I've decided that should anyone
years from now
discover my body
I want them to find me blind-
not from grief and sadness that I saw
but from the beauty my eyes beheld.

I want them to find
the disks in my neck worn-
not from lifting my nose at the inferiority of this place
but rather due to the fact that I was constantly gazing up
simply to remind myself that I get to be a piece in it all.

I want my lips to have trembled, smiled, spoken, gaped
my ears to have listened, to have listened, to have heard
my wrinkles to be evidence of laughter, evidence of worrying

my hands to have been held,
to have fought, grasped
and most importantly to have let go.

When they find me
I want my piercings to be evidence of my interest in pain
and the calm that follows.

I want my body to be riddled in love
agape, philias, eros, storge
I want my scars to be testaments to
my fearlessness, my carelessness,
my courageousness, and my curiosity.

Should they find my spirit gone
should they find my body dead
I want them to know
I want them to know I lived.

Truth is-
Truth is a lie
For I am trapped in a reality
Of one not conditioned for my kind
Perception is key to the unlocked universe
But what if I'm locked out of the world in which I was born?
I don't speak their language or get their jokes,
But since we are being honest, I don't care
All the pretty images, no thought evoked
In my own dimension, no one stares.

I want those low smoky bar songs
To make you think of me
I want you to want to see me
In that kind of loud ***** place
Out of place
And a little drunk

I want your frown
I want your glare at the bartender
I want your hand on my arm
When French is all I can manage
French, and your name

I'm speaking French for you
And you never notice

I want a little strong something
To bring out those r's
And your concern
I want your "lightweight"
I want your done-in kiss

I want my bad decisions
To bring one out in you.

The woman, or the character?
Was I born of flesh, and bone,
or merely a figment born of a
lonely writer’s imagination.

Do I not see this woman I appear to be?
Were these eyes, with which I see
created for me within a mother’s womb, or
merely a mirror image of what you wish to see?

When I say the words “ I love you”,
is it my heart speaking, or the
emptiness of pen against paper?
Do I even possess a heart, do we?

When I cease to exist, will you feel my pain?


Kathleen M. Kohl/Levinski

Mountain peaks, city streets
More nomadic wanderings
Airplanes' flights to far away
You are gone but it all stays

Kisses goodnight and goodbye
Oceans deep and dark and wide
Singing sweet lullabies
As headlights fade into the night

Like sweet dreams that haunt your sleep
Chased away by morning rays
Broken glass glinting in the dawn
Spoiling all of our sweet dreams

Sand castles that wash away
Ocean's rapture steals them day by
Day by day by day
All gone and washed away.

Day by day by day

Traffic lights and drunken fights
The tick ticking of every clock
Spin away as the music plays
Build your castles that wash away.

Like sweet dreams that haunt your sleep
Chased away by morning rays
Broken glass glinting in the dawn
Spoiling all of our sweet dreams

Sand castles that wash away
Ocean's rapture steals them day by
Day by day by day
All gone and washed away.

Tomorrow as today

Watch the clouds passing in the sky
As we sing more lullabies
The moon and stars are oh so bright
But we forget to shine.

Day by day by day.

Sweet dreams of sand castles
As everything washes away

Day by day by day
Tomorrow just like today

Stubborn in stature & determined by untamed will, she is unable to stop herself. Like that tornado that blew through Kansas, yes that tornado, it swept Dorothy away to a world nobody and everybody knows of. Maybe there she can find a prescription to fix her. Find her a brain, courage? Maybe even take her home...
Without control she rebels instinctively out of pure spite.
Her words are uttered in a childish fashion as if there were a need for defense.
Health escapes her thoughts, she feels there is no need for care. No need to pay attention to her body, no need for a responsible mind....she'll let the pills take care of that.....or maybe therapy. But that can spin out of control too. Just fill the bottles up like clockwork. If she doesn't smile, perhaps it was the dosage. There is no need to dwell on the questions in her mind, they come and go so quickly.
"How could they not take me seriously?"
"Why don't they listen to me?"
Tears flow as she falls apart then laughs at the funny parts, because so much of it is......funny. But wait!!!! The madness has only just begun! Anger is the horror of it all, adrenaline and a blackness like a veil covers what is true, she appears possessed in a horrid-dark-angry cloud of violence. Hide the knives!!!! Do not give her access to the pills... this is her torment. And alas the depression reigns. No showers today or maybe all week. She does not want to do anything but sleep. Until the dosage is doubled and finally she feels alive once again.