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Klaryssa Feb 2017
At the edge of seventeen I can’t believe I made it this far.
Never saw this moment coming
Not out of fatality just momentum-based blindness
Rocketing into the realm of time at 460 meters per second
Can seem kind of damning
So the self-proffered lies in order to sleep? necessary.
“I’ll do it tomorrow”
Do you own tomorrow?
Have you seen it in existence?
“I’ve still got time.”
As if time is something one can purchase
Except it wasn’t ever ours
So we have to give it back
And like all borrowed things it has a time limit
Ironic
At the edge of seventeen I don’t know what mine is

Because
At the edge of Seventeen I am doing the splits
Stuck between two time periods of my life and one is still putting up a fight
Don’t let go
Stop changing
Caught between a rock and an avalanche, one is coming at me much harder, faster
At the edge of seventeen I’m working all the angles and learning the equations trying to equate my life to a formula
Except formulas are predictable
At the edge of seventeen I realized that life isn't as mean as I’d always act as if it was

and at the edge of seventeen I realize moments go by really quickly.
At the edge of seventeen I realize the edge is really high
At the edge of seventeen I have never been high
At the edge of seventeen the end of the earth starts blending with the sky
At the edge of seventeen the limits seem to disappear and reappear in new forms
Like a regenerate limb of a starfish my boundaries are reappearing
I feel sometimes like the universe spit me out like a rejected blood transplant I just never fused

At the edge of 17
I am arrogant
Never mortal
Watch me defy death every morning
I will rise
I talk about the rest of my life as if it has become a tangible thing for me
I consider my existence? prophecy
there are 7 billion 45 million people on this planet and I have the audacity to believe that my three existential crises all before breakfast are the most significant occurrence since the creation of time

At the edge of seventeen I am standing on the ledge with you
Laughing at the sky
At the edge of seventeen I am swimming with you in the lake
At the edge of seventeen chlorine has made me a green haired monster
At the edge of seventeen we have caught baby turtles and put them into the back seat
At the edge of seventeen I am flying down the highway with all the windows down
At the edge of seventeen you never let me go
At the edge of seventeen you never made me say goodbye
At the edge- you pushed me off

And I flew.
Carbon based life forms will approximately breathe 151372800 times in 18 years.
Klaryssa Jan 2017
Dear Savannah wildflower
I meant Rose,
Savannah my wild rose,
I love you
Let me start this by saying that much.
This; this is a love letter
From me
To you
Correct the speelibg if tou nust
But these words are overdue trust me, I know
We both share the "procrastination" gene
I need to tell you this before the world ends
Before the lights go out
Before you forget you are powerful!
Before we are old
Before I forget to call
Again
So before you stop reading,
know that you are my favorite poetry
You write my every line
I hear it in
Your tears
Those silent sobs made me steal words from another poet because I cannot even describe
The pain.

Your laugh however,
The way you
Let it free but keep it close
And you
Keep joy warped into your bloodstream
Like an addict
One
Two
Three
Hits a morning
Just to survive
Don't sell it
They kick you out of school for that,
But let others know where they can find it
Let me know where I can find it
Because without you
I can't see the stars anymore
I was a star before
This big city has me all kinds of messed up
Too many people
Too little water
Too much CO2 in the air
Too much sorrow from a mournful father.
Breathe Savvy
In
And
Out
I hope I never made you use an oxygen tank
There's a metaphor in there, I swear
That I miss you
That I love you
That every broken piece of me
Is fixed when you love me
Please don't lose your dreams
because love?
You are a dreamer.
Give me one of those sometime okay?
And that abundance
Of jokes so full of cheese
I choke on the air
(Because you know I hate cheese)
because you're so corny....
That this joke doesn't make sense without you
Sister,
You are my greatest friend.
You are fifteen roses of beautiful and wild and Golden-Gate-Bridge strong.
You taught me
How to protect
How to dress
How to stay strong
How to disappoint you
How to long for someone you love
How to love you
You taught me how to be unapologetically myself
Because you know you're fabulous
Like the way you sneeze glitter
Like the way you like "clickety-click shoes"
Because they announce your arrival  
I hope you know my shoes don't fit you
They aren't intended to
(though I always borrowed yours)
We have different things in store
And You are so much better at shopping
Savvy
Let my love protect you
And don't live too quickly
Let me teach you how to forgive
Let me back in
Sincerely yours,
Klaryssa Lynn
P.S. drink plenty of water so you don't wilt.
Klaryssa Oct 2016
Driving down the road and we cross paths
Two roads diverged by the confines of a yellow line and we both took the same one.
Natural curiosity casually has me glance over and I make eye contact with a stranger
Maybe we are family members that haven't met yet
Will our story be "remember when I saw you on the highway?"
Will you remember my face?
I instinctually look back
You did too
But you glanced at me as if I told you one day I'm going to the moon  
Why do we look away?
Are we aliens in our own galaxy?
Don't alienate me
We are of the same skin
We are of the same bones
We are of the same blood
In this Earth we call home

