kathleen-1Whisper

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IndependentIndependent is the word they all use, / They tack it on me, / Let it hang a crooked ribbon.
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Peripheral *****I am a peripheral ***** / I brandish my notebook / Like a chef brandishes his dish-rag.
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Remnants of the 18 ****** Poems I Wrote About YouI. / Strange sailing horizon couch be feel entirely wonderful. / II.
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I Am Supposed to be AngryI have known your imperfections and I have secretly wanted all of you. / I have wanted things to never change, secretly, / I have wanted to live in lies, to close my eyes,
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To My Best FriendI am convinced that healing me must hurt you, / must be pulled from some strength inside for you, / and even though there are lots of people I bear my soul to,
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To: The Girl Who Used to Make Out With the Guy I Used to Make Out WithYou smile when you see me / As if to remind me / That you are a small part of me.
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Run.Run, run, run. / Until your legs are wheels spinning off the planet. / Until your waist is a bag of rocks,
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My DreamsMy dreams are silent. In them I move about and fold my clothes and brush my teeth and carry books, in them I walk around rooms, in them I walk and walk and walk down white square sidewalks past white square windows and I feel whispers sometimes screams, feel the movement of circles and stomps and laughs. But it is silent, I am silent, I sit at white square desks and scratch at white square papers and I walk / past boys whose white faces turn, square, / at me as if their eyes and my silence are enough to pull us together.
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