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Katelynn Nov 2020
You are my serendipity
You are the one who entered my life unexpected
Guns blazing
It was like you fought your way
Without even lifting a finger

You are amazing
In the way with one touch
I can feel your love
Crackling like electricity
As it shoots from my body
Just pure breathtaking love

You are beautiful
Even when you think it least
Because you see the least
I see the sparkle in your eye
When we look at each other at night
Even with it pitch black
I can still see your eyes
Shining open to my heart

Darlings you are more than you think
From the kindness of your heart
To the softness of your touch
You able to calm the strongest storm
With just the slightest hug
You my dear are truly lovely

For it was you
Who taught me love again
That it could exist
That it could be healthy
That love could be shared even to the meanest of people
But still take no ****
And that is why I love again

You are my serendipity
Full of love and warmed
Unexpected but greatly welcomed
I love you with all of my heart
And I can’t wait for what lurks ahead

For you
My love is eternal

You twatt waffle <3
I’m going to be honest. I wrote this poem one of the first times I got high and I don’t even remember writing this. I do know however the feeling behind this. This unfiltered/unedited poem is about my love. He came into my life so unexpectedly but I wouldn’t change that for the world. I love you Cyan Sus <3
Katelynn Oct 2020
I cannot give anymore
With the words in my brain
That call me insane
That makes me feel pain
Something I can not explain
I cannot give anymore

My heart is too big
But that’s not enough
My mind is too sick
Alone that is rough
My lungs that hold air
Are hard to compare
To make me aware
That I am still there

They say you are useful
When you are around
Filling their needs
Even when you are drowned
With water in lungs
Your heart on your sleeve
Tears that leave stains
You mind locked in chains
I cannot give anymore

And though my light is dim
And my life seems grim
A breath of fresh air
A break from despair
Where things seem calm
Time ticks like a bomb
I remember a day
A reason to stay

I cannot give anymore
A light that was dim
Shot off on a whim
Filling with light
Starting a fight
My lungs fill with air
My brain starts to care
Winning the war
I know I can say

I can give more
This poem is for the people that are empathetic. A person with high empathy just gives more and more even with they have none themselves. Feeling the energies of others they cannot help giving more. Just a big heart in a cruel world.
Katelynn Mar 2020
I am eighteen years old.
That doesn't seem like a lot,
But to me,
It is everything.

Eighteen years is all I've ever known.
Even if I died tomorrow,
Still eighteen.
While that might not seem like much to you.
You are probably not eighteen.

Despite my age,
I have been through a lot.
Some say more than most,
Even then those who are older.

At eight years old I lost my dad.
At eleven years old I lost my mom.
At eighteen years old,
I've learned to be okay with that.

Between eleven and thirteen I was abused.
I eventually escaped and was safe again.
At eighteen years old I am still in fear of this sometimes,
But I am working on that.

At seventeen years old I applied for college.
I was accepted and excited to go.
At eighteen years old I dropped out.
All of the anxiety and illnesses became too much,
But I am working on that.

For eighteen years I've dealt with mental illness.
Currently being called Bipolar,
Manic and depressive episodes are common,
But I am working on that.

In the past eighteen years,
I've learned new things.
I've learned who to trust,
And who to believe.
I am still working on the difference between them.

In eighteen years I've learned to let go.
Toxic or not.
Family or not.
Just letting grudges be free.
I'm still working on that.

In eighteen years I've learned skills.
With the musicals I've been in.
With my writing continuing.
Even better at communicating now.

But yet I am eighteen.
With time hopefully left,
Leaving room to gain new experiences,
Because eighteen isn't a lot.

But I do thank eighteen.
For all that it has taught me.
From being confident,
To being reassured,
And everything in between.

Because I am almost nineteen.
And nineteen is a lot.
This poem is about despite being eighteen I have been through a lot but knowing it is only getting started and I can't wait to see what nineteen has in store soon.
Katelynn Jan 2020
Sometimes when people describe mental illness,
not all can see,
how ignorance is bliss,
how some live carefree.

"Oh well you are sad"
For that is true,
but there is a difference,
from a feeling of blue,
to a weight smothering Depression.

"Oh you can't focus"
For that is true,
but there is a difference,
from hyper and happy,
to a confused, controlling ADHD.

"Oh you are just worried"
For that is true,
but there is a difference,
from caring too much,
to an intense panic and fear of Anxiety.

"Oh well you are just moody"
For that is true,
but there is a difference,
from just being tired or hangry,
to an uncontrollable scream called Bipolar.

It could be the voices of Schizophrenia,
of the vomiting of Bulimia,
but you would not see,
how hard we try to flee.

You are blessed to be healthy,
never fearing your mind,
or how you could be so blind,
to us walking a fine line.

But don't get me wrong,
I am wishing you well,
because I know how,
you would never want hell.

So I applaud your ability,
your ignorance so bliss,
of all you will miss,
ignoring all of this.

