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Kina Nov 2014
My pencil broke two words in.

My autobiography remains unwritten.
Kina Mar 2014
You are beautiful.
Without all of the designer clothes.
Without the twelve pounds of make-up.
You are beautiful.

You are beautiful.
Not the lengths of your legs.
The width of your waist,
Or the size of your *******.
You.
You are beautiful.

You are beautiful.
Under all of your scars.
Beneath all of your pain.
You are beautiful.

Your knowledge.
Your light.
Your love.

The person you are on the inside
You know the one,
The one you hide away because you
Can't bare to let the world see.
That part of you.

The part you are ashamed of
Gives you your beauty.

Embrace it
Because you are beautiful.
beauty self-esteem beautiful inner-beauty
Kina Nov 2014
I can see past your facade.
Looking into your eyes I see the real you, the person you long to be.

You yearn to release yourself of the label society as branded into your otherwise flawless skin but you cannot.

Or at least, you think you cannot.

And so you jump to end things.
You listen to death's sweet lullaby as it coos you to an endless sleep.
Kina May 2014
She wears:
Skimpy dress.
Tight shirt.
Short skirt.

I say:
Women shouldn't have to.
I give: 
Empowerment. 

You say:
But men do too.
Bare chest.
V lines.

I say:
Yes but--

You say:
No but.

Society holds it's grip on women.
Suffocating us everyday.
Fitting us into boxes each day.
Telling me what to wear,
How to do my hair.
Forcing paint upon my face to give
Me a face unrecognized.

Rewrite my name to something seductive,
Marilyn.
Regina.
Not the name given to me,
Hard to pronounce and 
Not found on a gift shop key chain. 

So I tell society to take their standards
And shove them
Because I will not be like the ******* the bus
With scars and cuts across her arm.
"Fat ***" carved into her porcelain skin.

Dear Society,
I am me. I am not you.
I wrote this for a scholarship application and liked it, so here  it is.
Kina Oct 2014
It's fall, the season of scheming.
And so in honor of this
Everyday that the leaves change their colors
I do the same.
Kina Oct 2014
I can't begin to fathom how to describe how this feels.
It feels good like a cup of coffee in the morning,
But it also feels like an afternoon crash.
It feels like a high so good
But also a withdrawal most painful.
It feels like everything
Yet nothing at the same time.
Kina Apr 2014
To the girl in my fourth grade class
Who minimalized my award,
Making my accomplishments unimportant.
I forgive you.

To the other girl in my class
Who convinced me that none of
The other girls liked me.
I forgive you.

To the group of girls
Who watched me cry numerous days in the cafeteria
Because I sat alone,
Uninvited, unimportant,
During lunch.
I forgive you.

To the same group of girls
Who didn't see me cry at 10th birthday party
Because none of them had cared to show up.
I forgive you.

To the ******* the bus
Who picked on me daily,
Causing me to return home in tears everyday.
I forgive you.

To the girl in the fifth grade
Who called me fat at the lunch table.
I forgive you.

To the same girl
Who told me that I couldn't wear my
American Girl shirt because the color of my skin
Meant that I wasn't American.
I forgive you.

To my friends
Who hadn't dare speak up on my behalf.
I forgive you.

To my mother
Who made me invite her to my birthday party,
You're lucky that she didn't show up.

To all of the kids out there
Who dread going to school,
Dread looking at themselves in the mirror,
And dread existing,
Forgive the bullies and forgive yourself.

Forgive yourself
For allowing them to tear you apart
And get so deep
Under your skin that parts of them still remain.

To myself. I forgive you.
forgiveness bullying childhood sad
He.
Kina Mar 2014
He.
He is how I like my men.
He is tall, and kind, and funny.
He is smart and dedicated.
He is the type of man I'd bring home to meet mom.

He is gentle though at times sharp.
He is crazy and silly, yet stern when necessary.
He is amazing.

But he is older
And he is moving on, out, and away.
He is smart; too smart to wait around for a girl like me,
So young and naïve.
Inspired by the song "I Wanna Go" by Yuna.
Kina Mar 2014
He found comfort in her eyes.
They were blue as crisp ocean water
Or a midday sky.

Or at least to him that's what they seemed.
He couldn't quite remember every detail of her eyes
Just that they were blue.

That's what his memories consisted of these days,
Vague glimpses that allowed him to reminisce solemnly
Without remembering any true details.

The memories of his friends, his brothers, his sisters
All faded into a black abyss with only the faint glow
Of the memory's outline still visible.

Perhaps he could glue back the pieces and try
To make some faux memory
But he knew that they wouldn't be the same.

The way she looked in that dress,
No.
What was her name?
What's the use?

As he tried to recollect his thoughts
He found himself frustrated, lost.