Falling in love is so hard
Especially, when you won't even look into my eyes
We maintain a heightened sense of fear this way
Maybe we are supposed to be afraid
When I fall in love
It will be fearless  
You will pass me on the highway
We will both make eye contact
And not one of us will glance away
It will be a war waged on who looks back first
Our corneas burning
Bloodshot circles from staying up all night discovering the different hues
Eighty years in a single second
It will be a universe inside of our pupils
I swear I will be able to see the stars
Taking a million leaps forward
Never glancing back.
Klaryssa May 2016
My phone dings with familiarity of notification
I fail to reach
Failing to  identify the messenger
Thoughts all point to one thing
My chest constricts with fear as a sharp inhale shakes my body
It could be you
This knowledge, this esoteric ideology about who you really are, limits my tounge.
I can't speak
I can't explain you to anyone because the classic Marvel villian is much too kind.
Realization dawns on my face
I then exhale- slowly, taking comfort in the truth that eases my fragile heart: death prevents all forms of communication-especially druken texts after midnight.
We are drunk in our fears
We are high in our passions

We still-cangetbacktogetherright?
         wrong!
You are my best poetry
Written in longhand
Spoken all in one breathe
But death
Prevents
Sending
Text
Messages
And leaving voicemails
And coming to my house
And calling my mother
And harrassing my sister
And-well, moving on is hard when you, still want to move in.
Special thanks to Joshua Trevino
Klaryssa May 2016
Some people identify other people by their names
Their aliases they carry
The things they have made
The things they have collected
I like to know people by their hands
A first meeting requires the extension of a palm
The act of dancing requires hands
The art of getting to know you is by grasping your fingers

My hands are sweaty
I am nervous
I bite my bottom lip
You look down at me
Not in depreciation
But in admiration
In a way that your 6’1 presence becomes safer
You reach out and retrieve my hands from my pockets
They say eyes hold our souls, I was too busy looking at your hands


They held your roots, held your dog, held your mother’s hand when you were held the first time
When you ever cried for the first time you claimed her finger in your tiny palm
Like a fist protesting loneliness
You held it up like a secret you wouldn’t keep on your tongue any longer

School was the place where you held pencils racing against time and stress to memorize your multiplication tables
You wrote spelling words out in study hall
Over

            And over

                                And over

                                                    And over again.

To memorize the letters and the syllables in order to ingrain them on your brain
You reached out and touched the stove because your insatiable curiosity wasn’t ever satisfied with hearing
“Don’t touch! It’s hot!”
The first time you were ever burned
You learned through your fingertips
Your fingerprints forever marked on everything,
An entire universe exists in places you have been
Another plane for things that have pieced your soul together
With stitches
From careful hands
Quilting your memories

The scars that mark the backs of them fascinate me
I connect them like constellations that will explain your mind to me
I get to hold them
Those hands in mine


You say you can see my life in my eyes
But life starts from the hands,
Your mother clutched the treasure in her stomach the first time she realized the idea of you, manifested into cells multiplying apart
She was protecting you from the outside world
You knew you were safe before your brain could process thought
You had felt love for the first time
Your first love, her hands.

