that I find you so intriguing.
I appreciate the masterpiece,
a work of precarious architecture,
your mind is.

And what if
I said I would like to be
acquainted with a human in rare form?
abstract from this traditional norm,
asymmetrically created and
composed of complexities,
nurtured into you.

Because, what if that "what if"
becomes a "maybe"? and what if
I maybe knew what your thought
process was like...
delve straight into
the anatomy of your mind
and the science of us could transpire
as I hope to inspire
you...
if you only knew.

How do you do that?

How do you do that? How do you make me feel as though I'm falling at zero gravity, about to hit asphalt, my heart splattered like a Picasso on pavement... but at the same time, it's like I'm finally breathing after 100 years of silence, like I've sprung free from a prison cell filled with too many ripped pages of Catcher in the Rye... and I see that I'm about to crash, that death is the only possible conclusion to this flight or fancy... but I keep breathing in your cologne anyway, just so that I can remember what it feels like to live before I die?

mind over matter

Make love to my mind
before my body,
I assure you the latter
is far easier to do.
Caress my thoughts
in the palm of your hand,
experience the immensity
of my walls caving through. 
Explore the depths
of a world hardly known...
not many people have
even made it to the door.
Watch me strip down
the barriers of protection,
undressing each defense,
they fall to the floor.
My body is quite simple,
more like the rest than not,
and spreading my legs
is merely exerted motion...
But take the time
to glance at what’s inside,
sex becomes more than sex,
but rather naked emotion.

“What’s wrong?” I hear.

I look up at the ceiling, your heartbeat a metronome for my fear as my head rests against your chest and all the silent words coalesce into our magnum opus in the distended darkness that presses in and cradles me like you had cradled me.

trying to at least

Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.

Lift me into the arms of acceptance and I will try to find the will to believe

Tomorrow spells light in your eyes...
a hint of something to come,
something that was,
something that could be again?
I will accept the unbinding feel
of a touch, of a whisper, of a linger.
You shower me in undeserving praise,
and you almost have me convinced:
that maybe I am okay, likable...
maybe there isn't something wrong with me?
Lift me into the arms of acceptance
and I will try to find the will to believe.

A Haiku For Sleeping With You

I love to feel the
Rise and fall of your chest, you
Press'd so close to me.

from "Women who are Difficult to Love" by Warsan Shire

“you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.”

Bites and scratches
down my back.
Tiny pings of pain
throughout the day
to remind me of
our nights together.

I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.

Morning Would

It’s funny how I fall asleep so hungry for you I feel as though a hundred tacit fingers are teasing and pulling me apart until my body surrenders and becomes a cavern for the unspoken and illicit. Yet when I wake up in the morning, my body feels lithe and stretched, as though you fed me in my dreams, leaving me satisfied and filled so that I almost forget that I even wanted for anything at all. And then the day wears on and my toes curl and my neck cranes and my fingers wander and I am left panting and starving for you again while my lids flutter in anticipation of the night.

Something about you has stolen me away... coaxed me out of my window and into the lonely fog to dance beneath the moon; and now there is only you.

no phone, can't stop writing

I spoke too much
Of feelings and such
It burned to keep it in.

It burned to think
This too would sink
Once I first touched your skin.

When we first kissed
A serpent hissed
I killed it with a glance.

You killed the time
With pain sublime
We never had a chance.

Like Only Home Can Feel

I used to rummage and scour, dig crater like holes, all in high hopes. Kicked up moon dust brighter than the sun, red paint on my hands like a surgeon smearing parts, legs ajar. Fingers crossed, intently decided on understanding you. I used to want to crawl up beside you, burrow myself a permanent, pressed securely next to you. And for a woman who sees so little, I was becoming adept to the art that is you. Held against your ribcage, nuzzled safe, like only home can feel. I listened earnestly. Heard Hendrix and jazz mad sorts of eclectic jams, words, wars and wisdom. Delighted to be webbed in your abysmal labyrinth, thought our mass countered one another; I used think you mattered. 

I pledge

to make today a better day than yesterday

this one always gives the best advice

"Your problem is that although you are subservient, which is my favorite thing about you, you need to stick up for yourself. You aren't a loser, you know."


true wordz of wizdom

surprising

that I don't even really care that I don't have a phone
you know when your phone dies, and you don't have to deal with it, and it's kinda nice?
it's like that... but not, cause it's missing
that's my fault though
what I get I guess for wildin out,
trying to de-stress and whatnot
I guess that's what I got in losing it,
a huge relief of stress:
constantly lurking
constantly anticipating, no more
but I'm curious...
if I like not having a phone because I don't waste time on stupid shit
but more importantly
because anyone who actually gives a shit about me
will find a way to get a hold of me,
and I don't have to deal with people who don't actually give two fucks
(been dealing with too many of these people recently)
(why yes, I am realizing the numbers of such mentioned efforts are staggeringly low)
but I wonder,
if enjoying this signifies maturity,
detachment, and independence?
or does it really just exemplify
how depressed I actually am?
either way,
not knowing, being numb
is very nice


I'll just pretend I'm having imaginary conversations with people who read my blog (as if they exist). hello, friend. thank you for noticing me, and listening to my bullshit ramblings

Fun- SNL

I was watching the SNL I recorded last night featuring Louis C. K. and Fun. I kinda wasn't paying attention, but this performance made me drop everything that I was doing and drew me in. Just the powerful performance and such sincere passion coupled with incredibly inspiring lyrics... blew me away. I've listened to the song many times but have a whole new appreciation for it now. Those lyrics we're exactly what I needed to hear, at exactly that time. It was one of those how-to-breathe moments.

