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1.4k · Jan 2016
Little Girls Bed Time Story
k y Jan 2016
Quiet little girl
The monsters aren't gone.
They're watching through the windows,
They're looking through the stars.
And all your little toys they dance
Like ribbons in the sky.
So dark, piercing like holes in your
Skinny little bones, oozing pores,
You're 3, 2, 1 you don't know how to breathe
These shards of glass they've been slowly
Piling up, and you can't pick them up,
Not with your gritty eyes or acid rinsed bones.
Because you're still scared of the monsters
That you keep seeing under your bed.
But little girl did you forget,
That there are mirrors under there.

We're all afraid of these metaphorical monsters underneath our beds, and in our heads; but what we fail to realize is that sometimes, those monsters are just us.
810 · Jan 2016
Silent Pain
k y Jan 2016
I pick up the stones I keep dropping
I miss the feeling of her fingertips.
They ran over my soul so slow, I miss her sound.
Her heart, the way it matched my words
I don’t feel the edges of my soul anymore.
The broken heart you left me with I’ve mended.
I don’t love you anymore,
but I wonder what it’d be like if I still did.
I wonder what it’d be like if you left me sane
I wonder.
Would I love the way I did,
could I face another
and breathe the way I used to.
Would it hurt me to understand,
to feel, to think about another heart beat.
Sometimes I wonder how this cracked
shattered and emotionless body could still function.
Do I care, I don’t know.
I don’t know how someone could be in so much pain
without anything there to hurt them.
You are a silent pain,
you are a disability.
You don’t linger anymore,
you don’t make me sad anymore.
And I think that’s why it hurts.

648 · Jan 2016
We'll Make You Happy
k y Jan 2016
Count the numbers and don't forget
to subtract two, because
you're wearing 1,2,3,4 layers of clothes.
And can you hear me?
Repeat after me, "I am pretty, I am free."
Don't forget to minus three for every plus because,
"You're not good enough", and "they're better".

But darling don't forget you must keep track,
of the way they spoke to you last night
so you can retaliate tomorrow morning.
And the last few whimpers that escape
when you're screaming in the shower,
with the water turning red.
You, you did bad again!

Don't forget to look up and down,
and left and right before you take a bite.
Don't you go letting yourself behave like
such an animal!
Don't you know that this is not your body?
Did you forget that we are here
to make you happy!
something different. my thoughts on how society has such high standard's when it comes to physical appearance.
614 · Jan 2016
k y Jan 2016
Nothing has ever felt the way you do.
Your skin, your smile, the loss of color in your
cheeks, the redness around those beautiful,
dark lashes after you've cried.  
The way you make my mind drop all of its
useless content at the sight of your eyes.
The perfect beat of your heart when I lay my head on your chest, your scent.
Your limp skinny fingers, they're more than just flesh,
and bones. They're more than just you, and us.
Your mind and the way it works.
Your lips, your back, your legs, your soul.
I'm so in love with it all.

When I hold you, I feel as if I am lost in a dream,
Nothing feels more unrealistic than you.
Nothing feels worse than the pain, the worry,
the sadness that crawls slow and horrifically,
into my mind, my body, my soul when you hurt.
I wish I could carry it all away from you.

You are the last rose petal, and the saddest sun set.
And goodbyes with you, and 'see you laters'
are more than just phrases to me.
They're gashes, they're ghosts, they are leeches
that **** out your blood, and fire that burns.
And yes, it pains me to watch you go.
'Cause each step, and each mile you take, my heart
goes with you.
And your soul is more than just another metaphor.
Like all of them have been before.
Because nothing can ever, has ever, will ever
compare to you.


© 2015 karina y
596 · Jan 2016
without meaning
k y Jan 2016
meaningless words sang by a pretty voice
won't do much once you stop hearing
'cause you've realized you're not feeling.

and that shot of whisky feels better than being alone
'cause you'll take a burning sensation over the common cold
that rests in her heart, and rings in your head.

and the knife you keep close to your pillow to ****
the bad dreams away, but all you see is her face
and your blade it doesn't cut as hard as her words when they,

slice through your throat and... you still feel her fingers gripping
and they don't run down your broken little spine like they used to

now they just linger in the depths of your soul,
her lips breaking your bones over, and over
just like before, once and for all.
554 · Mar 2016
Back To Hell
k y Mar 2016
Her eyes, the same as my favorite cup of coffee.
Or was it the ***** mud I'd always trip into on a rainy day?
Her heart, the summer flowers, the winter snow.
But maybe it was the painful chill of the winter in New York.
Her voice, like whispers, so gentle so kind.
Or was it that of an angry lover, that of a lover.
But her hands, her spine, her neck.
Oh! What about her long legs shaded to the color of caramel.
Where'd they go?
Her angelic body. Is it far away from us?
Sometimes I swear I could hear her calling underneath my bedroom floor.
I guess she's made it back to hell again.

348 · Jan 2016
Green and Brown Eyes
k y Jan 2016
No one in the world could ever compare to her eyes,
they were green and brown and deceiving.
She'd stand tall in her confident frame and smile.
Oh her smile, there was nothing more beautiful and deadly.
Everything she did had a purpose
none of which came from the kindness of her heart.
She loved so hard that was her plan,
love hard **** harder.

One word and the room stops,
She takes you by the neck and slowly
gently squeezes all the air out of you.
And you have no choice but to love every second of it.
If you're lucky, she'll love you,
If you were luckier, she wouldn't.
You'd be left with agonizing thoughts of why she never did
but at least, you'd be saved from the pain of knowing why she did.

An old piece of writing that was actually supposed to be part of a story decided to use a little part and tweak it into a poem.

— The End —