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Kalena Leone Aug 2017
had to ask somebody for toughness today
*** the skin they had grown
for 54 years
was not enough to deal
with my *******.

had to ask somebody to let go today
*** their closets were
like 9/11 towers and
i did not want to
be the first plane.

had to ask somebody for a vacation today
*** i can't stop thinkin' about the ocean
and the fact that i'm still not sure
where i'm heading;
gotta explore my options.

had to ask somebody if they remembered today
*** i saw the carpet coming off the floor
and i thought of the first time i stepped on a
and how i realized our blood changes from //blue to red\

had to ask somebody for a ride today
*** i spent too much time
reciting poetry in HS and
i'm scared i'll hit a mirror
or a rabbit.

see, usually... i just ask myself.
usually, it isn't even a question
i move my arm toward what's gotta be done
but today, i needed some palms to read.
i needed some help.
Kalena Leone Sep 2016
now i'm the meditator
moving in slow motion
try, see what the lights looked like on her cloud soft skin

how long she spent in front of a reflection
using mother's new eye shadow
labeled Midnight, adding to her moonlight glow

sneaking kisses behind their backs
has been something i pride myself on
ride myself on

i touch all of you in the same places;
the difference being when you need it
but there are so many connections laced under your layers
that i have trouble ignoring.

"How do you know exactly how to touch me?"
I was born all-knowing.

that secret spot along the back of an ear
(the curled fold on a leaf)
anywhere the bristles poke me
(pine needles brush my shins)
where hair meets the back of a neck
(that vast lake, meeting the sky)
the shaft meeting all that hair
(base of a tree that fits my back)

the crease on a knee
(cracked soil in the desert)
the palm of a hand
(an areal view of connecting streams)
the tip of a ******
(a mountain peak)
the bottom lip, slightly tugged
(the opening of our damaged atmosphere)

That is how I know;
from singing to atlas'
saturating maps in my wetness,
staining myself with ink ...
and knowing exactly where to feel.
i used to be afraid of scientific diagrams of penises.
Kalena Leone Nov 2014
The hole in my chest spins with the phosphorescent white lights of my eyeballs
They go out in an instant
Reverse, counterclockwise
This house is toxic and I can't seem to shake the feeling that this black-hole feels more like home than anything I've known.
It isn't because I know you best
It's because I know you worst
And if I had learned that and never repeated the lesson,
Then my candles wouldn't be nearly gone
And my lipstick wouldn't be stained onto my lips
And I would have been asleep hours ago.

See, I have a problem with saying no.
A vortex approaches me and I'm excited, not afraid
I invite it in to my rib cage just to feel it knot all of my torso into a ball
Tensing it and tensing it until I release
Into the blade and into the lack of my senses
Tingling and wet incisions that taste like bitter mangoes and the bad nights in summer
Hot nights,
Sticky nights.
When you can't close your eyes and you can't feel your legs but the hair on your forehead could be glued on

The last time I was sent away, I had cat scratches on my hands
They're back again
My knuckles were the prettiest shades of red, black, and blue.
These appear in my head
Which might be a step toward heaven
Or what everyone tells me normality feels like.
Ignorance, bliss, and most important,
The avoidance of disappointment all together.

That's what I'm filled with.
Pens with missing parts, smudged nail polish, burning your hair, not having a family to have Thanksgiving with, knowing dad wants to die, waking up from a nightmare, being ****** into adulthood, having no money, being stood up at 3am by your ex
The light has to be in there somewhere
Or else I don't know what I'll do.
I haven't written in a long time so this is pretty bad. But there are a few parts I like.
Kalena Leone Dec 2013
I don't know if I'm more afraid of the future or the past.
I don't capitalize "I" if I'm feeling low.
When I call myself the ocean,
it means I'm crying.
Half my phrases are made up
about things I see
but don't understand.
I'm a jungle-gym.
Thoughts climb me
pull out my hair
Nestle in my ear drum
Sing until my fair skin
shines in snow.
I don't know why you still matter.
Why gravity hasn't taken you
smashed you on the side of its bowl
mixed, poured
served you to your mother.
I don't know why
I still know what your door
sounds like when its opened
or slammed shut.
I'm scared because I couldn't handle it last year.
I'm scared because
the Christmas tree in the school's court yard
looks just like the one from my hospital window
I'm scared that you're dying.
I'm scared that I lost so many
that I dyed my hair purple
and yet you still don't see me.
I'm scared because September
lives in Seattle
and he's the only one okay with
me not shaving my legs.
You see,
it feels as though
everything is miles away
I've never been a runner
and I don't know how to drive a car
I don't know how I'll get there.
I'm afraid of trust.
I'm afraid to trust myself.
What if tall windows aren't enough?
Will the library be big enough to hide in?
Will my favorite color stay green?
What if I lose myself?

What if I don't go to India?
Kalena Leone Dec 2013
Someday I’m going to sit in the rocking chair I begged my mom to throw away because it was old and ugly and I’m going to be thankful that I’m moving. That scares me.
Kalena Leone Jul 2013
fans spin and breezes blow and music plays and
children fall and showers wash and fences
cover and kites fly and grass grows and railings
balance and bugs crawl and glass shatters and
cars go and fireflies light up and volcanoes
erupt and tides rise and planets rotate
and stars shine and hands hold and feet
walk and bushes rustle and birds sing and
kings rule and helmets protect and water
these things remind me of what you do

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