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K D Kilker Oct 2020
Withering yellow-white
beneath the stone
I wanted to give you
my self, my spirit,
the pain in my throat when I look at you--
to take it out and form it into
something real.
But I couldn't, and yet
a barren spot remains,
so I sprout along the edge;
too wild to be lonely,
too wounded to flourish.
K D Kilker Oct 2020
I can wait
for you, for anyone, for everything; I'm
a daisy in your endless winter,
dormant until I'm perfect and beautiful enough
for you to notice me from the other side of the bed.
From the other end of the line.
K D Kilker May 2015
I changed in the night
after two years of happiness
or something like it
one year of purgatory
I wanted you when you didn't want me.
Now it feels like the end of a dream,
the breaking of a spell,
the beginning of a reality.
Visited in the night by a thing, a thought,
a girl who wanted to travel, you could picture her looking ethereal,
worldly,
writing books in strange places, happy
married--but not to you
living--but not this life.
Not in a town where dreams go to die.
But as I made myself closer, I was trapped instead, bound eternally.
I'm in love--but not with you.
Visited in the night by a man
that I wanted who didn't exist.
Because I should have ceased years ago.
People look younger when they died in a past life.
Do I think about it?
Every day--visited by a secret, a sad truth
I can't.
But visions can carry you away.
"Two years of happiness" would actually put me at twenty--this may have been written in the small TV room upstairs while I lived with my friend. I feel like I used the term incubus (a *** demon) because I had imagined a future where I traveled and wrote and felt guilty for thinking about it while I moved down a different path with my fiance. I also felt guilty for wanting both--dreaming about the future or feeling optimistic about my current path--because I was never supposed to live to be this old and have to make these decisions. Years ago, I had bought an old dictionary of superstitions from a thrift store and read that people who look young had died young in a previous life.

(Coming of Age - K. D. Kilker) Years of handwritten poetry and stories will be typed for safekeeping online following a technological failure in 2013. I am currently twenty-one and the pieces range from the age of fourteen to nineteen. They may not be good, but they are revealing.
K D Kilker May 2015
Dying is not the real pain.
The real pain is living inconsequentially
futilely, while others forbid you to die,
but forbid you feel earnestly;
seeing a whole unblemished person,
but little do they know
I am already dead.

#

It's not my pain that disgusts them,
it's the cutting
and that's why they treat the symptoms
but neglect the cause
and forbid me to talk about her
because the sound of her name
makes you regret me.

#

I AM MATURE:
I am new and improved and dead.
This was written on the back of a folded statistics assignment in English 107 my freshman year. The first two poems are heavy-handed (not my usual poetry, but I felt sometimes that I couldn't express myself). However, the last one is short and vague. My then-boyfriend said his friends thought I was much more mature than I was when I first met him at seventeen, but I felt that I had just grown afraid of people.

(Coming of Age - K. D. Kilker) Years of handwritten poetry and stories will be typed for safekeeping online following a technological failure in 2013. I am currently twenty-one and the pieces range from the age of fourteen to nineteen. They may not be good, but they are revealing.
K D Kilker Mar 2015
You’re the type of person
Who does what he says he’s going to do.
Undeniably, you have changed the lives
Of every person you’ve come in contact with.
Including myself.
You are kind and honest, and you love other people.
You love cats, and you love your family.
You’re the type of person who would help a friend
At three in the morning.
You stand up for what’s right, and you admit when you’re wrong.
You can’t stand to see me cry, but
I am not smart, no offense
I say weird things, no offense
I am weird
I know nothing, and I’m young
I am too reserved
you're friends do not like me, and I'm not the girl everyone
wanted you to be with.
If you asked, “Why do you love me?”
And needed some comfort, reassurance,
I could go on for hours. But when I asked the same,
you answered:
“I don’t know”
As you held my hand, driving to our house-to-be, our wedding-to-be, our life-to-be,
Because I can give you something another girl can’t—
Nothing.
K D Kilker Mar 2015
Love her only long enough to know her—
Seek her only long enough to love her—
Leave her barely long enough to seek another—
Because you’ve been alone so long, you still are.
And when I’m with you, so am I.
K D Kilker Mar 2015
From the time we were able to ride with our mother in the car, we wanted to spirit ourselves away. My sisters memorized the road names, the mechanics, to plot their escape—but I never learned to drive from watching. I didn’t pay attention to the roads, I can't read maps, and cardinal directions mean nothing to me. While they looked at the roads, I scanned the horizon, the sky, the trees, the beauty blurring by and wanted to fade into it. I wanted to be something beautiful, rooted, and constant--not to spend my life escaping pain, but to never have been forced to feel it.
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