depression is a box
where the crickets and toads and **** are dropped
devoid of human feeling, understanding
i don't want to be dropped into a box of numbers, don't want my legs wrapped around statistics;
my name is Kate Lyn
and my fingerprints and DNA are seperate
from every body else's

i will crawl into the cradle made in "g" and sleep until somebody finds me here.
in cyberspace.

sometimes you want to take a sledgehammer to someone's face
so they know how hard you've hit your head on the ice at the skating rink (we are the crazies)

my world is water
and reality is oil, i avoid it
because the food pyramid says it should be the smallest fraction of our existence,
and because water and oil can be shaken up for hours (mulled over and over again in my head) and in the end they'll always settle in and go their seperate ways

i ask myself if other people see the world like i do
from the ocean
from the swimming pool
from the puddles made from leaky ceilings or dripping faucets in the tub
from the dunking booth
from the slip 'n' slide
from the goldfish pond in grandpa's yard or the half-empty cup by the park bench

did ice cubes melt across the kitchen floor
or are snowflakes falling onto your flushed, embarrassed cheeks

is it a waterfall spilling into a reservoir
or are you peeing in the shower again
did your mac n cheese boil over
or did the bathtub overflow this morning

well, which is it--

if water can take so many different forms
can't also each person's world?

am i going to make it?
-- well, that depends on where you want to go.--
i don't know where i'd like to go. are you happy where you are?
-- yes.--
then i'd like to go there, wherever that is.
am i going to make it?
-- if you want to.--
i don't particularly enjoy it down here. everything seems like an empty dream. and i am just going through the motions. do you feel? i just want to be human. i want to have emotions and be a real person again.
-- i feel. why don't you want to feel?--
because it hurts. it hurts to give yourself up and accept that other people might not give themselves up back.
-- well, i gave myself up.--
you did?
-- yes.--
and did it make you happy?
-- yes.--
even though not everyone gives themselves up back?
-- that is the thing about love. it must be unconditional in order for it to bring happiness. one must come to understand that happiness is found when one looks outside of their self and stops focusing on what he or she is taking.
give, and one will find that they have an infinite amount to give.--
that seems like so much to ask.
-- but it is the only pathway to happiness.--

how many times do i have to run myself into the ground
(and if i do, will anything grow?)
i am hickory, ivory, take me and sculpt me or carve me
tell me what i'm needed to be
i want to know someone will play an f sharp
or use a wooden spoon for their soup for the homeless
i don't want to cut myself down, spread myself out into a self-help book
i'm not selfish
i don't get satisfaction from that
i take my temperature like Neal A Maxwell described
and i find that i'm still not happy
i pull myself up to see my roots
i know where i've been, but not where i'm going
and for someone who is directionally challenged,
that's pretty concerning.
i am a goldfish clumsily dropped into the ocean
i've never been in open sea
i am a broken-in horse outside the fence
will someone please tell me what's beyond the next horizon
or do i have to get there to find out?

i would look like a million dollars every morning
get up at 5 am just to lie down again onto an ironing board to get the wrinkles out from under my eyes
paint my lips with Avon and plaster shadows above my lashes

i would pay very close attention to the things that come out of my mouth
i would make a special effort not to stutter and i would look each person in the face when i walk around with messy hair and ugly sweaters

i would surround myself with those who'd walk 7 continents just to fault-find
(with no means to protect the victims from the emotional earthquakes caused from the comments)
and i would be strong enough to handle their abuse
strong enough to pick them up off the sidewalk when they planted weeds in the cracks instead of flowers
and i would cradle them in my arms and hold them while they cried
[everybody needs a friend; but especially those who hurt enough to hurt others]

i would let my darling drop the dusty curtains from my soul to let the light in

we'd let up the gates
i'd let him trace his fingertips along the floorboards
knowing that he would never chip the paint
the way other prying eyes and anxious lips have done,
all other lovers left property damage

but he wouldn't
i know

i would let him install a microwave for heating his favorite foods
and if he liked art, i would let him take a crayon to the refrigerator

he can hang from the ceiling fan
tear up the carpet
rip out the doorknobs and knock down the doors

leave everything out in the open

because i am not afraid anymore
(love is the most empowering emotion)

i am force-feeding myself
in order to prevent significant poetry loss

i am letting my brains spill into my throat
so i can spit the words out when the moment comes

people are much too beautiful, sometimes
others chisel away at our reputations
and i dont mind much except that it makes me self-conscious
i put my hand up to my forehead to see if there's a temperature
(and for the number of times i've embarrassed myself, i should have a fever by now)

there is something so raw (foods diet) about true love
not cooked by the heat of lust and desire
just made of the natural roots growing out of my hair and the palm leaves of your hands that cup my chin like a coconut when i let you take a sip at my lips
and our tongues (little minnows) run together like streams

i like that.