katie May 13
the language
here
isn't clear.
it sits in
uneaten
orange pits.
lines cabinets
made of wood.
remains
unopened and
misunderstood.
perhaps
it asks too much,
of those who
stay
just beneath
awake, who skim the
surfaces of
lakes, dodging
the quakes.
too scared at what
they
might disturb
beneath the earth.
katie May 12
on the
highway road
home,
when the traffic
is tight
as clams, and the
heat is
full on jammed, i want to peel
back the metal and see
the complexity
that carries me. i want
to stop and
admire the sun
pull back the skies and
sear my
mesmerised eyes.
i want to run
across a field
and feel the damp grass
beneath my heels,
pore
over the dust and ants,
and listen to them dance.
katie Apr 27
you are
stuck between
four walls,
your visitation
two till four,
at the end of a
medicine laced
corridor of
white painted walls.
where trauma
is sealed in  
floorboards &
alcoves &
the cleaner scrubs at the
panes  
but you still feel it
a day later on the skin.
a litany of stories
in the suds,
crying out to be
understood.
katie Apr 15
war
there's a war.
miles away it's
being fought.
& all the proof
is what we see,
the images
unfolding on the
screens & we're
made to feel
the unease.
the empathy &
uncertainty &
hopeless inevitability.
but the
unsaid truth
is that this chaos
doesn't feel quite
as real as
the one closer to
home. the one that
doesn't border a
town, but a head
& heart & takes
it down just as hard.
katie Mar 15
everything you
do is viewed
through
other people's
minds, and
you expect
them to like
what they
see, but most
of the time
they eye
you with
suspicious
hostility, and
you are left
to spin like
a leaf in the
wind who is
likely to misread
the signals
and veer off
course, hit a
bus, a wall,
someone's foot
against the floor.
katie Feb 15
your stuck in
the muck,
how will move
beyond. how
you wlll tear
out a thought
& cut it up,
scatter it
like seed rather
than let it feed
on your blood,
on everything
good. you're
like a fawn in
a wood,
your ending
already sewn
up.
katie Jan 27
some pains
carry a weight
so great that
they rake up
the land, wear
it down
like a war & if
your bones
could speak they
would creak like
a dog left out
in the cold,  
howling into
the wind
whilst everyone
else too
burdened
by their
own minds
doesn't hear the
cries, they are
a sound
in the background,
a white noise
we've learned to
ignore.
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