So until you learn,
or at least understand,
we are not so bland,
while you live a life so grand.
People with healthy minds and those with mental illnesses tend to live a whole different life from one another.
Katelynn Jan 2020
You ask if I love you?
I simply reply I don’t know.
How could one really know,
I’d love truly lies where lust hides.

Do I love you,
When you hold me tight,
When our lips touch,
Or when our bodies connect.

Do I love you,
When I sneak glances,
When I listen intently,
Or when I feel that I can’t get enough.

But when we are together,
My heart flutters,
My hands shake,
I feel tingly.
I feel special.

But you ask my if I love you,
I still can’t respond.
Is it me being with you?
Or being apart of you?

When the heat rushes,
When my legs shake,
**** I know I’ll be sore in the morning,
But that isn’t love.

Love shouldn’t be afraid.
Love shouldn’t be hidden.
It’s shouldn’t be shameful,
Or questioned.

But I guess it doesn’t matter either way.

Because you never asked me if I loved you in the first place.
Going through life I have never experience my chance at having my first love yet. I wrote this poem when I was finally with someone for the first time believing that I could love them and they everything would be okay. It didn’t work out but having these questions in this poem was a real eye opener for me into discovering what I really needed. And it wasn’t him.
Katelynn Mar 2019
If I could write to the past
Of all that has happened
Of all of what I went through
Of how everything happened so fast

So this to you
To the younger me
To the innocence
That no longer consumes me

Dear younger me
Of all the things I want to tell you
Words can not explain enough
Of what actually happened

Dear younger me
Would I tell how you will go through so much
So much pain
So much heartache
But you will come out so much stronger

Dear younger me
Would I think to tell you the truth
Of all those you will lose
Those who you thought would be there
But now are left confused

Dear younger me
Would I tell you of the places you will travel
Some creating your best memories
Or how others will still leave you up at night

Dear younger me
Oh how I want to protect you
To keep you shielded
From the dark

Dear younger me
Oh how I want to warn you
Of the dangers that lurk
Even in the most trusting smile

Dear younger me
With how much I would give
To be back in your shoes
Even just for a moment

But if even given a moment
I would change nothing

Dear younger me
You will go through hell and back
You will cry some nights until you fall asleep
You will witness things you wish you had never witness
You will try to die at your lowest moments at the age of 13

But do not be frighten

Dear younger me
While you are going through so much
While you feel left in the dark
That you have hit rock bottom
You will rise
Stronger than you have before

Dear younger me
While our life is not over yet
You will meet amazing people
Those who love you
When others wouldn’t

Dear younger me
You will see amazing things
Color brighter than you have before
You will feel peace at times

Dear younger me
Things are never perfect
But you will make it
You are better than you once imagined

Dear younger me
For all the things you wished you were told
For all the things you wished you had done
Even now
I wouldn’t change them for a younger me
Here lately i've been thinking about my past, which is never a good thing. I was givin the insperation for this poem by the song Dear Younger Me by MercyMe. Listening to that song over and over again made me think what would I say if I could write to myself ten years ago. 7 year old me. An innocent child who had no idea what challeges that would be thrown at her. But I grew stronger, and those tough challenges and decisions made me who I am today.
Katelynn Jan 2019
Why do I write? Well technically I’m not actually writing, I’m typing. Anyhow I write for many different reasons. I write to share ideas, to change perspective, but I mainly write for myself. I write for myself because writing(typing) helps me understand myself. I know it sounds crazy sometimes but when I am for once able to put meaning into my words I am able to understand parts of myself better. Some people don’t understand. How could someone possibly not understand themselves? It’s reasonable to understand that. I always know what I am feeling most of the time. However trying to take my feelings and put them into words tends to be a struggle for me. Like I can’t find the right words in the proper order to try and explain myself. Sometimes things don’t need explaining. That’s is why I write poetry. In poetry things don’t need to make since, unlike all the college essays that I have to write that scream about grammar and punctuation. Poetry is just a feeling by itself. Letting the rhythm of the words just flow. It doesn’t always make sense but that isn’t the point. The point is does it have meaning? When someone reads poetry do the feel something deep within or are they just zoning out and reading just to read. Reading poetry is like playing a melody in your head. You can hear all the different notes, when they stop, and when they go. You can create a symphony of words with the letters being your orchestra. Some may criticize, they always will, and try to make it seem that your work is less important that it is. But it isn’t. What makes your work important is the feeling that you get from it when you finish. That feeling of relief when you finally let everything bottled up inside you go, or the tears that spill because the damage that was made and the only way to heal is letting out all of these words in your head go. When writing there are no limits, no criteria. It’s just you and your brain piecing together parts of yourself you hadn’t realized that was there before.

And that is why I write.
This is just what I call a word ***** that I had once day, and I just wanted to write. These words are unedited and I didn't allow myself to backspace on any of it. So they may be some spelling errors and there are definitely some grammer erros. This is just pure words, typing as I am thinking. Truely my definition of a word *****.
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