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kasia Nov 2015
like looking at a ****** video of an alien
through hi-def 3D lenses, wibbly wobbly
(things that don't make sense to your eyes)
like laying in a field, still
while the rest of the world spins around you
like feeling all too much so it hurts
and wanting to feel so much more
crying and screaming and laughing
the urge to jump out of yourself
because your soul is packed in so tight.

thoughts bump into each other in your head
released from their cages they swim through your mind
they whisper or they scream and you don't know which is worse
you want to talk to someone, anyone
but you know the words would come out all too fast
plus who says this feeling isn't just a little nice?

lights on, lights off
colors flash as you open and close your laptop.
a threatening screen, yet welcoming, comforting at the same time.
a bright light in the dark of night
how can you help but stare?

more words swim faster
you laugh, don't try to stop them
let yourself go for the night
(the irony is that you're holding onto something anyway)
something intangible, unreal, but there
keeping you still, frozen.
euphoric, psychedelic, hyperactive
does anything really make sense?

standing up will pull you back down hard
listen and you hear a deafening empty silence
fill it with your sobs of frustration.
it won't end until you cry yourself to sleep
and the bed suddenly seems so soft...
not quite poetry \\ not at all good \\ i was high on exhaustion
  Nov 2015 kasia
Michaela Ferris
Who am I to ask you for the time of day?
When you look at me as if I am a wall of grey.
My insecurities are fuelled by that devastating look in your eyes
That rips my very being from existents.
For you see, I am not like you
I am the nothingness that creeps inside your head
And haunts your once pleasant dreams
Until you plead for death to take you in its icy grip.

Who am I to ask if you will stay by my side?
For I am one of those many lost souls
And my abandonment issues how I wish to blame you.
You deserted me but I know I am the one to blame.
For you see my mind does not work like yours
It corrupts even the purest of thoughts
Impales them with the purest of impurities
Suffocating them like the vines around the necks of the flowers.

Who am I to ask if love is a shout into the void?
I still tear out my heart with my bare hands.
I am lost inside a world where no one can see the truth
It’s always them, it’s always suffer you sufferings in silence.
For you see they do not understand what it’s like
To be lost inside your own rotting head
Scared of the monsters under your bed, now they are inside your head.
No one cares if you ended up dead.

So please answer me, who am I to ask for your hand?
When you do not see me they way you should.
You see a feeble, weak, broken girl
Who’s too far gone to be saved.
For you see I am none of your concern
But that is where you are wrong.
I am a mother, a daughter, a farther, a son, a friend, family
I am everywhere, so please don’t turn your back on me!
kasia Nov 2015
there is something beautiful about you
when you cry.
i don't know if it's the sadness
that leaks from your skin
or how your brain pain is near tangible.
nor do i know
why that should be beautiful
but perhaps it is just the softness
the relenting,
the giving up,
the most ****** up form of peace.
and the repeat realization
of all the reasons
you should feel guilty.

it shows on your face.
as your cheeks redden and then drain slowly of color.
through your muscles
as they tense, almost relax, and then shake.
your eyes, they are red.
they are red and small and drooping.

you see yourself in the mirror
and you fight an urge to smash it again.
you're ashamed, but you see it too:
you are so ******* pretty when you cry.
that robe of misery suits you so well.
maybe you were born for pain.
not quite poetry

im sorry
this is so dramatic
  Oct 2015 kasia
Bus Poet Stop
entering arms entwined
a state of grace

offer you body warmth
to burn us together for always

tongue licks your love
the buds of taste blossom yet again

chest beating thrum
celebrates your continued existence

fingers tease you at the junctures
that pleasure reveals the magi's adoration

but

I love you best with
the love of words,
for this is the poet's way,
condense
touch sight sounds smell sensual
into what words he can give that

cost so much, held so dear,

that it is the
cherish

that
is
the
best
of
him
Oct 24, 2015
7:48 am
deep within
  Oct 2015 kasia
Poetic Thoughts
Some girls like me are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them
#somegirlslike me #heartache #depression #poetry #running
  Jun 2015 kasia
ASB
you.
talking about court cases
and history of law.

you.
casually talking about
****** connotations
in some poem or other
when I still try to find them
in your smiles.

you.
talking.

I had moved on from that
a while ago
but when you mention

well, anything, really

I still kind of
lose
my mind.

you'd think after years I'd be used
to your eyes and your hips
and the way that you speak and
your voice, how it sounds, but
I'm not, I am

always
over you.

except when you're
around.
kasia Jun 2015
"let loose"
i'm trying
but it's so hard to relax
i can only write
because i like the way
the ink spills on the page
not quite prose
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