He thought of the dancers from that day.
The only day he'd been a true friend.
Objectifying women for him and his
Friend's own amusement.

Encouraging them to dance
Get loose
Take it off
Be good girls.

Those were the memories he
Wanted to store away
Behind the cobwebs in his mind.

But not those eyes.
Never those eyes.
Kina Apr 2015
Fists balled.
Throat dry.
Coming down from a high.

Crash and fall.
Spring nights.
Coming down from a high.
Kina May 2014
My horoscope told me that I should think creatively today. It told me that I should write and so here I am, attempting to write a poem.

Little does my horoscope know that my mind is unable to function.

"Write something clever! You will create something great!" My horoscope instructs me but unfortunately that task is easier said than done, but I try because I want to fit in. All the cool kids are doing it.

However, nothing but loud noises come out and the writing police come to get things under control.

My brain has been arrested for causing a public disturbance.

Writers block has taken over. It is a cell block in my mind where all of my creative ideas have been cuffed, thrown into a corner, and forced to *** with rusted metal bars offering no privacy.

It's humiliating.

As I sit in my little jail cell I think about what I've done and how I could never come back here again.

"Next time," my brain tells me, "Don't listen to your horoscope."
Kina Jan 2015
You have a silver tongue.
Your words are elegant and your delivery admirable.
Your words could part seas and light the sky.
They could make an army of disbelievers stand on their feet
And praise you, worship you.
You are that powerful.

But as silver as your tongue is it is just as sharp.
Your words brush against my skin and cause happiness
But in another moment despair.
They send knives through my skin and force an apology from me
As I clean up the blood.

Your words make me question how I could be so lucky
Yet so unlucky at the same time
Because in the right moment your words are a smooth melody
That wraps around me and makes me feel at home.
But in the next my ears drown in dissonance.

I cannot pretend that your words don't bruise me
But I also cannot leave
Because you have entranced me
With your silver tongue.
Kina Nov 2014
I hide beneath the moonlight.
I bury myself within the fabric of the sun's coffin
For fear of what I've become.

Failing limbs,
Rotting corpse,
Sunken in eyes
And a tattered heart.

You don't need to see me,
See what I've become
Without you,
Because of you.

I will take death's hand
And we will dance tonight
Under the moon's glow
And up to the heavens.
Kina Mar 2014
The sun was setting behind the green mountains,
And so was he.
Beside her, lovingly,
His arms wrapped around her,
A cloak of invisibility,
Hiding her from the world.
Keeping her safe.

He whispered sweet nothings to her,
And she listened contently,
Her fingers tracing the outline of his features.
His eyes.
His mouth.

They were his, yes,
But they belonged to her.
All of him.
From the tiniest strands of hair atop his head
To the skin of his toes.

He belonged to her.
And her, him.

In this moment they were two souls
Intertwined together both in spirit and
Physical self.

He'd caress her gently.
She'd smile and perhaps giggle
Although she vowed never to.

Her heart would flutter
And soon her eyes too,
For the night.

And although she'd sleep
She'd continue these
Blissful dreams of the two of them.

And when she'd wake
She would find him gone;
Only the memory of him present.
Only her dreams.
Kina Mar 2014
Hand in hand.
Skin to skin.
Together we dance.

Our lips do a jig
So simple
Yet so beautiful,
So powerful.

Together we are invincible.
Our moves unmatched
And our rhythm unparalleled.

Together we are the fox trot,
The tango,
The cha-cha,
Or a simple step.

We are everything under the lights of the
Ballroom chandelier.
We are everything under the moonlight of the
Gazebo.

Classic.
Elegant.
Love.
Kina Mar 2014
I exited the coffee shop.
He was walking in.
The rain was pouring.
He offered me his umbrella,
And so I offered him my heart.
Kina Jan 2015
Yellow hearts.

Yellow hearts flickered in and out of her view.
She couldn't tell if they were actually there or if her mind was once again playing tricks on her.
As of late, they’d been doing that quite a bit.
She would see many things, yellow face, yellow shapes, yellow animals But most of the time they were figments of her imagination.

Sleep.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.
She'd lay in bed night after night, unable to sleep, her mind a frenzied Mess she was unable to file away in organized boxes.

Consumed.

Her mind was consumed with thoughts of the peace she thirsted for And the man her soul, which hardly resembled that of a living being, pined for.

But for now all the peace she got was from her imaginary yellow Shapes.
And as small black boarder began to form around them she paid them No mind.
It would take time for the cold black to seep in and delude her beautiful Yellow.  
And so, until then, she would continue to find solace in these yellow Shapes.

Yellow dots.
Yellow boxes.
Yellow stars.

Yellow hearts.
Kina May 2014
You and me.
I demand.
Be.
Now.
In love.

*Finally.

— The End —