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  Sep 21 Kata
Datore Fargo
I watched the moon,
last night,
it danced through,
the tree limbs,
onto my,
bare skin.
I pondered,
if maybe,
you too held,
ballets,
across your chest.
Kata Apr 14
At 10, I didn’t plan to stay long.
This inhibited my ability
To think forward.
Equally, I struggle to look back.
I rebranded this, as living in the moment.
Truth is, I never planned to make it to 24.
And now that I’m almost there.
I just can’t figure out what to do with myself.

- Kata
Kata Apr 8
There is a warmth missing from me
A coldness about my being
A kindness put to sleep
I don’t care enough
Perhaps I once did, perhaps I will again
But that part of me is broken, now.
I have this timid fear
Of never being able to care enough
Maybe this is the warmth missing from me.
The empty coldness that shadows my happiness
The uneasy sway to my stillness.
My great discomfort.

- Kata
Kata Apr 8
There is a warmth missing from me
A coldness about my being
A kindness put to sleep
There is a violence about me
And I am tortured by my inability to describe it
There is an imbalance to my stillness
An uneasy sway, it causes a great discomfort
As I write this, I am greatly discomforted

- Kata
Kata Apr 8
There is a warmth missing from me
I cannot figure out what it is.
I get this feeling
A shadowy empty coldness
Lurking from the corner of my happiness.
And it runs away, whenever
I ask what it is.

- Kata
Kata Mar 1
And on the darker side of the sun
He sits in the shadow of happiness
A shadow of yesterdays, yesterdays
he cannot allow himself to remember or
feel. Or talk about or cry about.

On the darker side of the sun, it is
every bit as cold as he could imagine
It is every bit of lonely, without company
There is only uncried tears, unfelt pain
forgotten memories, unspoken, strained
desperate and unanswered pleadings
of help. Littered around him were all the
reasons to stop living and it was these very
reasons that froze over the darker side of the sun

Here, on the darker side of the sun
land of the icy breathe,
charred lungs, ****** gums, burnt guts
twisted spines and a deformed sense
of belonging. he was home. A useless
tongue, never good for anything. Able
hands, only good for one thing,
poetry, maybe ***...nothing useful
I'm afraid.

On the darker side of the sun
the shadows belonged to the mountains
mountains that separated
the two sides of the sun.

Now, there is a boy on the brighter side of the sun
he could not see the other side,
so for a long time, the brighter side
of the sun was the only side of the
sun he knew. He could not see the
mountains, there were no shadows, it
was never cold.

On the brighter side
of the sun, blinding as it is
it was never hot.

A light without
heat, a life without soul is all the
boy knew. A desert without rain. But
who is anyone to say if the
desert misses the rains. Who is to
say that the desert knows of the
rain at all. this is how the boy
lived on the brighter side of the sun.

always thirsty but never knowing it
always hungry but never feeling it
always bright but never warm
always something but never everything
or anything that mattered. But who was
to say, because, on the brighter side of the
sun, he was still alone, it was every
bit as lonely, without company

there is only uncried tears, unfelt pain,
forgotten memories, unspoken, strained,
desperate and unanswered pleadings of
help. this was the brighter side of
the sun, all light and no heat.

But he was born as the sun.
"May we give our children, childhoods they won't have to heal from."
  Apr 2019 Kata
Wanderer
Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
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