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Oct 2018 · 335
Brandon.
Kaitlyn Marie Oct 2018
we weren't together long, but our beautiful bond was strong.
your intentions were never wrong, your laughter was like a beautiful song.
your smile lit my soul,
your eyes made me see the light of love.
I hope your eyes light up when you look down on me from above.
the sunshine I feel on my skin, the warmth I feel from within.
why did you have to leave me so soon?
when I think too much about it, it makes me swoon.
you were the kindest, sweetest soul.
I always thought you were so cool.
I was so proud of you, for how far you had come.
maybe your proudness you felt towards yourself was numb.
what a horrible thing, addiction is what I wished you could've overcome.  
I hope you know much I loved you, I hope you know how much I cared.
so many more life's little moments I wish we could've shared.
tears are shed, and along with the pain comes rain.
but I forgive you, my love.
...until we meet again.
(k.m.m.)
Oct 2016 · 548
her ..... he .....
Kaitlyn Marie Oct 2016
she ..... he

she, as sweet as honey. doe-eyed tender splendor. the sun braids her hair, the moon wipes her tears. day & night, she can only carry herself. teacup girl, you can hold her eggshell ego in your palm
calm.
she's a woeman or a wooman.
she, rue and blue. nocturnal ocular. inamorato inane. crazy stupid love, crazy stupid ladylove. predator of pure perpetual bliss, his kiss ~
she's laughter, guffaw and raw. she's cute, twee and sweet. she's every ability capable of catastrophe jealousy jalousie jade, unafraid.
a tectonic plate girl, a train wreck looking for equanimity tranquility.
a cat scratch female.
a female severe thunderstorm, warning.
auburn hair, dribbling like transferred decant hazelnut coffee
brewed shampoo sheen, his palms pouring with bountiful bliss
a cup of her.
wearing a pearl choker around her neck, she's his oyster
ready to be eaten, raw
his dear delicacy
ostentatious ritz
risqué getup glitz
lush.
he feeds her frenzied, hot, hunger for her concupiscent daydream
in actuality he has a haughty personality, between her hips arousal drips.
he's her peach, beseech with fervent fever for innocuous intimacy; enmesh and evoke in ease, please the plead we need.
he's her contour, the silhouette that invokes her earnestly and summons her evoked despondent deity, bring vigor and satisfactory vengeance.
on her mother-naked body, be the fabric that nukes her raw reprehensible physique,
be sinful, spiteful, senseless
in the way they drape.
breathe in her arousal
breathe in her lust,
touch her yearned wants and needs
touch her hankering hands,
kiss her passion
kiss her pain,
coition.
(k.m.m.)
Nov 2015 · 532
My thoughts, and you.
Kaitlyn Marie Nov 2015
My thoughts aren't always pretty, really, they can be cruel and relentless. They can be droll and demonic. My mind is making me turn myself into all the things I never wanted to be. I like to say, "what an actress" to myself, as I fill desolate rooms with life and character, laughter, a euphoria of jubilation - when I'm "an actress" around a horde of people, friends, Loved Ones, The Ones Nearest and Dearest to My Heart. They gaggle, like a flock of geese, and when your mind is pounding, with a swollen brain, you try to forget; the things that can never love you back, the things that haunt me in varying intervals, etc --- only one person can make me feel my version of Normal, where my humanity of normalcy comes to play --- where I'm up to par with my getting myself together, and, you, being the 3 tablespoons of olive oil, 2 cups of warm water, and 1 cup of apple cider vinegar that heals my dry cracked hands. That's YOU. You're my peach, I beseech you with fervent fever for your innocuous intimacy; we enmesh and evoke in ease, we please the plead we need. There's fickleness whim, in the way our soul cases analog; we allow stymie in the progression of our relationship and we allocate adornment. I'm the sin of sacrilegious sacrilege, the sin of my lips sipping your pureness out of a chalice; but, yet, I wear white. I want you to breathe in my arousal, breathe in my lust, touch my yearned wants and needs, touch my hankering hands, kiss my passion, kiss my pain, coition - on my mother-naked body, be the fabric that nukes my raw reprehensible physique, let's (both) be sinful, spiteful, senseless in the way we drape. Be my contour, be the silhouette that invokes my earnestly and summons my evoked despondent deity, bring vigor and satisfactory vengeance.
(k.m.m.)
May 2015 · 916
Eternal sunshine.
