kayla-knight - Hello Poetry

That it doesn't hurt. That there is no ball, no yellow tumor, no pain Let's call it a star, a little growing thing with white legs and glowing fingers Let's say it's kicking me when I lay down, tiny diamond feet pressing under my ribs And when it takes me let's say it grew, swelled so large and so bright my body could not take it and succumbed to its brilliance So when I am laying in a dark wood coffin that star will be in me still shining brightly

0

Dec 2, 2010

Dec 2, 2010 at 7:23 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Let's Pretend

That it doesn't hurt. That there is no ball, no yellow tumor, no pain Let's call it a star, a little growing thing with white legs and glowing fingers Let's say it's kicking me when I lay down, tiny diamond feet pressing under my ribs And when it takes me let's say it grew, swelled so large and so bright my body could not take it and succumbed to its brilliance So when I am laying in a dark wood coffin that star will be in me still shining brightly

22

Her skin reeked of chlorine and yours of cigarettes She lay in the car, unconscious and unknowing and you panted and petted and groped and, sweating, you stole her sanity

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Nov 21, 2010

Nov 21, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Emily

Her skin reeked of chlorine and yours of cigarettes She lay in the car, unconscious and unknowing and you panted and petted and groped and, sweating, you stole her sanity

5

I want to crack open my skull with my black pen wedge it open and have a look inside I would poke around in there touch the worms that crawl through the gum the slippery grey slime I want to **** the black beetles that join them I would pull the thoughts the twisted strings wrapped so tight around the lumps I want to loosen their hold if for just one night And taking out my brain holding it carefully in two cupped palms I would rinse it off in the sink the mud flowing down my hands the dust of fatigue mixed with mucus sliding down my wrists and the bugs twisting around my fingers And I would put it back gently settle my brain down into the yellow soup cleaner now and I would sew my head back up and flatten down my hair wipe away the blood and go back to sleep

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Nov 19, 2010

Nov 19, 2010 at 9:12 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Headache

I want to crack open my skull with my black pen wedge it open and have a look inside I would poke around in there touch the worms that crawl through the gum the slippery grey slime I want to **** the black beetles that join them I would pull the thoughts the twisted strings wrapped so tight around the lumps I want to loosen their hold if for just one night And taking out my brain holding it carefully in two cupped palms I would rinse it off in the sink the mud flowing down my hands the dust of fatigue mixed with mucus sliding down my wrists and the bugs twisting around my fingers And I would put it back gently settle my brain down into the yellow soup cleaner now and I would sew my head back up and flatten down my hair wipe away the blood and go back to sleep

31

We want your every purpose: we want your youth, your rosy cheeks. we want your shining brown skin and your supple arms we want your thoughts, your cogs and spinning wheels. we want your psychosis and if you are drained, sagging and grey with only one last rattling breath left - well, we want that too.

0

Nov 19, 2010

Nov 19, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC

kayla-knight

We Want Your Every Purpose

We want your every purpose: we want your youth, your rosy cheeks. we want your shining brown skin and your supple arms we want your thoughts, your cogs and spinning wheels. we want your psychosis and if you are drained, sagging and grey with only one last rattling breath left - well, we want that too.

13

Apples are tantalizing. They tease me, their red and green brightness, so crisp and juicy, and my braces Sleep is tantalizing. Uninterrupted sleep that is, no vomit-covered toilets or hospital visits for kidney stones And silk is tantalizing. But I will never slip into sheets your white silk ones and feel those slippery folds on my bare stomach - I should cross that one off.

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Nov 14, 2010

Nov 14, 2010 at 9:34 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Tantulus

Apples are tantalizing. They tease me, their red and green brightness, so crisp and juicy, and my braces Sleep is tantalizing. Uninterrupted sleep that is, no vomit-covered toilets or hospital visits for kidney stones And silk is tantalizing. But I will never slip into sheets your white silk ones and feel those slippery folds on my bare stomach - I should cross that one off.