Hands are judged before personalities
Hands are the first things people witness
You held back tears in your eyes with your fingers, peeking through the cracks to see if playground bullies learned to walk away before your hands discovered what it felt like to form fists

You paint with your hands
And the remnants of a colorful past lies in your palms

My father taught me a man is worth his handshake
He taught me that callouses marked our futures
And slamming hammers whistling tunes of a day when gloves would protect him
Consumed him in  youthful hope
And things we overcome became our characters
He told me you can tell the “good ones” from the “bad ones” based upon the integrity in the thumbs
Do they stand on the sidelines?
Or connect with yours, firmly reaching for more truth

Some people have hard hands that tell a sad story with hopeful dreams
You can tell the intentions through the eyes
But they are carried out with the hands
Some hands choke on words as they twist around nervously unsure of what to say
After all, body language 101 wasn’t taught in elementary school

Your hands have kissed a lot of air
They are dried and firm and balanced
You have fingernails like college students writing notes
They are learned  on what you have touched
Remnants of fuzz and crumbs beneath them from things you found in your jean pockets


I run my finger over the back of your hand
I feel as if I have traveled through mountains and rivers and deserts
It becomes a familiar landscape before I jump into the valleys where your fingers start to spread out like the roots of a tree
Your hands are your roots
They hold you firm
They hold me in place
I was going to fall
They caught me-
Your roots


Hands are weapons
Hands are shields
Hands are warnings
Hands are promises

Hands are sometimes all we have
If I only ever had yours, I would be just fine.
just trying to get back into the flow of things.
Klaryssa May 2016
Some people collect shoes
Rocks
Or thimbles

Some collect sweatshirts from past lovers
Broken hearts
Or postage stamps

Some collect coins
Drug habits
Gray hairs
Or spray paint cans from a long since forgotten youth

Yet others collect inhibitions
Reasons
And excuses

Some collect “you”
Or “you’s”
Or poetry
Or friendship bracelets
Maybe middle school dance playlists

Others collect stories
Maybe narratives
They keep writing the same one on different people

Some collect complimentary hotel soaps
Some collect cities
Some collect letters

Some people collect jewels
Some people are jewels
That other people collect

I collect buttons
I collect broken cell phone fees
I collect cracked nails and peeling purple polish
I collect frogs
And tadpoles

I collect tastes
I collect kisses
I collect lamp shades so I can feel like a light

I collect memories that remind me of other memories
I collect poetry that isn’t ever finished
I collect poetry that needs stitching
I collect old sewing projects and call it a metaphor
I collect metaphors
And anaphoras
And literary devices

I collect bible verses I wish I understood
I collect inky pens
I collect stares at my left wrist directed at a small tattoo
I collect red pen marks on all my  essays because I use commas, as rhetorical strategies

Some people collect family members
I collected them too

Some people collect fees
I am still paying for you

I collect friendship
I try to give it back

Some people collect famous one liners
Some people collect 15 seconds of fame
Some collect an arsenal of hate

Some people only ever collect time
Sometimes that is enough

Some collect too many cells in one place
Some collect hospital bills
Some collect lemons
And never have tasted lemonade

Others collect wisdom
Others simply don’t

Others collect different countries and flags
That they willingly accept
Others simply won’t

Most people collect rules
Of things they aren’t able to collect

Most people never collect themselves
Most people don’t realize
                        That they could.
Everyone is but the sum of what they have collected: of their collections. Thank you for adding to mine.
May 2016 · 484
Nondescript Nonsense
Klaryssa May 2016
This weird curse of irony
something that burdens my mind ya see
I got a mad heart and a sane love
I got a mad affliction for the right love
I got a serious deprivation of the right things
I don’t know what to think about the right things
I got a serious understanding of appreciation
I got a distant interpretation of affection

I’ve got the distinction between the two
And you’ve got serious timing issues

I’m readin’ these words that you’re writin
And I don’t know why but I’m fightin

I don’t know what to say I’m flattered
You’re making some sense, your words matter

But do they really apply to me?
Is that really what you see?

I can’t say this I — was expecting
All of this change and hearts resurrecting
I don’t know what to say but this is affecting
— My breathing.