Kaitlyn Marie May 2015
When I first met you, we were sitting in a room full of smiles. I asked, "is this the smile room, is this where smiles happen?" You have so many options, and so many opportunities, and all I can do is think I'd be stupid not to spend my life trying to get you to smile. When we, people, say we "ought" to do something, it implies that I can, and I cannot. And, I can or I cannot make myself everything you want &/or need. When you hurt, I have a reflex like it's ok let me kiss it let me make it better. You're the best person for me, in my eyes, along with my Father's. You shake his hand, and I swear you bring about the biggest smile hiding underneath his beard, he looks as if he's shaking hands with happiness. When I'm not able to see you, my sign of missing you is in my bones, I can feel them all sigh at once --- as if in unison. My heart was once broken, but you put some butter on it --- and, don't we put butter on warm things? Before you, I was a wolf in girl's clothing. I never listened to the general rule of thumb, and I'd say things to myself that I wouldn't say to someone else. I was trying to pull myself out of depths I thought I'd never reach. And, oh, God, I'm calling you my grace of God, because nothing like this has ever happened to me by chance, I think we happened by fate. You show me how to be determined, because being determined is something I forgot. And, oh, God, it's just so nice to hear the silk of your laugh, wrapping around me, like it hugs my skin perfectly --- the fabric of my life. We, both, were once broken, and we can't cure each other, but we can help with the symptoms, and be each other's antibiotic for life. Your happiness is the single most important thing to me. It's been raining for hours, and I can't stop feeling. It's raining hard, and I want to close my eyes and open my hands, and I want to watercolor my palms with the sunset rose glow pavement. My words are juicy, swollen, and filled with passion towards you. I ask you to be gentle with, me, what has been healed. I have a knee **** reaction to trust and love total strangers, but none of those strangers have the smell of earth after it rains clinging to their clothing and none of those strangers taste like hope --- that's all you. I love you. Your love leaves me lying awake and wondering how I became this lucky. I love hearing people talk about someone they love, and I hope people love hearing the honey pouring over rough wood in my voice when I talk about you. You keep me moving forward. I want to wake up to you every morning, and I don't like to think of someone else touching you, and I hope that'll never be, because that causes a raging sea inside of me. When my hands don't have yours to hold, their homesick for yours. And, I know what I feel for you is the purest, richest, creamiest love. When I'm in your arms, I feel like the moonlight turns into water and bathes us until our skin prunes and we're forced to let go before we turn into raisins.
(k.m.m)
Apr 2015 · 712
I'm in L o v e w/y o u.
Kaitlyn Marie Apr 2015
Your lips taste like morning dew dripping off of a flower petal, storing all the sugary sweetness of a captured sunrise. Or, like a lightening bolt, making the hairs on my arms raise, then bow down to you when you kiss my neck with warmed lips. Or, like rusty spigot water, but I can't stop drinking you, it's like I'm living in a drought, and you're my only source of H2O. Before you, around 2, maybe 3 AM, teabags would bleed brown, unsweetened blood rivers down my cup, and my throat, would conjure a hiccup, that would burn my chest, like a 2,400 degrees kiln. Our hands, clank and clink, like we're two dishes in a soapy sink, but we know how to ****** ourselves correctly, so we don't discrete our cranny veins. My heart is like a beet, the vegetable, pumping purple dye in my veins, making them look spider-like, or like smudged pen-ink. That's what writer's veins consist of, the inky words they write with their ball-point-pens. The way you kiss my head, my lips, my cheek, my hand, you make the butterflies in my heart come alive, like fireflies trapped inside a jar. My collarbone, your wishbone, my knuckles, 10for10 simple bones to be kissed, my head, precious, leaning, my scalp, awaits to be felt by your friendly lips. When we're apart, I get motion sick from missing you. I will write about you, forever. I love you, and I don't need my language for loving you drenched in alcohol for my true feelings to show. I talk about happiness, like it's something to take off. Being happy, with you, is simple. I'm weirder than you, maybe weirder than what you want, but weirdly good am I at being what you want, all you want. I like when you compare me to impossible things, like the unsure feeling of whether you're having a heart attack or a heart attract. You're kind the point of seeing, I could look at your face all day long. I love it when you worry about making sense, but nobody really ever makes sense, and that's the beauty of being human. Your voice pulls summer bones from earthen graves, your voice is beautiful, so beautiful, it's my favorite song. I'm in plant with you, and my plant for you grows daily.