16

If I were to write a poem about you, my haunted Spanish artista, I wonder what it would look like. Can words on a paper simple lines and colorless letters sum up what I feel when I see you fears? The war. A war I cannot imagine, young and innocent as I am. Would the words be jarring, a handful of stinging bullets, LOUD and TOXIC, bombs and sirens and screams? Would they be sloooow and sluuured, blood seeping into the streets, or the last rattling breath of a dying man? Or would they be quiet? The quiet would be worst, I think an aftershock of loss and pain, salty tears whispering down the cheeks of mothers holding still children, prayers murmured into the night. Mi Dios Ayudame Por favor

0

Oct 21, 2010

Oct 21, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Guernica

If I were to write a poem about you, my haunted Spanish artista, I wonder what it would look like. Can words on a paper simple lines and colorless letters sum up what I feel when I see you fears? The war. A war I cannot imagine, young and innocent as I am. Would the words be jarring, a handful of stinging bullets, LOUD and TOXIC, bombs and sirens and screams? Would they be sloooow and sluuured, blood seeping into the streets, or the last rattling breath of a dying man? Or would they be quiet? The quiet would be worst, I think an aftershock of loss and pain, salty tears whispering down the cheeks of mothers holding still children, prayers murmured into the night. Mi Dios Ayudame Por favor

26

Ideas are so difficult to keep I cannot trap them in jars; they are not flitting lightening bugs awaiting my capture They slide through my fingers, those impish creatures, slippery silver minnows But they are so beautiful, my thoughts, dancing down my palms and diving off my fingertips They pirouette in midair landing, sinking into the soil Deep in the dirt and mud they bloom.

0

Oct 17, 2010

Oct 17, 2010 at 9:34 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Ideas

Ideas are so difficult to keep I cannot trap them in jars; they are not flitting lightening bugs awaiting my capture They slide through my fingers, those impish creatures, slippery silver minnows But they are so beautiful, my thoughts, dancing down my palms and diving off my fingertips They pirouette in midair landing, sinking into the soil Deep in the dirt and mud they bloom.

16

I believe in goosebumps, the shiver Your hand passed lightly over my bare skin lets me say so much more than words ever could.

0

Oct 17, 2010

Oct 17, 2010 at 8:49 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Shiver

I believe in goosebumps, the shiver Your hand passed lightly over my bare skin lets me say so much more than words ever could.

6

He was a drunk, and he left you before you were grown When we heard your name we laughed; we tried to figure it out, this five letter puzzle for the woman told us to call you Katie spelled K-E-I-R-I Alone I, knowing a touch of Spanish spelled it out, sounding out the letters in a foreign tongue, spitting round pebbles When I asked you you smiled, lifting, relived Your father was confused that night you were born, in the loud hospital immaculately clean and white Your nurse's name was Katie and your father did not know so he did the best he could and wrote in his large brown hand, Keiri You have his picture in a locket and you look away as you tell me, hiding that betraying blue I know that feeling, a stiffened back, burning; the hatred of the runaway man, the traitor And that other thing, obstinate, the rock in your throat; the love of a father who gave you your name.

0

Oct 17, 2010

Oct 17, 2010 at 8:35 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Keiri

He was a drunk, and he left you before you were grown When we heard your name we laughed; we tried to figure it out, this five letter puzzle for the woman told us to call you Katie spelled K-E-I-R-I Alone I, knowing a touch of Spanish spelled it out, sounding out the letters in a foreign tongue, spitting round pebbles When I asked you you smiled, lifting, relived Your father was confused that night you were born, in the loud hospital immaculately clean and white Your nurse's name was Katie and your father did not know so he did the best he could and wrote in his large brown hand, Keiri You have his picture in a locket and you look away as you tell me, hiding that betraying blue I know that feeling, a stiffened back, burning; the hatred of the runaway man, the traitor And that other thing, obstinate, the rock in your throat; the love of a father who gave you your name.

45

Every morning I check myself, and every night too, and sometimes after I *** hiding in the shower stalls under sterile florescent lights I can see the fat, how it hangs down my body and melts off my chest, a misshapen bag of curdled yogurt, yellow If I pull my stomach in, ******* straining the lumpy muscle peeps through, deformed and grotesque And yet, I cannot help but notice how my ribs show through my chest, stubbornly squeezing through the fat and forcing the flesh to my hips, refusing to comply.

0

Oct 17, 2010

Oct 17, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC

kayla-knight

Skin

Every morning I check myself, and every night too, and sometimes after I *** hiding in the shower stalls under sterile florescent lights I can see the fat, how it hangs down my body and melts off my chest, a misshapen bag of curdled yogurt, yellow If I pull my stomach in, ******* straining the lumpy muscle peeps through, deformed and grotesque And yet, I cannot help but notice how my ribs show through my chest, stubbornly squeezing through the fat and forcing the flesh to my hips, refusing to comply.

22