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KayliKilzer
21/F/Denver, Colorado A diary but just like, more words.
I never knew how much I’d see you after you left. Horse stickers stuck to telephone poles, A lizard in a gum wrapper in my backpack. Undressed played on the radio and your ex girlfriend’s ponytail on the elliptical. Your cup of water still by my bedside, It reminds me of you, I won’t pour it out. Your picture under my pillow, because everything is you and I cannot bear the day that it isn’t. The bar on my 21st and animals on golf courses, every beer tastes of your lips. All poems are a dog whistle to you, so is the toy you pulled from my mouth and so is the slobber you left behind. Every girl I meet that stole your name never wears it as well as you. I use your shirts as pillowcases and your hoodies as hugs, every step I take in Chicago without you is a dance around your arms. I hope to never stop seeing you in the empty space between stars and in the air you used to occupy. I see you more, now that you’re gone.
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Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 1:24 PM UTC
When You’re Gone
dont use utensils but scoop it up with your hands one line at a time, please wait at least 30 seconds to swallow hold the line under your tongue make sure you taste each word feel where it goes as it travels down does your throat burn do you feel oceans in your eyes or does your heart expand to every inch of your body if you feel nothing dont force it move on, for if every line was life changing there would be no constant life to live there is a poem for everyone just as everyone has a favorite food how would you discover it if you always ordered the same thing
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Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 11:02 AM UTC
A Beginner’s Guide to Reading Poetry
I wouldn’t say I am a mosaic of the people I surround myself with, nor a quilt woven of threads of heart. Nor am I a window of stained glass, yet instead, I am the colors of light that shine through. For each person to me is a pigment, and together we crush rocks and weave together grains of sand, Creating the glass that others look through. My hands are rosy and opalescent, learned of love to stay soft and hold quietly. My collarbones shine like leaves in the forest, their light a reminder that roots will always be tangled, no matter what the surface brings. My ears reflect a golden musicality, and that light brightens all the rest, those who see me, hear music, and know it is gold. My head is pooling with sky blue, as well as the looking glass in my eyes. This light is blinding, this one I cannot escape. Poems are written in the beams and I cannot see myself without reading them. And my heart of people, of their laughs, the unique tightness of individual embrace. Light of the sun explodes through, and with luminosity comes the knowledge— For all who have seen my translucence know the hands that created it.
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Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 12:55 PM UTC
Stained Glass
I didn’t know the stars could come down to earth until they blinked at me through your eyes. I saw a strange Little Dipper, tipping over and pouring my life out until it had reached the very last drop. You looked at me and pointed at the sky, Hand extended up perpendicular from the asphalt the sweat on our backs stuck to. I didn’t see what you saw. The space between your pointer and the sky felt immeasurable. Why is it that the sky needs to feel so far away? Doesn’t the night sky extend all the way down to where our skin ends? The world has always felt so big to me, but that night the atmosphere reached your arms. Your hand was in the same hemisphere as the Pleiades star cluster, or, the “silly Little Dipper” as you called it. For a moment, I could almost feel the stars beneath my feet. You cupped your hands to catch my life, so I could walk through space once more.
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Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 12:52 PM UTC
The Night the Stars Held My Hand
I don't want you to softly kiss my forehead. I want a thousand bee stings with your lips in rapid succession till my heart and face are swollen with you. I never knew I wanted that until you did it. I don’t want you to softly drag your nails over my skin— who am I kidding, of course I do. But when it is you it feels like you are sculpting me from clay, like you are finger painting a landscape and using your prints to draw rivers. I want to show up at your door with flowers and see you on your tippy toes staring through the glass with flowers to give me. They’re both plum lilies and both bought because no perfect person should go without flowers on their countertops. I want to hear you **** in your sleep and snore simply because it means you’re next to me and that music is more heavenly than the silence that accompanies your absence. I want to go to the store with you and feel maternal towards all the stuffed animals that lay piled in the kids section, and buy each one and say “this is our last stuffie, no more” before returning the next week on a quest to adopt one more. I want to walk through an art museum and be convinced you’re a time traveler because how could the murals possibly be so beautiful if they weren’t inspired by you. I watch in real time as sunflowers turn their petals towards your face which seems impossible but they know as well as I do that the brightest light is within you. I want to learn what it feels like to have my skin stick to yours and to feel the sting of peeling you off of me in the morning. Nothing is complicated when it comes to what I want in this life. There’s only one common denominator— I just want you.
