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kaylene- mary Jul 2018
And I'm back here
at the intersection of foreign language and familiarity
Choking down gum like a four year old memory
And it's not because my head's been somewhere else lately
but because it gets me thinking
about the difference between loosing you and knowing someone else found you
I keep opening umbrellas inside because I can't seem to get away from all this rain
and I've been in the gutter for longer than my father stayed but when the flood water comes it's not gonna be clear it's gonna look like mud
And it reminds me of being waist deep in an unfamiliar body of water,
trying to sell pieces of my old self back to the new one,
like history doesn't repeat itself
and I wonder if you dream of burning family photos and wearing the ashes as perfume too
Like somehow my inner child isn't gonna drown within you,
like somehow this mess will mean something
Like somehow the fire will end and the sky will stop burning
kaylene- mary Jul 2018
i've got this new home now,
it's not really new
but it smells different.
and i'm sitting here in front my old home
like a smoke signal,
just a trail of grey,
trying to figure out when a home expands further than just a place to keep all my stuff.
my new home is where i'm living
so i guess that means my old home is where i died,
and i'm saying all of this
because i don't wanna say jumping off a bridge is easy,
to sink like a life raft
left out in the sun.
i don't wanna say that stealing a bunch of pills would be easy because it's too easy
to leave without saying goodbye.
you see,
people always say that you'll be missed
but if you've wanted to die for long enough
that loses its value,
cause it's too easy not to care, to just sink.
so i'm sitting here in my new home
and i don't know why i asked my phone how to get here,
maybe i just like it when something agrees with me,
and it doesn't feel like
the kind of home i used to know.
i feel like an actor in a poorly edited student film,
always looking directly into the camera,
like somehow the eye of the chaos will just dive out and grab me.
i don't really know what i mean by that
but i guess what i'm trying to say is;
home is where i have my most comfortable panic attacks,
it's a place that i never have to leave.
home is where i get to sleep,
if I want to,
wake up.
kaylene- mary Jul 2018
Some nights when I'm looking you right in the eyes, I can hear glass break in the backseat of my mind
Thinking, "this is it"
And when the engine finally starts I can't feel my own skin except the rambling in my veins knowing that somethings about to snap and I don't know what that means but you remind me of a pigeon trapped underground with no way to get out except straight through and maybe that's why they say you shouldn't bring a knife to a gun fight when you can't see the exit wounds
I know you're draining like a tub full of sand but you pulled your own plug and now I'm stuck sweeping up the floor
kaylene- mary Jul 2018
it is not enough to love,
it is never enough. you must sew your fingers shut
like treasure.
mold into paper, heart like memory foam.
you must lock
the doors and change the keys, even if they don't visit. make your first drink in this palace a delight,
mount a bottle to the ceiling - decorate
with pale pink everything.
build a fist fit for windowpanes
and break no glass.
remember that a laughing bird will never fly at night, cranberries won't grow on trees and
his blood cannot stain your teeth.
young girl your are so lucky to sleep,
so lucky to dream and so lucky to love.
but it is not enough to love.
one must also learn to be.
kaylene- mary May 2018
Sometimes you are the gasoline to an already burnt building
Sometimes you are the anger of a child who broke his own toy
And sometimes you are a fist of rage,
Yelling at the television
A puff of smoke
You are the post apocalyptic chaos of a rip tide too far gone to break

See, racism is not the shark but it's the ocean
All teeth and no mouth,
No jaw and no muscle
Just the white rattle of hate
The sharp grip of an untrained dog

People talk about racism like ancestral land and confederate flags,
Knowing that you own these things,
And we don't 
As if we don't own this history too,
This system
Like we're tredding water

How many skin heads do you think were in the room when we signed off on immigration laws,
race legislations,
public school curriculums?
Or pushed policies like mandatory minimum sentencing,
benine neglect,
broken windows,
stop and frisk,
the race war?

The eye of the hurricane is the least harmful part of the storm
The eye of the chat room,
All poker face and no cards

So which individual Donald Trump bigot boogie man are we supposed to be mad at?
When do we stop pointing out the bad apples long enough to acknowledge the orchid was planted on a mass grave?
When do we stop slandering race and start slandering unsolicited rage?

Sharks **** about one person each year
Thousands drown

But of course this isn't really a poem for white supremacist
I don't know any white supremacist
But I do know the people in my neighbourhood,
And my family
And I know how white supremacy is upheld
Whether it is through action or inaction
How it isn't just the broken act of justice,
But the justice itself
How a white kid with a black face on Halloween and his friend who knew it was wrong but didn't say anything - start to blur together
Because let's be honest,
Some racists aren't even racist at all
So they say nothing
They're a silent chorus,
A dull underwater humming waiting to overflow
But when the songs of our cities break,
Will we choose to hear it?
Or will we keep looking for the shark,
Keep tredding water,
Not knowing that we're drowning?
night colors drip
from the hand not raised
from the smile unfazed
by the empty space
that lay beside me

nightmares slip
into my soul resigned
into my world designed
to hold in dreams
the love denied me

waking to the burning light
her voice now fades from blue to white
her smile a thought so quickly gone
a memory lost
to dawn
kaylene- mary Feb 2018
I frame the means of his work,
Faceless and boyful
Dissolving somewhere between love and abuse
Successfully regenerated in some rigid idealism
Shaking the wings of his terrible youth
Calling to join him -
The wretched and plastic
No more alone or himself could he be
No shortage of sordid,
No protest from me

He's The Angel of Death in The Ketamine Scene

Feeling less human and hooked on his flesh
Straight from the fields,
All frightened and fertile
****** and raw,
But I swear it is sweet
Lease the unsettling,
I'll wonder the concrete
Wonder if better now having survived

*He's The Angel of Death in The Ketamine Scene
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