Anyway, if you're interested/needing some inspiration, here's the video of the performance.
I also included the lyrics... because they're the shit (parts in bold = my life).




"Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck
Some nights, I call it a draw
Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle
Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for oh
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know anymore...

This is it, boys, this is war - what are we waiting for?
Why don't we break the rules already?
I was never one to believe the hype - save that for the black and white
I try twice as hard and I'm half as liked, but here they come again to jack my style

And that's alright; I found a martyr in my bed tonight
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am
Oh, who am I?

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end
Cause I could use some friends for a change
And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again
Some nights, I always win, I always win...

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know...

So this is it? I sold my soul for this?
Washed my hands of God for this?
I miss my mom and dad for this?

No. When I see stars, when I see, when I see stars, that's all they are
When I hear songs, they sound like this one, so come on
Oh, come on. Oh, come on, OH COME ON!

Well, that is it guys, that is all - five minutes in and I'm bored again
Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands
This one is not for the folks at home; Sorry to leave, mom, I had to go
Who the fuck wants to die alone all dried up in the desert sun?

My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she call "love"
When I look into my nephew's eyes...
Man, you wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from...
Some terrible lies...ahhh...

The other night, you wouldn't believe the dream I just had about you and me
I called you up, but we'd both agree
It's for the best you didn't listen
It's for the best we get our distance... oh...
It's for the best you didn't listen
It's for the best we get our distance... oh..."

Sipping on Spirits, Tastes like Forget

Sit down to this bottle,
commence with civil sips.
Tastes like forget.
Responsible
gulps and refills,
it's not enough
and the wine
turns to beer
turns to shots,
sipping on spirits.
I'd be alright
if I could sleep in a different body
for the night.
Tonight it tastes like forget.
Tomorrow, regret.

nauseous

I’m sick of missing you. I’m sick of being lonely, I’m even more sick of being let down. I’m sick of being put last, I’m sick of hollow promises, I’m sick of waiting around. I’m sick of this, sick of being so miserable.  Most of all, I’m sick that none of this makes you sick. I’m sick of  my mind's consumption with you with when you spend all your time consumed with anyone, anywhere, anything else. I feel fed-up. I feel hurt. I feel angry. I feel sick.

Filled

This is why it hurts the way it hurts. I have too many words in my head; there are too many ways to describe the way I feel. I will never have the luxury of a dull ache. I will always suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.

like unwanted notes
or failed poems
she has been shredded
bone-white confetti
scattered to the wind
papyrus leaves
an unwanted Autumn
no more scribbles for her pages
just drying, forgotten inkwells
no tape or glue to repair her
she will remain
    ripped
           ripped
                  ripped 

Flitting Eyes

Leading up to
the unwrapping:
an advent of courting,
kisses courteous,
not so ravenous,
flirtatious giggles
and flitting eyes meeting
a switch flicking.

All the magic
of first times...
We may be wounded,
we may be ready.
We maybe kinda shouldn't be
pushing back covers
or shirts over shoulders,
the clothes over bones
in drunk alleys or homes.

my problem

me

an extremely relevant repost from before, you think I would have learned: "Jesus Christ"

Every guy I fall for becomes Jesus Christ within the first 24 hours of our relationship.

I know that this happens, I see it happening, I even feel myself, sometimes, standing at some temporal crossroad, some distinct moment at which I can walk away and keep this all from happening, but I never do.

I always imagine the end, the despair I will suffer when it comes, and it makes any happiness I have in the present seem not merely ephemeral, but doomed. Because the happier I allow myself to be, the more undone I will become later. And it always comes.

I'm so fragile. Sometimes I wish I could walk around with a HANDLE WITH CARE sign on my forehead. Sometimes I wish there was a way to let people know that just because we live in a world without rules, and in a life that is lawless, doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt. Sometimes I think that I was forced to withdraw into depression because it was the only rightful protest I could throw in the face of a world that said it was alright for people to come and go as they please, that there were simply no real obligations left.

I grab at everything, I end up with nothing, and then I feel bereft. I mourn over the loss of something I never even had. I am a sick, sick girl.

Yet Again

I've got a handful of feelings
that have no meaning;
in context, they make no sense,
and are commonly much too extreme
for the situations at hand.

I've got a pocketful of star-crossed lovers
that have long since died out;
my mind keeps them alive,
an army of zombies resurrected
despite my fervent protests.

I've got a heart full of love
that I've been told is misplaced;
I do not have the capacity to hate,
even though I've been slighted
so many times.

Despite these heavy burdens I carry,
despite my breaking back
and buckling knees,
though they say I care too deeply,
I can never ever stop.