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Katelynn Oct 2021
There lives a dragon in my stomach.
That pokes and prods with every scale.
With heat from it’s flames that leave skin blushed.
A bloated squeezing growing from the lack of room.

I check my stomach daily.
Searching for holes and bruises,
My hands running over bear skin amazed.
And yet, I feel it now,
Playing chess up my spine,
Each claw catching as it climbs up my vertebrae.
Leaving chills and goosebumps in it’s passing.

I’ve cried out for help.
Wanting nothing more from this beast.
But it leaves nightmares with it’s presence.
And it’s wings make perfect walls.

People just get tired after a while.
Just “the boy who cried wolf,”
But as I spout more words to them scrambling for help.
I see the smoke pillowing out of my mouth.
And before I could question,
We were both just as blinded.

I have a dragon in my stomach.
Years spent together like bitter friends.
Growing used to the burn of it’s hugs.
Even dousing the flames on my own at times.
A begrudging compromise.

Now overtime the beast grew too.
Spending more of it’s passing as a shadow over my shoulders.
Even with much less hold on me than before.
It still watches with delight.
Some days weighing like a backpack of bricks.
Whispering in my ear, coaching. Letting smoke fill my head, confusing.
Most other days are more bearable.

At night the beast stays on my chest.
Like a scaly tiger it curls on top,
With a kneading purr as it settles.
I never quite remember sleeping these nights.
Flashes of tossing and turning from being uncomfortable.
Poking, and prodding, and burning, and now chilling, and now waking up sweating.
The fog only clearing after spending time awake.

Alas there is a dragon in my stomach.
A spiteful beast that took hold there.
With greetings just like an old friend.
And when I finally demanded it’s name.

“Trauma” the beast told me.
I’m amazed that I wrote this. Comments are appreciated and I hope you random stranger have a nice day.
Katelynn Sep 2021
Like genuinely
I miss it

I made this hello poetry account back when I was a sophomore in high school thinking I was cool writing the poems that I had and letting all those words out.

I’d say it helped. At least a little bit.

But all this pain and suffering I wrote and how the sunshine and rainbows came in the end are complete bull.

I haven’t written a poem since Serendipity and that person still shines love in my life when every other person just left.

Im terrified of my future.
Yet I’ve never been more intrigued.
But in the end I’m just really tired.

Never loose your love of writing.
Never let your words stop flowing from your head.

Cause one day those words won’t make sense anymore.
And I forgotten why I’m here in the first place.
Thank you.
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.
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