I'm sorry if I'm not attentive
when you tell me about your day.
I laid awake last night thinking about
the color of your eyes.
I know that sounds kinda lame
and maybe it is.
But I don't mind -
As long as it lets you know
the magnitude of your beauty,
your loveliness,
your grace.
You are porcelain, I am metal.
I don't want to see you to break.
But if you do and you pierce me with sharp edges, know that I will be okay.
You are Belle's rose. And I am the beast that feels honored to hold you.
Though there are thorns to protect you, I won't break them off. I'll encase you in glass to protect you more than those thorns ever could.
You are the melody of the ocarina, soft and sweet; a heavenly lullaby of sad tones.
If you knew of my desire to drain you of your tears, they'd fall into tranquil waves that we could sail over with ease.
Laughing as the breeze kisses our shoulders.
I'll tell you everything will be okay.
I'll make the most idealistic promises, and keep every single one of them.
You know all these adjectives that should never be used to describe you, yet you accept them,
when I can't find a word in the dictionary exquisite enough to correlate with you.
So if you wake up one morning
and don't like your reflection,
let me be your mirror.
And I will tell you of the beauty I see.

-k.d.

The stars look down upon the layers of raindrops that lay across the pavement.
The moon is wide awake tonight, keeping me company as the stillness of a sleeping world takes over.
Pathetic dreams mixed with nostalgic misery poison the oxygen I breathe in, and the haunting thoughts that plague my mind at midnight keep me from seeing the back of my eyelids.
What becomes of the repressions that fade to the back of my memory?
Another senseless worry.
I lay awake with this troubled mind that knows no release but the words that only pour so easily through ink and not through my vocal chords.
They say beauty is pain, but I say that pain is beauty.
You see these paintings that form to my flesh, once created with crimson paint on a clean canvas.
I took shame in the presentation but failed to read into the plot.
The stories that art portray, are such a beautiful thing.
I'll read you my stories, written legibly on my skin, in hopes that your eyes are open to the morals.
I shift my eyes to the light and try to muster up a smile, but I can't shake the image of you from my head.
The rain has come down hard, and a storm is brewing.
But even with the thunder, it is still a sound to lull you to sleep.
To induce subtle dreams of everything that tomorrow can be.
The skies will clear as they do after every downpour, and darling I'll be your umbrella until the sun shines again.
Just keep breathing.
Let me lift the weight from your shoulders, please.
I would be honored to take the chains that ensnare you, binding you at your feet.
I want to see you run free.
My soul doesn't break easily any longer, and can withstand so much more than it used to when I had encased it in ice, leaving it vulnerable to snapping at the simplest tap.
But loneliness can still draw a tear from these tired eyes.
I buried my heart some time last December, when the world became a shadow.
And sometimes I miss it.
Because on my quietest night, even the moon is leaving me now.
And as I watch this painful night turn into a pink sky, another hopeful sunrise, I wonder what this new day will bring.

-k.d.

Black tears do leave the darkest stains on the sleeves of her sweaters and the pillowcases she rests her burning mind on.
"I'll be right back," her dad shouts as the door closes behind him.
Motionless she lay until without thought, she'll sit up.
And she'll fold all her clothes, and she'll make her bed.
And she'll dust off her dressers and straighten the painting hanging on the wall.
That way, they can see a room as perfect as she tried to appear on the outside.
Then she'll go in her father's room before he returns home and she'll grab the gun and sit in front of her mirror.
And after reflecting on life and things like love, she'll think the very thought that pulls the trigger: she couldn't save you, and now you won't save her.
And she'll taint the white walls with the crimson sadness she locked inside her head.

-k.d

I thought of you today. And the normal pain that follows did not occur but instead a sudden remorse began to stir and I had a rapid change of heart.
I remembered the anger and I remembered the disdain but all in all I couldn't replicate the pain. I couldn't take all that I stood for and let it fall apart.
I know I should be fair to myself and most people would be bitter. But I've always tried to be a sweetheart behind these walls and I will never be a quitter. I can't let my heart turn into a tornado again.
Bound together but not tied. Like paper clips, we united. Easily, we bent until the damage could never be requited. But if we were ever stronger than that, I can't remember when.

-k.d.

I remember when I didn't like your boyfriend and you said that I couldn't tell him I hated him anymore because he was important to you.

You were never apparent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.

The days always dragged on and we would commiserate on the lack of family.
We were never a family.
But it was always my fault, wasn't it?
Solitary nights, I found myself accompanied by the ticking of an alarm clock made of metal that wasn't quite as cold as your heart.
I spent those nights alone brainstorming efficacious ways to **** the pain but I never got too long of a list. Mainly it consisted of picking up a blade.
You never noticed the pencil sharpeners suddenly missing. You never noticed that I only wore long sleeves, even during the summer. Now that I think of it, you never really noticed anything. But I can't really blame you when you were never home to see it.
I remember wondering why you loved him so much. The scent of alcohol constant on his breathe, quick with his words like sharpened scissors. Your sword turned into a shield made of paper. Fire and fire, but I was the one who got burned. I never understood why he loved you either.
I remember when I came home from school and the boxes were stacked to the ceiling with his name printed neatly on the sides. I thought maybe you two had another fight, but it wasn't that at all. It was me.
"I can't deal with that for another four years!" he shouted.
It was ME...
But even when he left nothing changed. In fact, I think it got worse.
I remember screaming at you that you made me want to **** myself. I remember it because I was shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was the first time I had ever verbalized something like that. And with such anger and pain, but mostly fear.
You didn't hit me though. You didn't pull my hair like I thought you might. Instead you grabbed your car keys and you didn't come home for awhile.
I remember sinking to the floor, back against the wall. I cried for a bit and held myself. Mostly because I knew you wouldn't. You never did. I never wanted much, but maybe I asked for more than you could give.
Every day in that house, I felt unwanted. Alone.
Unimportant. Unappreciated. Unloved.

You were never a parent enough because you never told me that I wasn't.

-k.d.

Here's another poem about you and the way you anchored my butterfly soul.
Tearing fragile wings with edges you sharpened just for me.
Well I guess you're just a jealous mess and I don't really give a ****.
I'm tired of hoarding memories like a chain link by link binding me by the rusty metal I once saw as sterling silver.
I either lost sleep for you or because of you but tonight, I'll keep my eyes shut tight.
You'll never admit that you were wrong and maybe that's what hurts. Thinking that maybe you could be right.
Well maybe you're delusional, stuck on illusions of a dissipated romance. But when it comes to my plans, you're not in them anymore.
I put the stars in your backyard for you and you slammed the door in my face. You'd rather stare at the moon from your window, the one thing that was slightly out of my reach.
You teased me with the idea that maybe I could be the one. Well maybe I should have ran when I was presented the chance.
I wish I knew you'd leave me on Mount Everest, waiting for the avalanche.
Tell me what was I supposed to do when you wouldn't answer my calls? Did you expect me to keep trying when you said "leave me the **** alone"?
I broke my fingers trying to convince you to stay. But I guess I couldn't type enough and you wouldn't talk about it to my face. Was it the way that I looked at you when you weren't looking at me?
I'm sorry, was I supposed to write you a longer love note? Or sing you a song on the guitar with my fingers on strings that you wish burn the fingertips you once craved on your skin!
Darling, you're gonna die this way, miserable and gray, like the clouds hanging above your head on a dreary autumn day. Your favorite kind of weather, you never wanted the sun to stay. I'm done being your Cinderella. I won't pick up the mess you made, waiting on you to come rescue me.
You can pack up your laptop filled with sad sonnets. Take your drums with you too. You've battered my heart enough to the beat of a cadence you composed to destroy me.
I'm tired of your eyes that had me drowning in a sea of green sorrow.
Stay purple in your own asylum, decorated with black walls and windows tinted so dark that the sunlight can never shine. It's your mind that you've found comfort in and my affection wasn't enough to even crack a smile.
**** your misery. **** your choreographed pain. **** your angry poetry aimed directly at me. **** your bitter words. **** your apathy. **** your sadistic indulgences. **** your arrogance and *******, *******, *******!
I won't be missing you anymore.

-k.d.

A sheet of ice lay serene in the pavement.
But it isn't enough to chill my boiling blood.
A thousand second chances, now a few stolen glances.
One spiteful memory, two bitter hearts.
I guess this is proof that when fire fights fire, though the sparks may grow brighter, they will soon burn out.
The sadist and the *******.
A painful passion that never could have lasted.
You were the flame, unforgiving and raging.
But you blamed it all on me, the gasoline, the catalyst for mass destruction.

-k.d.