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Kata Mar 2020
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
Kata Sep 2018
You are the orange hue of dawn
You are a sun that warms but never burns
The fires of your hell burn in flavours known to me
Not to be mistaken for religion, but I long for the heaven in you
The haven that is you.

As you grow into my heart,
I can feel my instincts here for you
I learned first, how not to drown you
And now I am learning how to water you
You are a garden of daisies, a sky full of clouds
You are Fanta in a wine glass, the view in front of an ocean
With a smile that can tame mountains, and a laugh that sets them all free
I look at you, and there is something to be seen.

- Kata
She is the death of my poetry.
And i am not even in love yet.
Kata Aug 2017
I think there is something leaking into me.
I’ve been sea bound and aimless since birth.
I’ve drowned a few times but
My insides have always remained dry.
Seas of emotion have roared at me,
But I’ve always had a certain quiet within me.
I’ve learned that just because I can’t hear their voices,
Doesn’t mean they won’t **** me in my sleep.
So here I am, a sick man but I feel healthy.
Is this what hope feels like?
I think there is something leaking into me.
- Kata
Kinda sort of attached to my brokenness.
Also I have no confidence in hope.
We make our own hell.
Kata Jul 2017
I’ve got a violence in my dreams.
It’s about happiness.
And how I seem to be uncomfortable with it.
It’s like the sin I can’t swallow.
And I’m a little scared that one day, I’ll get tired of chewing.
- Kata
Kata Jul 2017
I live for your moans.
But when you go to sleep, it’s a work of art.
On my chest, in my heart.
It’s not all lust, but none of it is love.
It’s not all truth, but none of it is lies.
Forgive me if I’m tragically comfortable in my humanity.
I’ll have you waking up to melanin for breakfast but
I don’t want to miss you in my coffee,
So I kiss your knees and try to be bold.
I’m not all good, but may the best of me be true.
- Kata
  Jul 2017 Kata
Tyler Matthew
to love a poet
is to admit the world
is tragic
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