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the water is murky and ***** and grey
but the fish keep swimming and swimming and
nobody asked to feel this way
but if the fish manage to survive
we can too
 Nov 2014 Amanda Kyara
kaye
i've tried making poetry
spinning silk from cobwebs
sitting in the corners of my mind
trying to sew them
into sweaters that smell like you
so i could sleep at night

ever since i met you
i've been swallowing ball point pens
so i could spit out poems
everytime you cut me open.

there's ink in my veins
and i can't get them out
i can't quit this now, it's too late,
i've become addicted to your mouth

i painted my cheeks red;
you painted it black and blue
you turned me into art right?
i don't understand
why they kept telling me to leave you.

you tell me you don't love me,
and i keep saying i don't care.
i've felt it in your kisses
there's never been a spark in the air

you ask me why
and i tell you:
you're my favorite kind of pain.
not to be cliche, but i'd like to die
whispering your name.

my friends say i'm a fool,
"if it's an addiction, then quit"
but honesty is the best poetry,
and i'm getting pretty good at it.
 Nov 2014 Amanda Kyara
Burst
Stop
 Nov 2014 Amanda Kyara
Burst
Stop me
I'm coming thru
Leave me
Its up to you
Believe me
This is true
Relief me
Its all I do
i'm beginning to develop a
schoolgirl crush on you, my dear,
for you make me giggle as if i were
five years old again.
what i feel for you is
a dumbed down version of
a complex mixture of
like,
love,
lust,
and puppy-love infatuation.
i simply do not know what
has gotten into me but
i do know that i'd
love to feel your lips on my own.
i would be delighted to delve deep
into your embrace and
give names to the galaxies that have called
the depths of your eyes
home.
i haven't known you very long and
i have had not the pleasure of feeling
you in person but the pleasure of
hearing your voice pronounce
my name.
just to see you standing in
front of me once
would perhaps give me
some insight as to
how i feel in
regards to you.
or maybe i'll be more
puzzled than I am
as of now.
Are you broken, or are you whole?
Are you falling, or standing tall?
Are you sinking, or floating along?
And who decides this, after all?

Do you fly with the wind,
Wherever it blows?
In thunder or lightning,
Sunshine or snow?

Are you a victim of circumstance?
Do you soak in the rain, freeze in the snow,
Wherever the wind
Just so happens to blow?

But since when does the wind decide,
Whether we are wet or dry?
Or happy or sad? Or broken or whole?
We've lost control of what we own.

It's not up to the wind,
Or your boss or soul mate.
It's not up to your friend,
Or your terrible date.

It up to you, and you alone,
To create a foundation so strong,
You can remain grounded
When the wind comes along.

So are you broken, or are you whole?
Are you falling, or standing tall?
Are you sinking, or floating along?
The decision is yours, after all.
What can you expect?
Poetry comes from the heart.
And the heart is vulnerable.

We live in a world of lost souls and unfulfilled dreams.
Poetry just helps us stay here physically
Because we cant always be here mentally, emotionally,or spiritually.
Poetry is the reason i'm still alive.
It's liquid midnight bottled in blue,
iridescent sparkles shining through.
It's thick twisting syrup in the sky
layers of secrets underneath lie.

It's hopes and fears battered and bruised,
mystery and madness interfused.
It's between planes-- beautiful and ethereal,
scars of kings taste as imperial.

It's honey dripping from an imaginary comb,
sweet sadness echoing through a suspicious tome.
It's a hot mess of sprinting thoughts,
pain and excitement in empty blots.

It's both extremities in duality,
a crippled fantasy bathed in reality.
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.
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