(k.m.m)
Jan 2015 · 4.2k
Drunk.
Kaitlyn Marie Jan 2015
It's something in the chemicals, it makes the "miss you's" come out when you're drunk. Really, we're all liquor store kisses --- things you can't tell your parents. My drink is a little too strong, making my lungs feel like their filled with wasps. I'm a mess, is that what you call it? When someone says "don't cry" but you cry harder. Everyone's talking all they want around me, but I'm not listening. Lies, lies, lies. But, the lies are only good when you're telling them. I need help, aka a wedding for all the things I've lost in my eighteen year old life. The morning vomits evening colors from hearing your name. Like I'm vomiting-out all the broken promises you ever made to me. Your eyes reminded me of the prettiest diamonds, what did mine remind you of? Loose change? I need to do laundry, but I'm too lazy. I'm living in a wastebasket of flashbacks. I'm driving home tonight, alone, not sobber. I won't grip my steering wheel tightly, I won't wear my seatbelt, I won't use my breaks. I'll remember the amount-less number of drinks I've drank, slightly. But, they were no mistakes. I'm good at pretending my life is in order, but clearly it's not. This isn't who I want to be anymore, I hate the remembrance of you. I think getting drunk will help, but that only makes the remembrance worse, and I keep thinking about our first kisses --- and how they tasted --- how they drained the color out of every living thing --- how ladybugs decided to make their homes in the palms of our hands --- how it wasn't hard to forget that we have an unbearable amount of seconds left on this planet.
(k.m.m)
Aug 2014 · 1.1k
You.
Kaitlyn Marie Aug 2014
I don't quite know how I'd describe the taste of your lips, but for now I'll go with the rim of an old porcelain teacup, or soft rain from a bruised sky, or kerosene, you're about to set my tongue on fire with the taste of your love. You're an uprooted tree from a ghost-town-like night, filled with screaming tornado sirens and broken windshields from gulf sized hail. You could carry me quite far, you were damp new leaves weathering from Fall's best storm, and I destroyed you just as completely. With you, I like to forget boundaries, I like to let you dance on my fingers, and let my mouth hang ajar when you punch my jugular, stealing the breath I breathe. You always reach for my hands like they need rescue, they are safe in my pockets, safe by being still, not black and blue knuckle shaking fighting fists. I find you in scalding water, as I wash the past off of my history book hands, my Father has an anger building up in his throat, he knows about our love, the love we never say out loud, the love we don't want anyone to mourn for, he wants to preach a different kind of sermon, a sermon mouthed with cracked sidewalk-like hands, a broken heart, grease stained jeans with worn knees, tired eyes, and an unshaved beard, and chapped lips and a tasteful tongue ready to throw swear words at me like rotten tomatoes, but I can only hear the time bomb in his voice-tone. My teeth are doors, but they only welcome certain types of people in, people like you. You're that abandoned building with a Danger sign hammered to a white chipped painted door, and I'm so happy I judged you for what's inside. Before you, I never experienced any touchy touchy feely feely crap, but you have the veiniest arms, like the roots of a tree cling to you. My hands get all clammy, my palms get soaked, as if I'm holding the ocean in my hands, this is what sweaty palms of nervous love is. I find you in muddy rain puddles, I feel like I'm splashing around in the color of your eyes. I find you on my fingertips, the scent of your favorite food, French fries, lingers in between my fingers. Do I burn your skin with my furnace-like touch? Are my finger tipped fingerprints really trails of left behind scars from a burning match? You make me want to scratch at walls, these walls around me don't feel like home, I'm chipping away wallpaper in hopes I'm chipping my way through your chest, I'm searching for your heart. I've done a lot of thinking, you taste like rusty spigot water, but I can't stop drinking you, it's like I'm living in a drought and you're my only source of water supply. All the words you speak have a certain echo, and echo that lacks reverberation. Your words taste like you learned the hard way. I'm going to hold your hand so long you start to question what's wrong with me, I'm going to stare into your eyes for a long period of time and you're going to nervously smile and say you have to use the restroom. I want to love you so hard the sky explodes into pink and orange jealousy. Autumn is beautiful, much like our love, (the leaves change color), like our cheeks when we blush pink, (then gathered into piles), like you and I picked up each other's broken shattered vase-like hearts, (and then burned), like our love burns more and more passionately day by day.
(k.m.m)

— The End —