Leave it for a day and the world forgets you exist. Not all followers, mind you, but most. Over 4,000 followers on Twitter and they'll retweet the latest tweet only. Most won't ask "Where's Kendra? Is she ok?" They won't go through my archives of posted poems to read or find some kinship. No. Only the latest & greatest, thank you very much.

Is it my poetry? Does it throw people off? Is it because I don't constantly write about erotica & flaming ***? Is it because I discuss domestic violence like an uncaged soul? Or is it merely the beast of social media, itself? These questions I often ask myself.

I suppose it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself. Perhaps that isn't too far from the truth.

Not to put myself on some pedestal. I do the same thing. I simply find it sad. Thousands of poems posted between here, Twitter, blogs, etc. and it all goes unnoticed - except the latest one posted. Surely I'm not the only who feels this way but it wouldn't be the first time if I am.

It was written in the sand
But the sea washed it away.
It was written on the cliffs
But they crumbled day by day.
It was written on the sun
But the clouds did claim the sky.
And then we wrote it in our hearts
So that it will never die.

See my eyes
There are no lies

Feel my hips
With your fingertips

Touch my skin
A gift to win

Hear my voice
It's not a noise

Kiss my hair
Such tender care

Hug me tight
Under the moonlight

Love me, dear
Like I do swear

Grow old with me
Forever we will be!

The thing I look most foreword to
is being able to tell you I love you
without the fear of someone hearing me.