Breathe in
Breathing out

Breathing  in
Breathe out

Slow and steady oxygen
My minds tangled in knots

Falling too quick
I’m a candle, lighting the wick
He’s not responding stop checking your phone
Calling in the nurse cause my vitals unknown
I know my bloods pumping into my heart
Momma says be strong always be smart

Fear- not something that affects him
Bravery- something that burdens him
Courage-something that marks him

Breathe in
Breathing out

Breathing  in
Breathe out

Stop reading those words
Stop thinking you can trust them
Stop racking your mind for thirds
Good things come in threes
and so do the bad ones
Can’t find the solution
He’s speakin in circumlocution

Fingers done too much typing
Minds done too much overthinking
Brains done too much sleeping
Living the life like half awake
Living my life waiting for the earth to quake.
Maybe I just needed fire.

1000 things at once
When I’m only looking for one.

Maybe I’m a dreamer
A lover
A liar
A poet
A longer
A starter of fires
A doer
A thinker
Another oxygen consumer

But you, were the occupational hazard-that wasn’t ever dangerous.
See I have this weird gift of irony. It’s kinda like a curse.
And between you and me— I put too many feelings first
changing the flows(:
May 2016 · 572
MOMents like this
Klaryssa May 2016
We clamber in
Riding a high off of fresh leather, a polished finish, and cries from the back seat
It will never be totally quiet
Buckles click
Little fists up in protest of venturing further than a block away from the house

We are listening to crying in the rain
Ironic— It is the sunniest day of the year so far
A song reserved for martyrs
But you are no martyr
A mother
I am sitting there waiting for the—
                             * “I’ll never let you see”
There is a slurp and the shake of the familiar cup  from the familiar gas station is almost empty
                     *
“The way my broken heart is hurting me”
We stop at the designated sign,
       “I’ve got my pride and I know how to hide”
The road goes on,
            “All my sorrows and pain”
A train makes its way across the tracks and we all belt out
    “I’ll do my crying in the rainnnnnn”
The graffiti from the vandals is most evident as the train goes by
The markings of lost souls trying to make their lives immortal
You always said things never last forever
And if they don’t build you up then they are tearing you down
I think about what makes life worth living— what makes life worth loving if nothing is permanent?
and then I realize, I have already figured it out
I look to my left at the drivers seat, and to the back
I have four reasons right here

The voices in the back seat can’t hear over the bass in the song
But I do.
a sharp intake of air goes into your lungs
I reach out and touch your hand as a tear makes it way down your cheek
You try to wipe it away
I don’t let go of your hand
You won’t let us see all your sorrows and pain
But even behind your sunglasses I see your eyes water
Your voice wavers
Your hand clutches mine
Pictures flood my mind
      I am 14 years old. I just barely have been allowed to sit in the front seat. That morning you put my hair in a pony tail and along with my cheer uniform I am ready. Pictures by the front door are mandatory for first day festivities. You tell me you aren’t going to cry. I am nervous.  You reach across the glove compartment and hold my hand. My stomach settles, I am safe.
I have always felt safe with your hand in mine.
You have small hands
You have small fingers
         11:02 p.m. “She’s a girl” You reached down and I grabbed your small fingers with my smaller hand. The first thing I ever heard was your voice. The first thing I have ever felt— your love.

“I’m hungry” voices from the back seat cry out
“I have to go to the restroom” says another

You sigh knowing there is no fight here
You simply pull into the nearest gas station
This is a narrative they have written too many times and you wonder when they will be old enough to remember,
“you can both eat and go to the restroom before we leave the house”

“Mom can I have a drink of your water?”
This question is the same reason that is keeping you going
The ambrosia of the Gods
you ask “what?”
As if you didn’t hear the question only so the voice will repeat the delicious sound of
“Mom-”
One more time
It hugs you, envelopes you
That word something that makes the money mean something
It wields worth within those three letters, one syllable
“Mom”
You hear it 4 times a million different reasons a day and yet it isn’t ever enough
You pass your water back to the dry lips and sigh yet again
Knowing water bottles were under the shelves in the garage

We make our way towards the destination
We are traveling onward
The radio is the war cry of our battle forward
The moments like this are the kind I don’t want to forget
Moments begin with mom
And mom that is you
Careless whisper could’ve been your anthem but your guilty feet have danced again.

