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 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
tayarose
If I like girls what would you say?
I were to love a girl or a boy would that be okay?
I like girls, But when embraced I"m called a ******, I am confined to the normal reality of this world
I like boys, I can openly express that but can i really without being called a ***** or a ****? We are supposed to love everyone, but we do not love anyone but our selves, we are afraid of the different
We fear change, when will we change?
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Mya
Rose was left red
Violence isnt new
Drink that potion, kid
And they'll take you too
In a world of beauty, it's dangerous to overlook the mundane.
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Will Bittner
Hamilton tickets...
Body parts you don't need?
I can sell an arm...
It's a haiku. Deal with it.
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Bad Luck
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach . . .
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                  You would burn it all.

To do a dance,
To wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
             To look in a mirror . . .
             To tell an image, that it’s anything but you.

And it is in that moment, that you'll find
                           You’ll tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed
                           Your own obliterated youth . . .

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew

                          You would find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                              And on the seventh, betrays you.

"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
 Apr 2019 Kay-Rosa
Bad Luck
I've been trying to see the in-between;
The overlap in separation...
                            I want to see what can't be seen.
                            I want to embody imagination.

"That's a tough way to go." They say,
                    "You shouldn't try so hard to know."
But a river is a tough thing to stop,
                                   So I just let the water flow.

Because you don't come upon an idea...
You always start from within it,
Both springing forth and unfolding,
From their inception, until it's finished.

Your ideas, as you are, are intricately connected
To a place where no thing exists without a purpose...
No answer without a question.

The question and answer, you see, exist in simultaneity...
Born from the same concept; they are stuck together, forever, genetically.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
 Mar 2019 Kay-Rosa
Luna Wrenn
i picked a rose today.
off a bush
that sits underneath
my childhood window.
the thorn poked into my skin.
i watched as the blood started to trickle
down my finger.
i stood there and pondered.
which one holds the most beauty?
the rose that i just picked,
that will be put into a jar and wilt away?
or the blood spewing out of my finger
as a reminder that i’m still alive.
 Mar 2019 Kay-Rosa
Dream
I crave your scent.
I crave your touch.
I crave your mind.
I crave your love.
I crave your eyes.
I crave your voice.
I crave your words.
I crave your stares.
I crave my body burning.
I crave you.
 Mar 2019 Kay-Rosa
Bad Luck
I’m in my prime; at the cusp of my development.
A few more years of growth make decay a lot more relevant…

Glass Elephant,
Glass Elephant,


Irrelevance, benevolence,
Compassion, or malevolence;
I’m one of few who sees it sums no difference.

Glass objects.
Or Elephants.
Irrelevance,
Irrelevance

Striving for motion, with motive elusive
Each thing I endeavor is far too exclusive
I need something inclusive, objectively singular
A sinusoidal wave with a mean lacking integers
Peace in zero and equilibrium inclusion

Glass Elephant
Glass Elephant

Delusions, Delusions
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
 Mar 2019 Kay-Rosa
krm
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.


My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.


III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
Nyctophilia
(n.) love of darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness

The moon’s light allows shapes
to reflect their way around my room,

dancing,

everytime the wind blows.

Branches on a nearby tree,
tap on my window,
as if asking permission to emerge,

fight their way through the glass

that keeps them out.
Shadows hide in the crevices of
my walls,

as if the darkness would steal

their souls away,

losing themselves forever.
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