With age comes wisdom
I'd rather not know anything
Than have to experience the pain
I rather be ignorant
Than be all knowing
Why ?
Because when you don't know anything
All you know is **Happiness

paper carefully ***** my words
sentences are formed
liquid and dark as velvet
like flowers of silence

tones of a gentle song  
are showing the monologue
born out of my being

it has been
a long time
when I tuned the strings
and wrote the arrangements

and still I’m busy
bringing them to perfection

Translation From Catullus.


Equal to Jove that youth must be—
Greater than Jove he seems to me—
Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv’d for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though ’tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch’d to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o’erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil’d in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

the dictionary definition states
beauty is a combination of qualities
that pleases the sight

who said beauty was something so materialistic?
who put the seal on beauty being an image?

and how absurd is it that
a curve of the body
or a shape of lips
would be what determines
if you have a man
Attached to your hips?

and why is beauty restricted to sight?
because I've seen beauty in movement and walks
I've heard beauty in the way someone speaks
and I've witnessed beauty in someones words,
in someones actions, in someones works

beauty was seen before
when someone had talent
when someone had dedication
when someone had a heart

but now that has faded
like old ink on yellow brittle paper
and all that is left
of beauty is superficial

if beauty was a woman or a god
she would cry at night
sad she cant be seen in certain places anymore
and she would feel guilty for the fact that she's ruined
so many young girls lives because they cry to be
"beautiful" every single day

beauty would rage and wish she could be seen
in places she used to be
she would be angry at the fact
that she's closed up in a box,
a box of opinions and standards
of who she is

most of all
she would wish to whisper to those girls
that they are beautiful
and beg to have a chance to
open up blind humanity's eyes

And if the piano breaks it's because each time you kiss me it feels like I've taken a bullet to the brain.
Today, I looked into your eyes and saw nothing but forever.
I think that maybe, if you took my hand, we could fight infinity.

I've never believed in God, but ****, I think you're my religious awakening; THIS is a baptismal revival.
I think I was dead until the day we met- you give me life.
Whispers: "safe, safe, safe."
She strikes a key to play me out of tune.

What does she look like in the dark?
What do you wear when you're alone? (I wear the black pendulum)
Seastar, starfish, lover, oh how I'm suffocating on my anguish.
Convince me to forgive him, and then I will try and forgive myself for all that he has broken.
For the ***** nights, the rancid sheets, ten years of filth- it would take an eternity to scrub out my stains- ugly.
Whispers: "****, ****, ****."
Screams: "daddy please, daddy no, daddy no, stop it!"
It's hushed up by the sounds of the broken piano- the unforgiving black sacrament.

Steel and skin, forgiveness and pain.
You can only hide for so long; sleepmonger, deathmonger, counting sheep. When will these childhood nightmares end?! Oh.

So, 1, 2, 3, 4, who's that looming at my door?
5, 6, 7, 8, he calls it love, she calls it ****.
9, 10, 11, 12, he put her though ten years of hell.
13, 14, 15, 16, who could love her scars- so distinct?
17, 18, 19, 20, fall for me; so sick of running.

(a.m.) 05/05/14

I need to get from Point A to Point B.



Point B is at your front door,

where I am standing with a tray of homemade of freshly cooked pancakes to start your day right.

I won’t forget the maple syrup.



Point B is at GameStop,

We would wander around the endless aisles as you go through the games you love, hate, or want to play.

And I would hold your hand, and tell you mine.



Point B could be at Starbucks,

I would order coffee. You hate coffee.

You’d let me go on and on about the book I’m reading,

You’d tell me your favorite books.

And maybe I’ll recite some poetry here and there.



Point B could be anywhere,

As long as you’re the one driving.

And I ride shotgun.



Point B is at that Pizzeria place you want me you go to,

I can finally try that pizza you were always telling me about.

We should order dessert, too.



Point B is in your bed,

where I would actually wake up beside you saying “good morning”, and not having to read it from my phone.

We would cuddle.

And exchange playful kisses.



Point B is where I want to go.

It’s where I need to go.

Point B is you.

her skin is smooth, the scars are gone
but little do you know
she acts like everything's okay
yet she feels like she's alone

did you check her stomach?
and did you see her hips?
there's pain inside her eyes
and a fake smile on her lips



-k.l.