kaitlyn-v-mcnay
Words are art, they make my skin dance. / So many thoughts bounce around in these visintine conduits of human minds. It's hard to put them into words, much less a flow. When people do so, it's art, raw, real, and dynamic. When someone spills some stanzas onto paper it's like they're saying "Walk in my shoes? Nah, float through my thoughts." / / P.s. my punctuation skills are certainly shit.
For the girls tattooed as one.
I’m traveling north: beyond the sky.
above the horizon, bleak as the night.
I’ll sail amongst the stars,
splashing about in their dust to heal these scars.
I’m traveling north: to escape fate
like moths to flames, I am to blame.
I’ll burn my deathbed atop Jupiter’s clouds,
floating flames of pyres igniting my soul.
I’m traveling north: to preach the testament
of a girl abused as a child. Reasons, she’ll never know.
I’m traveling north: because of the forgotten warrior:
a guardian bruised, stolen from humanity & abandoned to fight for sanity.
I’m traveling north: upon the waves of a lion’s roar,
the tide of the mighty echo, the righteous, the torn.
I’m traveling north diving overboard,
cursing the man who sought my freedom for a greater reward.
I’m traveling north: to visit Abigail’s soul,
to skip and share secrets with a girl I once shared a home with.
I’m traveling, traveling, traveling
traveling, traveling, traveling.
A nomad in search of gold.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
Along an unknown path
Distant from the place you call home
Voices summon you in the distance
Edging you to claim your destiny
New legends unfold and lessons learned while
Traveling to new lands
Under the strings of fate
Reach out to that light within and
Escape through your dreams to release your inner self
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 7:36 AM UTC
I want to go back,
to the time in my life where I had not a single care.
To a time where existing,
was much easier than it is now.
Take me back to when I hadn't been touched,
by the harsh reality of what was in my head.
Where monsters didn't dwell within me,
and I wasn't drowning in my own thoughts.
I want to go back,
to where people weren't toxic splotches in my life.
Why can't we go back to skipping rope,
and the only cuts we worried about were scraped knees.
Smoke came from fires,
instead of cigarettes.
Sleepovers turned into ***
candy into drugs.
Our cups aren't filled with juice,
but filled to the brim with our alcohol of choice.
Keeping secrets was for jokes,
not to make us seem fine.
We were home when the street lights came on,
and now were creatures of the night.
The dark scared us,
now it is our greatest friend.
We were such innocent children,
wanting to grow up so soon.
We had a glimmer in our eyes,
that's now replaced with a dead blank look.
Why were we so eager to want to face this nasty world.
I am no longer that young,
ambitious,
excited,
lively little girl.
I have become a
numb,
anxious minded,
dead,
damaged teenager.
And this is what this world,
and society has done to me.
T.B.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
How selfish to want
Want what does not belong to me
But take it because I can
It's 1am on a Friday morning
My head nuzzled into his chest
His breath gently grazing my neck
I listen for the sound
The mechanism inside his chest
I gravitate towards its pull
As he dozes off
Whilst tangling his fingers in my hair
I listen to the metronome
A sound that puts me to sleep
With the rise and fall of each breath
I become confused listening to clock inside his chest
This compass is not mine
Something doesn't sound right
It hasn't given me chills
It hasn't left me in awe
Of how a simple pulse could keep my favorite human alive
Perhaps he's not my favorite
And my attraction falls short of a fallacy
What am I doing
With this tattoo covered boy
In my silk sheets
Whom is clenching my half naked body.
But my god, we look like art
Disillusioned and stained
Lonely as can be
Him
Me
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Our lives were lit by headlights and perfumed of beer.
You tasted like smoke, intoxicating me deep in my bones.
You were the tattooed boy my mother told me to stay far away from
and my father hid that he related to.
Spending time with you was back pedaling into a hurricane of disappointments and bad decisions.
I wouldn't have traded you for the world.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
He decided to put it off.
To not tell her how he really felt.
He thought it would change things,
And boy did it, but not how he expected....
He thought she would climb mountains and cross rivers to earn his love.
He thought he was too good for her.
When in reality, she was the one to escape when she didn't get what she wanted.
Her instincts told her he was bad news. But like any other adolescent wreck, she desired a bad boy. Her best friend accused her of insanity as she fell for the motorcycle-riding, cigarette-rolling, tattooed rebel. But she simply ignored it.
You had to give him props: he wasn't all bad:
He made her feel special, made her feel wanted. Held her hand in public, took her for romantic rides, listened to her as she spilled her feelings out to him on top of his garage, gazing longingly at the stars.
But as soon as it came down to the three magic words, he let his opportunity slide right by him.
From then on, he played hard to get, not opening up to her as easily, and the signs were clear as crystal to her.
She left him in a heartbeat.
Now he lies alone, yearning for the days when he has someone to hold.
He was afraid to admit he missed her, but missing her was all that he knew to do.
Now riding her very own Harley Davidson, she rides off into the night, forgetting the boy who refused to admit he loved her..
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
.
wallowing in the pig fat
Of her sexuality
.... (?)
•
ANYTHING !!
( sure )
THE PAIN IS SO GREAT !
)(
The sounds of gun fire
)(
The bouncing bed and the tattooed mind
•
SHE !
::
Cries a lot and I appear
I appear but she don't care
All she wants is a place to hide
)(
The ****** day
The children of the street
The years
Humanity in full retreat
""
Oh boy !
Little lost poets under dead skies
.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:17 AM UTC
You’re exactly like the moon
With all its different phases
The moon that’s tattooed on your forearm
The moon that’s covering your paintings
And just like the moon
You are bold and apparent
With certainly nothing to hide
But although you’re this way
You’re still so far away
To truly understand you up close
So I lie awake sleepless
Because the moon’s made of secrets
As it sits alone in the sky
And now you’re waning and whining
You’re fading, you’re dying
As the sun tries to take over the show
Glowing palely, you shine
As you live for the nightlife
You’re high and you’re faded again
We moondance
We’re kissing
By daytime you’re missing
The light breaks the morning horizon
So by the light of the moon
I’ll see you soon
Living at night because you’re a beautiful sight
But by the time I see light
I’m just another admirer with drowsy eyes
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:16 AM UTC
there was a boy
who tattooed my heart
on his finger in green
when he was drunk
and we were both lonely
but when we grew sober
he decided my eyes were
too sad to look at
and my heart
too heavy to love
but my heart remains
on the inside of his finger
and he is left
with all the memories
and mistakes
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
I find the tattoos on other people fascinating.
They all speak to me,
Each one with their own story.
The compass tattooed on a shoulder blade.
It tells the story of the teenage boy,
The one who fell so effortlessly in love,
The one who lost himself in another's company,
Then had to find himself and his own way without her.
The lightning bolt tattooed on a young girl's foot.
It speaks of the late night thunderstorms,
The ones spent with a boy who was her world,
The boy with the thunderstorms raging inside of him,
Who ended his life much too soon.
The anchor tattooed on a teen mom's heel.
It reminds the young mother to stay grounded,
To keep the drug abuse in her past,
To stay away from the alcohol,
If only for her daughter.
The rocketship and the moon tattooed on his fingers.
It brings back memories of a little boy,
The man's little brother,
The one who he'd fly to the moon and back for,
That became his priority when his father left them.
The music notes making their way around her wrist.
They tell the story of her teenage years,
The years filled with fighting parents,
The years where her only companion was music,
That in a way saved her life.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC