sitting in the car, radio on
a poet died today
his name was Phillip Levine
87 years old
a good substantial lifetime
"Found Poetry On Detroit's Assembly Lines"
he wrote about assembly line workers all his life
how boring one may think
but for me something clicked
poets are just lovers, synonymous
finding beauty in the dust and streetlamp light
taking it in and falling deeply for years
there are those with many love affairs
but Phillip was a loyal partner
Detroit assembly lines his lifelong fiancee
making him raw, bringing him meaning
to him, the world
and to share it was all that mattered.

light trickles in from the window next door
same lot, new house, new family sleeping
its funny how things have changed around me
while i remain
i wonder if we will grow apart some day

i pass by the same faces, places
blank stares
no one cares all that much today
or yesterday
do i care? i don't know
i wonder if we will grow apart some day

i like to think there is a golden future ahead of me
when all this wandering ends
maybe loves and losses alike
and that I might forget
all the things that make me shudder in my sleep
i hope someone is sleeping next to me
i hope i am far away
i wonder if we will grow apart someday

my eyes hurt all the time
like i've just been crying
i think i'm just tired
its hard to focus on what anyone is saying
nothing is satisfying me
what am i working towards?

i can't do anything except
listen to music and stare
at nothing

the things i used to be good at
are no longer my talents it seems
i've let things slip away
i mean look at this poem!
it's a ****** mess
no effort put into it
but you see i just can't right now
i'm all strung out
i don't really feel anything

its better
if i'm not completely
outwardly content
because
when my room is clean
my grades are good
i've finished applying to colleges
and i'm getting along
with everyone
then there is nothing left
that upsets me enough
but doesn't scare me badly

so

my mind gets left with too much time
on his meddling hands
and he starts creeping
around the backyard
and digging
up past tortures
to taunt me with

Today as I look upon the hues in the sky
like pinwheel art
flaring and burning out
slowly softer,
such a perfect light
complementary to all
it caresses
I am saddened
as I realize
my most treasured time of day
is the one closest to its end
forcing me to notice
how little time I have left
with its beauty
till the night comes

i'm walking home alone
the tide is high
i can smell the salty marsh
the light is enveloping but soft
a watercolor painting
descends upon me
golden hues of orange and pink
are hanging above

Today someone told me
i wouldn't get very far
because i love writing
not science
because i love literature
not mathematics
because i love using my mind to create
not replicate
i'm sorry
but these are the only things
pushing me to pull the covers
off my body every morning
so they will to have to be enough
i'm sorry for your closed mindedness
i'm sorry for your blindness
i hope that this disability of yours
has not stopped your dreams
and it sure as hell won't stop mine

dim
one small lamp
listening to dreams by fleetwood mac
instead
i let the music sprinkle light in my head
rays enter me like a transparent lens
my feet are moving but i didn't ask them
the rhythm has control of my muscles,
singing limbs
i'm an accepting hostage
strumming on the guitar
behind my eyelids
i could slide through life like this for years

i get obsessed with things
until they make me sick
i love too hard
worry too well

i do this with everything
music, people, ideas, school

you need to
calm down
let go
honey

don't take hold of things
and let them in
with such a serious grip

you're ok
nothing is ever as bad as it seems
just let the anxiety fade
forget the sour aftertaste
and realize there's good
in everything

(you can love and want things to pieces
without falling to them yourself)

i test my surroundings
casually sliding my hands across things i might like
i feel sick when i don't know
what i want

i like listening to other people
with my eyes
trying to figure out
what makes their pupils widen
and if they know what its like
to be stuck
in a vortex of thought

things like
not going outside
and always being alone
should be crimes
and i'm a terrible offender

it messes with your mind
you end up thinking too much
because there's nothing new
to interest your endless flood
of creative juice
i'm a noiseless blender

getting stuck in your head
is a terrible place
to be
the mind is a very large
but cluttered space
full of yesterday echos
and quiet heartaches
waiting to pounce

i'm really good at
creating my own personal hell
i need to learn
to close my mental door
in the faces
of my fears

i am not a person of many things
i have only a small family
one brother
i spend my days
using the same few things
over and over
i haven't many followers on social media
or in real life
my grades are fine
though i have not as many points as you

but i have sung thousands of lines, verses
i have birthed hundreds of poems and stories
some not written down
but they have still existed in my mind
and in that space between
spoken and unspoken
the pen
drips gold into my soul
whether real or metaphorical


i am wealthy in my ways

some may think me a pessimist
even i begin to think so some days
but then there are things like lentil soup
tastes like mama's dinner bell laughs
and yesterdays that have lost their prowl
and it's also healthy?
a thing with no flaws
seems too good to be true
but it is true, it is.

we walk through days
telling ourselves
that no one will accept us
and the raindrops roll down the pane
and the breath fogs up the place
where a hand lay
when the mind was transfixed
on headstones and graves

we walk through days
telling ourselves
that no one will accept us
and the eyes are dry caves
and a sailor's knot sits in the stomach
with no one to untie it
but just like milk
emotions have an expiration date

we walk through days
telling ourselves
that no one will accept us
and people are driving cars
and picking the last donut from the box
while someone is in a bathroom stall
hand and heart gripping tight
on something sharp

i'd like to say that poetry could be my profession
but that would be like saying
that spewing my emotions and dark thoughts
across the shelves of a bookstore
is a profession.
i could never make someone clean that up.

(and still face them again)

my feet are reluctant
and bare
the snow curdles under my toes
i cannot feel them anymore
i don't know why i am walking
in this direction
towards the cemetery
where your body lies
but resisting is hopeless

sometimes i wish you were ashes
because all i can do is imagine
what is happening underground
alone
your vanilla skin purpling and grey
your plum lips picked too soon
now shriveled lines
ice covering your eyes
that used to reflect your thoughts
and that
there is no one to cradle you through the winter

other things i will not say out loud

but no matter what we try to believe
you are not on this earth anymore
so why bother pretending
it only fills me with grief

in the midst of my solitude
i see the moon
his face plump and hopeful
But look closer and notice
how his eyes point downward
and his mouth quivers
he is beautiful but melancholy

in the midst of my solitude
i see the moon
full of woe like me
he knows his fate
that with every orbit
from this world in his sight
he is drifting away

in the midst of my solitude
i see the moon
his eyes say what i feel
sharing in my pain
he still glows every night
i am not alone

Goodbye my moon
have a safe slow trip
i know it is out of your control
i will always remember you
though my body may be gone

everything cannot stay.

run your hand across my back
it feels rough I know
I've lived longer in my mind
than can be measured in years
still my body takes a toll

I try to smile when I see you at the end of the hall
but moving those neglected muscles
makes me shiver round my bones

take me down to that river near the cemetery
throw pebbles at my heart
and laugh with those sadistic eyes
how beautiful they are
I could never forget...

when I inevitably give in
reach back for your hand
and wrap your fingers in mine
you must know
I'm accepting flowers from the devil
baby

the devil never lets go of his hold

here in this perfect paradise of endless and colorless
I fertilize the white soil with my devastation and solitude
and plant a garden
tall stalked flowers and bushes of ripe berries
pop up between the parallel lines

my body is like an orange
outside I am bright, spontaneous
but peel back my skin
oh, feel it old and withered for its young age
even though I was only just picked off the tree
and you will find the strings of pale yellow
slowly breaking apart
confused, a nostalgic color
inside I feel boring and I am sad
it only takes a peeled layer
a whiff of muggy air
and I am drifting out of my sight
in tears
leave me here to rot

you are cute no matter what you are
(even angry)
I like it when I can see your emotions
in the open air
and feel the energy
waves of you

I lie awake at 3:00 AM.
During the day,
I had to force myself to keep moving
so that I wouldn't fall asleep
but now the night has brought my mind to life
and I am struck with thoughts
behind my eyelids
that emulate the black shadows
caressing my closet

(I) have a strong desire and longing for something
I feel empty and hollow
I (do) a thorough examination of my physical state
but I am (not) hungry or thirsty and I slept well the night before
still, I am craving something vital to my survival
I can (feel) a gnawing in my gut
Suddenly, as I close my eyes in a momentary whim
I see a (wo)nderful face shining
peering into me with bright eyes and skin
whispering my name with guita(r) strummed syllables
and I know what it is  I am craving:
I want someone who will call me at 11:00 PM
and talk with me for hours
our voices passing (th)rough a sacred space
untouched and unseen
by an(y)one except us
I want those eyes...

you make me want
to smash my head
through the mirror

Time alone cannot heal all wounds
time is merely a fabrication of the human mind
that we use to organize and decipher our lives.
It is the realizations that we make and the experiences we have
along with the comforting idea of time's guiding hand
that allows the blood to clot and the skin to renew itself.

There is not a single guarantee about what lies ahead.
The dependence on time allows for these assumptions to be made.
Simply take down the clock from your mental wall and you may be infinite.

There are endless things that I do not know
There are endless things that may or may not be
with the little power I have
all I can do is relish myself in the things of beauty
that are unmistakably real and give me joy
they are undying proof that goodness exists
and is meant to be
even when I am confronted with days
when the gloomy haze prevents me from seeing the sky.

Onetime, I hit rock bottom
but it wasn't really rocky at all
it was actually pretty soft
it felt like my bed
in the middle of a messy room
that went unnoticed
because there was nothing
to provoke me to care
there was no feeling
soft was just a sensation, no emotion involved
I could've been laying on a rock
but it would've just given my nerves
a different pattern of stimulation
it would've just been another irrelevant reality
separate from me.
The phrase was coined "rock bottom" to scare people away
because feeling nothing is worse than feeling a rock
bludgeon your body
because when you feel nothing there is no reason
to ever come back to the surface
and live.

At the dinner party, she is there
and he has to take extra care
to focus his eyes on his fiancee
he has to use all the strength he can conger up
just to keep those eyes
on the fabric of her dress,
distract himself with the the details
the stitching on her sweater
Because his entire being is begging his eyes
to shift a little to the right
and look onto the woman with the huge smile
and chandelier eyes
he wants to watch the movement
of her beautiful milk chocolate hair
and listen to her laugh
oh how he loves her laugh
the way her eyes scrunch up
and her cheeks blush
the sound is so satisfying there are no words
when he hears her laugh at his bad jokes
she makes him feel like he is worth something
she listens to him when no one else will
she is his little angel
but no one can ever know
**** it, his eyes are transfixed on her again...

i am surrounded by beauty
that should overwhelm my soul
by sleepy sunlight
and wispy air that carries dainty secrets
to the clouds
by a perfect children's book sky
and flowers in colors so fluid
i fear if touched
they would leave wet paint on my fingertips
the sounds of summer
are in reach of my breath
and yet
i am pale and cold
and i fear each coming day
like the plague.

(and the colors are slowly greying and hardening beneath my hands)

With an aching in my heart
I miss Paris
I fell in love with the freedom
of a new city without boundaries
and the almost overwhelming beauty
flavors that melted my previous palette
sights so drenched in detail
looking down a single street
was the same as taking in an entire novel
new sounds that excited my nerves
and gave me a never ending buzz
I am forever attached to the feelings I felt
but sadly the city of love cannot love me back
I am simply an alien who wandered
onto her luscious soils with my foreign feet
and she only had a moment's chance
to recognize my presence
which most likely went unnoticed
but still I'll love her forever
and maybe someday I'll stay long enough
for her to throw her arms around me

-kk

there are two people in my psyche
a passionate girl
who loves to explore, create, discover
and wants to open herself up to others
and a paranoid, stubborn, confused child
who tugs at the girl's hair
and reminds her of what to fear.

I want to go to a record store with you
we can spend the little money we have left
on The Smiths, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd
for an hour or two we can be angsty teens in the 80s
who drink cheap beer and steal our parents cars
lets pretend were running away
from home, from school, from everything we know
I wanna lay on the floor of your apartment
put a record on the turntable and hear that sweet crackle
we'll listen to what we've bought
and pretend we're watching the stars through the ceiling
they'll dance to the beat like a laser show in our eyes
while mind blowing guitar riffs and drum beats fill our spirits

-kk

sometimes
words fail me
sometimes
i can't even begin to explain
sometimes
i don't have any fancy words
from the uncharted pages of the dictionary
sometimes
i don't feel like looking in a thesaurus for the perfect
word to fill in the blank
sometimes
it doesn't come easily to me
usually
it doesn't come easily to me

-kk

I'm the mistress of emotion
I try to avoid his eye during the day
pretending I've never seen him before
but the truth is I'm at his every beck and call.
Just you wait and see,
I promise you he'll appear in the doorway
flashing his enticing smile
just when I'm trying to fall asleep.

I have a crush on love
but we've never met me before
I watch him from afar in the schoolyard
yet I've never made a move
I need to stop worrying and waiting
for him to introduce himself.

I'm the assistant of suppression
I help him with his careful work
I fold all of my fears and pains
and make them fit into tiny boxes
so they can be stored away on a basement shelf
and someday found again to open with surprise
forcing me to finally deal with everything inside.

-kk

Today I awaken on the first day of July
with sun rays in my eyes
and lighting in my veins.
I refuse the past tense because I am right now alive
fresh and full of potential energy.
It is a new month
in the thicket of summer
anything can happen
I am surely just a child
I could be anyone
I can do anything I want
there are no limits
except the mental barriers
I can decide to place before myself.
I am grateful for this moment
and blessed that it can continue into many more.

Lately
I can't fall asleep
because I can hear each heartbeat
pounding in my head
I want to touch
I want to be touched
I just want someone
to trace, place, hold
finger to lip, hand to face
playing with hair
caressing shoulders and neck
breathing in scent
charting each surface
finding a way to come close to another
as deeply and physically possible
using every sense the body has to offer
each one a method of communication
simpler than words

while i'm sitting here in the dark
with my feet propped up
and my body warm
i should be content
but i can't get this sensation to go away
it doesn't seem to have a name
that i can recall
my storage of words is limited
to 11th grade vocabulary
and what i've read in books
if i were to try and explain
i guess i would say that it feels like
there is a vertebra missing from my spine
i can still stand and walk around,
but when i do the world seems to tilt slightly
all of the bookshelves in my mind
have slid to the opposite wall
the cabinets have burst open
and things are falling out
clattering on the hardwood floor
i know i should have a smile on my face
but all i can think is:
why
why not
how

The boy asked, "How do you write a poem?"
and the teacher was perplexed 
How can I explain? I don't know!
She tried to respond in an eloquent fashion
"Pretend that your pen is a cup and pour into it your soul
but only let it out in tiny, undiluted drops.
The boy did not understand so he questioned her once more
She thought
"Make believe that the page is a baby's rosey cheek
and kiss it softly with only the most delicately chosen words."
Confusion continued to cloud the young boy
So she decided to give it one final try:
"You are a summer garden plot, a poem a flower bud
find an open space to plant a seed of thought
bury it in the soil naked and undeveloped
and give it your utmost care and contemplation
along with water and sunlight in preferential doses.
After a time a poem may begin to sprout
but it can often take longer than you expect
do not assume the poem to pop right up
and there are no guarantees
about what will result in the end
that seed may grow into an exotic rose
or an unforeseen dandelion
you never know how the sun will shift
or the how the wind will shape the land."

The boy thanked the teacher thinking he understood
and hurriedly outside he ran
straight to the wooden gardening shed
and grabbed his shovel, gloves and watering can.

I find myself feeling lost
in the same place as I've always been
but not knowing where I am.
I feel like I've just awoken today
from a deep slumber
that lasted several years
all of the people, places I've known
have completely changed
some are not here anymore.
All the things I thought I knew
are simply fabrications, memories
the person I once was seems like
she doesn't even exist.
I am angry, sad, depressed
filled with thoughts of confusion
the world is so much harsher
and more rotten than I ever understood.
I have memories of being a child
full of life, excited, curious
gravitating towards love
going after what I want
but slowly over time
the energy that I held
has been drained from my soul
a little drop everyday
the more I age,
the more things complicate,
the more it hurts
my past rosy life
is now blurred from view.

-kk

Today I was thinking about God
and how it must feel
to hold the universe in your hands.
I wonder if the earth to him
is like a small piece of clay
taken between his index finger and thumb
and rolled into a tiny ball
handled with such a delicate touch
as to give each surface
the same amount of pressure
sculpting mountains, shaping oceans
creating infinities
with momentary movements.

Do his fingers slip on occasion?
unbalancing the careful equilibrium?
I've been told that God makes no mistakes
but nothing seems to make sense to us
down below
trying to make a home
on this ever-spinning pottery

I wonder, is his other hand preoccupied as well?
maybe the earth we live on is just one of many art projects
or is our little ball the only one he has invested in?

sometimes I wonder if he knows how it feels to be lost
blindly stumbling through the blizzard
snow flying at our faces and getting caught in our noses and eyes
feeling around for something to hold onto in darkness
trying to be good and do well in a place that is confusing, unscripted
everything we know taught by sheep who call themselves shepherds
when in truth
they are just as lost as the rest of the flock.

-kk

i know i'm not supposed to want you
but i do
if only i had been there sooner
maybe you
would want me too
because most high school love
is circumstantial
and i don't think
she's any better

-kk

hundreds of eyes in my mind
watch my every move
i guess they have mouths too
because they tell me i'm no good.

-kk

then I am the paper.
Scissors were made
to cut through me,
and we all know that
paper doesn't actually
have anything on a rock.

i'm sitting on a bed without sheets
in a half-tidy room
that i didn't finish cleaning
i'm wearing the strangest outfit
a combination of the last clean garments
from my floor
which seems to be playing a game of hide and seek
behind boxes, and clothes, and things i will probably never need
i'm not quite sure if i'm hungry or just tired
but something feels wrong
maybe its a leftover feeling from just having opened my report card
that i fished out of the piles of mail
because i knew i'd have to face it sooner or later
and right now i wish i had chosen later
or maybe its because i've never even kissed a boy
or that everything always feels messy
and unfinished
like this poe


-kk

i try to cry but the tears don't run
i try to feel but the sensations don't come
i am numb.
(but i know the pain is there)
-kk

you know
youknow
you know
YOU KNOW
you know.
do you?
know you
wonk uoy
wkno ouy
wky oyu
why you?

-kk

writing poetry can be frightening
i'm vulnerable
unguarded
wide open
exposed
my bare skin is hanging on the clothes line
sometimes
letting another read my poems
is like letting my glass jar drop
and hit the floor
my reflection glinting
in every scattered shard

-kk

have you ever felt so upset?
but you don't know why?
have you ever felt a twisting in your gut?
quiet for a time
then someone tries to speak to you
and you burst into sudden flames
that make you realize
you were keeping in so much pain?
reasons unknown
ammunition just kept on loading
until there was no more room in the barrel
sometimes i worry
that i'm a ticking time bomb
but the tick is so soft
that sometimes it soothes me to sleep
i fear i have too much anger coiled
too many feelings strung between my bones
i worry for the safety of others
i think that is why i feel so alone.

-kk

.

Dear beautiful one,
Please stop hurting me. Because I am you.

Love,
young girl