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KAT COLE Mar 2017
its like walking in to a dak woom with no lights room and deperately looking for a light swiththat isn't there.
Like chiking on every word you say, terrifie of the resoce that spills through your ****** cracks=ed lips.
I cant close my eyes.
i see nothng at all.
I feel it all.
Everthing in its place that;s not supposed to be there.
walls necorted wall decortate with fist chaped wholesand shatter glass judt lkr nre carpet.
I close my eye and i see his face.
All of the face.
His long beard cover in whiskey, her thin hair, the way she said, "im going to kiss you  like adults do."
It swollows me whole.
It take my minutes, my hours, my days stripped away from me.
I am nothing to be to be cared for,
I am nothing but dissasociated mindlessness.
You stole it all from me.
Every part of me was ripped away like fragibe bir bines.
Drape me in this body bag of satin sheets.
I'm too sick. Like a flu in my mid.
there is not cure.
KAT COLE Mar 2016
I found it.
I found the secret.
The secret that i once held so tightly while running bare foot through the forest.
Along the way i must have stashed it between the trees and bushes while darting towards my made up castle.

It took 20 years to catch my breath.
Slowing coming to a stop, I lifted my head to see where I had ended up.
Only to find a kingdom, but not the one I had made.

No part of my mind could have ever created a beauty such as this.
But this was the secret.
The forgotten, familiar secret that left my hands empty.

Still short of breath, feet still aching, naked among the vines.
Without another thought, here is my entirety.

Clothe me in the leaves and branches that stand so tall above me.
The leaves and branches that fill my lungs with oxygen.
Just as the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand up with the gifted chill, let the moss sprout from those very pores.
May my crown rise to the galaxies, just as the redwoods relentlessly reach for the clouds.
Pushing cold stones into my own 4th gift, mesmerized by the unknown reality.
My roots digging, growing, stretching, twisting to the bottoms of the soil.
These feet have caved to crave the texture of the deepest grounds.
Standing among the water of the tallest of falls.
Just like coming home.

There was no secret, the secret was home.

The home of a vagabond, once worn like badge of honor.
I want the wanderlust to ends, overwhelmed by the nurture.
The nurture of the forgotten mother.
A forgotten home.
This is home.
This is where it's always been.

Just as the fern never stopped growing beneath my skin, I return the gift with my complete being.

Swiftly married to the endless forest of pines.

I am the floor of the deepest ocean.
I am the cap of the highest mountains.
I am the rain that kisses your face.

I am the grass that grows beneath your bare feet while running through the forest.

I am clothed.
I am grounded.
I am whole.

This is where it has always been.
Stashed between the trees and bushes.

A forgotten home.
A secret kingdom.

This vagabond soul found that home hidden within the frame of my very own twig shaped bones.
KAT COLE Feb 2016
Last night a man stood outside our apartment building screaming.
Yelling every thought & response to each conversation that filled his sick mind.
Nothing falling from his lips made any sort of sense to the audience of bothered listeners.
I however, could have listened to him for hours on end.
Windows wide open.
Only separated by netted screens.
I listened.
Calmed by the shaking echos of his nonsensical narrations.
I listened.
Almost envious of the certainty in his voice.
His lack of mindfulness beckoning my lack of perception.
The unseen canyons of my subconscious now flooding with his translation.
How twisted is this head of mine to desire my own abiding, blustering interpretation.
One that echos my own nonsensical narrations.
Just listen.
Only filtered by netted screens, with windows wide open.
Just listen.
And to the conversations that fill this sick mind, I wish i could just listen.
KAT COLE Feb 2016
What they did not see is that I am only bird bones.
Fragile and lifeless.
Feathers ripped away by the hungry.
Born into survival and not of grace.
Lay still and small. They will pass by.
Let down by their hopes of a put up fight.
Like a wishbone. Snapped with little pressure.
I lay draped in a body bag of mattress sheets. I am swallowed whole by the soil of the silk stitching.
My last articulated thought only being that some how these bones had been exposed by some quick and painless experiment.
Eyes open. Skin rotting. Eaten alive from the inside out.
Bare. Inert. Uninhabited.
This leather skin, stretching so very very thin.
Deepening the hollowed valleys of my depleting coffer.
My only remains are of fragile, lifeless, bird bones.
Ripped away by the hungry.
KAT COLE Jan 2016
I pulled the shirt over your head and helped you put your arms through the sleeves. My very last unstained shirt draped like a dress over your tiny body.
The calm of bottles shattering and bodies slamming into walls never once lifted our heads from the empty dinner table.
It was moments of stillness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Those moments meant darkness.
Unexpected visitors.
Strangers turning into infatuated demons.
Ripping at the skin of inconsistent consistency that built this toy frame of mine.
Within this secret, I know where to hide. To keep you safe and unseen.
If even for the moment, I can hold your face and cover your ears.
It was only a matter of time.
Only a matter of time before the secrets of these walls made the faces of the residence unrecognizable.
Quickly crawling through the sopping mountains of clothes. Follow me to the tunnels and trenches.
Keeping quiet in every nook and closet.
Like hide and seek, running from monsters.
The adrenaline thrilled you while the reality crippled me.
Keep your eyes closed tight and your ears always covered.
My back pushed hard against your hinged knees. Hiding every piece of you for no monster to see.
Hiding monsters.
KAT COLE Nov 2015
It's crawling under my skin.
Growing larger in my rib cage.
It's this feeling I hate.
When I know it's coming.
Like watching a **** begin to crack.

I filled the floor with broken glass and ***** clothes. I dropped a pitcher of something on the carpet. The shower is on and my clothes are soaking wet.

I'm suffocating on the secrets of June 15 1999.
My grey walls turned dusty brown.
My pumpkin candle turned to stale cigarettes and moldy food.
Heavier and heavier.


In the morning I'll ask you to replay the
night and try to piece this all together.
I obsess over the tiniest details that I have dragged out of my subconscious.
Descriptions and words spilling from my lips, fleeing like escaped prisoners.
Although the fugitives legs will never grow weak from running to the sun, his cell walls will stand tall behind him, waiting for his return.

The moon is calling and I don't have enough duck tape to patch this **** together or the key to break these shackles from my ankles.

I brace myself for the weight.
Growing larger in my rib cage.
Heavier and heavier.

Take notes this time, for when the morning comes, I'll ask you to replay the night and try to piece this all together. Clue by clue, I'll find a secret.
KAT COLE Nov 2015
It's gone.
All of me.
No voice. No motions. No thoughts. No conversation.
It's packed and shipped away.
I'm screaming to the blank faces that circle around me.
But their words are too vibrant to recognize my echo.
I'm gone to sea with no plan to return.
Push me away.
I want it.
I need it.
I crave to be gone.
All of me.
Let silence consume the world that bind my feet to this rotted soil.
I want it.
Apathy. I get it now.
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