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Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 12:50 PM UTC
I Want
I don't want you to softly kiss my forehead. I want a thousand bee stings with your lips in rapid succession till my heart and face are swollen with you. I never knew I wanted that until you did it. I don’t want you to softly drag your nails over my skin— who am I kidding, of course I do. But when it is you it feels like you are sculpting me from clay, like you are finger painting a landscape and using your prints to draw rivers. I want to show up at your door with flowers and see you on your tippy toes staring through the glass with flowers to give me. They’re both plum lilies and both bought because no perfect person should go without flowers on their countertops. I want to hear you **** in your sleep and snore simply because it means you’re next to me and that music is more heavenly than the silence that accompanies your absence. I want to go to the store with you and feel maternal towards all the stuffed animals that lay piled in the kids section, and buy each one and say “this is our last stuffie, no more” before returning the next week on a quest to adopt one more. I want to walk through an art museum and be convinced you’re a time traveler because how could the murals possibly be so beautiful if they weren’t inspired by you. I watch in real time as sunflowers turn their petals towards your face which seems impossible but they know as well as I do that the brightest light is within you. I want to learn what it feels like to have my skin stick to yours and to feel the sting of peeling you off of me in the morning. Nothing is complicated when it comes to what I want in this life. There’s only one common denominator— I just want you.
Continue reading...
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A heavenly grotesque poem about being apart from you while I am on vacation I feel the familiar stretch of you extending your fingers from beyond my iris, Puncturing my cornea to try and grasp the Boston Harbor That I stare across You draw my upper lip Into your mouth as you kiss me, Your tongue sliding behind my front teeth to Taste the ice cream lingering On my tongue from the street Vendor on the corner of Fenway Park As you breakdance through the Canyons in my brain Your steps accentuate the beats of the Drumming in my ears I think of how you would love the Sounds I am hearing right now It’s as if my senses only exist to Pretend you’re next to me, When we are apart I only Enjoy things because I know you would too All things beautiful Remind me of you And you remind me of All things beautiful
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Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 7:39 AM UTC
Missing you in a big city
Distance measured in miles is no more true than rain measured in raindrops Across the atlantic I am no closer to you than across the dinner table For music is not made lyrical by notes on a page nor speeches by words spoken Every inch between our hands is a lifetime unspent And every word unsaid an eternity wasted
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Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 7:37 AM UTC
Notes on Distance
Kneeling by another’s choice, shackles stretch from my hands to my neck, as I sit in the coffee shop on main street. I can feel him approaching, the one who will cut my tongue. I picture him with fire in his eyes, with horns sharp as blades and avarice spilling from his ears. Not one is safe, not even in trade for he will slice their hands off too. Inspiration stripped bare as bony hands form a necklace I am forced to wear, with questions asked came profession stolen. My curiosity procured one line as writer’s block fogged cerebral prowess, out of his greed-dripping teeth came words deeper than human ability. “The moon forgot to rise, but I waited anyway.” Bound and thrown into the basement labeled creativity, we were left to starve as into his unpaid hands trees began to wither.
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Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 7:37 AM UTC
The Word Thief
When I miss you, I read the poetry you send me. I start by running my tongue through the words, in the space between the letters, making sure to hold each sentence between my teeth to not waste a single drop of flavor. I then take each page and hang it up to dry, so the words don’t bleed off when I’m done tasting them. I wring out each tear and replace them with gentle touch, to preserve your craft for years to come. Once dry it is easy to pull the stanzas from the clothesline, and to burrow under each line, laying my head on the period and finding warmth in the way you tell me you love me. Your words sketch a map and X marks the treasure I find in us. It is easy to reach out my hand and find yours in the darkness, when your poetry is there to guide the way.
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Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 7:36 AM UTC
Treasure Poetry