Too bad we are only mortal
Sometimes warriors get tired
Sometimes superman was fired

Driving down the road, we reach mile 15, 16, 17 mile stones
17 years I have lived so far
17 million times I have hugged you
6,272 days I have lived
150,528 hours
9,031,680 minutes
9,031,681 minutes have passed
And every single one of those minutes I have needed you
541,900,800 seconds
541,900,801
541,900,802
541,900,803
The clock ticks by on an indescribable plane or quantum realm—
I don’t quite understand time.
I don’t quite think it is real.
I don’t quite think I am real most days.
I don’t even believe man has been to space.
But your eyes were the closest things I have gotten to the moon.
And as I was riding a high off of fresh leather, a polished finish, and cries from the back seat
I have an existential crisis
I feel as if that is my middle name
I reach out and take your hand,
                      “I’ll never let you see”
You take another sip of your almost empty cup.
                      “The way my broken heart is hurting me”
We stop at the same stop sign
                       “I’ve got my pride and I know how to hide”
The road still goes on and
                        “All my sorrows and pain”
The same train passes
                        “I’ll do my crying in the rainnnnnn”
                  
                                                       Mom, I love you
May 2016 · 1.1k
Poets write about you
Klaryssa May 2016
I use descriptors like "you" to maintain a sense of anonymity
Poets wrote about you a lot
Something about the things you did
The hearts you broke
The collections you kept
The sweatshirts you never gave back
The words you said...
I don't ever want to write the kind of poetry you spoke
You speak
You continue to talk as if my use of past tenses don't remind you I am finished with this conversation
Because your voice was like a song I never got out of my head
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept repeating
It kept...
Until finally I kicked the stereo so hard it broke
So did my pinky toe
it hurt a small part of me to kick you out but you were only ever laced with venom and I only wanted to lace my shoes
Except when I did, it burned my hands
As if the poison you spoke wasn't enough
You wanted to smell the burning flesh of my palms as I pushed you off my ship
I plan to sail toward sunrises not meant for your eyes

I don't want to write the kind of poetry you spoke
He spoke
She speaks
He screams
She yells
He beats out of his lungs
Because those kinds of words are not fit for the anthems I plan to shatter the sound walls of the earth with

See reaching the sound resonance of the world, won't be an easy feat and I cannot do it if I wrote the kind of poetry you spoke for me.
Apr 2016 · 343
Conclusion Based Rhetoric
Klaryssa Apr 2016
If all my words were burned in a fire what would I have left?
Would they remember me by what I have already said?
Will they be a universal truth applicable to nations to come?
Will they move mountains?
will I have had faith to maintain little fault in a quest for righteousness or did I just **** in too much oxygen and breathe out just enough carbon dioxide to choke another person's dreams?
Will my words liberate nations or be the noose to which people plea mercy from?
Will they allow the solution to puzzles in minds of doubters or will they chain thought and raise hands in a nation of single minds all focused on one race?
If I can touch one life-not by means of my own persuasion or merit-but by the wisdom that I have been instincted or mediated to bestow- then I will die a satisfied woman.
Apr 2016 · 1.2k
Colómbia
Klaryssa Apr 2016
Colómbia’s eyes are brown
Colómbia’s hands have seen a lot of fighting

Colómbia, I don’t remember when I met you for the first time. Like I remember it, just not the day. I knew from the moment you pulled out your pack in the park where we were at; “this guy is trouble.”

Colómbia’s lips have done a lot of lying
Colómbia’s lies have begun to sound trusting

I saw it but only for a minute. It flashed across your eyes like the interest a lion takes in a lamb: food. You had cards and you played them well--overwhelmed but calm, cool, suave, and collected. You disclaimed some of the words you said with things like, “I’ve never told this to anyone before.” I knew you had. I have done and said some of the same things. I don’t have right to call myself “better” than you but man you were dark. My skin was in alliance with the moon.

The worst of matches—we did light many fires. Respect wasn’t in your vocabulary, it wasn’t something you made a practice of. I make a practice of knowing the right decisions and never making them like wisdom isn’t useful unless you use it.

Colómbia’s lungs are giving out
Colómbia can’t breathe
I numbed myself out so fire no longer burned. I couldn’t smell your smoke. I couldn’t see your cigarettes. I wouldn’t— you can change.

I cheer for the underdog. You were the dog under, hidden under the brush and bushes brown eyes waiting, meeting mine in the dark eclipse of the moon and the sun. I can’t say I was the victim; I looked for you. I preyed on the predator. You get what you wish for, when what you wish for is trouble.

We were actors and you had tactics and you carried out yours in different derisive methodical ways. We were sober chess players gulping hot bourbon on back porches watching the sun go down.
Colómbia’s feet have done a lot of dancing
Colómbia’s love is demanding
Colómbia’s heart is heavy but still standing

I met your mother and discovered what happened to create your collective pieces. She couldn’t take care of you. She couldn’t, when she was on the list  to walk back and her social security number wasn’t long at all. In fact it was ever too short just seven-hundred and sixteen people off.  You had nothing to lose and everything to gain. You had the biggest hate toward the world I had ever seen harboured in a person with such a short life time. You held the hatred right in the next to your heart, one would think you could die of such an overdose. You never capillaries were able to survive on such low trusting tolerance. You were never able see anything other than betrayal and disgust in all of humanity. Humanity was something you didn’t quite know the definition of because you broke all the rules and justified them by necessary means of surviving. Like knowing someone tried to love you mortified you, how could skin cells be so deceptive?

I think the tragedy in all of this is you felt you had no choice. So you made choices that transcended what you thought would be appropriated for you to defy all expectations and lower them. No way were you going to be told what to do. No way would you listen to what was “told.”No way that anyone was going to govern you not even when the judge decided you should have to go back to your roots, back to your yellow red and blue to color the mess of your disobedient insides. Education wasn’t a formal institution for you. You attended the school of “cayate! Estoy hablando!” You learned by ways of gunshots and money trades. You understood that money talks and is universal in all tongues. You spoke many tongues, and for a short while, one of them was mine.
Mar 2016 · 346
Lotus Flowers and Paradox
Klaryssa Mar 2016
Her father had a crown of white upon his head
and her mother had a red sun among her brows
she told me about the elephant man
her hair was in long braids
she wore a blue hoodie
taught me a thing or two about friendship
I never thought I’d know
When she started to wear the sun,
she called me her moon
Opposites in the same place
a paradox in every way
please still be my sun
Mar 2016 · 298
When the World Ends
Klaryssa Mar 2016
When the world ends I won’t pretend that I harbour any regrets
I just ported some ships I shouldn’t have
When the world ends I will only think of you
the co-conspirator of all my poetry
love
it is  all about the lines in your face
the grace in your smile
When the world stops spinning all the souls that haven’t yet considered death,
will never know life
When the world stops spinning I suppose cancer cells too will stop multiplying
and i guess that means you, considering you are two parts chemo and one part me
ironic because your birthday was in july

The difference between the end of my world and the end of the Earth?
when the earth proceeds to stop spinning on its axis no one will expect it
like suddenly the sun will spontaneously combust
but me ?
the end of my world will be so predictably unpredictable
The downfall of my own empire will NOT be due to a cyclical decision weighing on my shoulders
NO
It will be due to the reckless
age-defying decisions that defined my life
because life  only ever mattered when you were this close to a black hole
daring it to **** you up dancing at the edge of a precipice
I am in a parallel universe with this  universe
because my world is in a different perception with three different dimensions...
different than yours
I will not die because of old age
I will die because I defied the test of time
I just refused to take it
So it failed me and passed me out as a *** on the street because it couldn’t get an accurate reading of my qualities
I have too many good ones
I have too many terribly great ones
I have two
and it’s not that there are one too many
it’s that I’m one too much and
the Earth just won’t be able to handle someone who wouldn’t plant their roots in the common ground without any sense

And as times changed
the lines we had on repeat rearranged to say the same things
like one more crack in the broken record
we played too many times
in order to put concealer on our broken stories

Our past and future pains are ingrained like the tattoos we got as teenagers
in the basement of our friends houses
in the dark so the parents wouldn’t see if they came down to check
on us and find out if we were hitting “the spark”
Fortunately for them
it was a lowercase T
on my left wrist always with the long end right up at me
so to others it’s upside down
So when the world stops spinning it will be right side up
see! I knew I was always preparing for everything

I remember looking at you made my heart stop
like i was all out of air
i ****** in too much oxygen
and practically created the greenhouse effect
i guess it is spelled carbon die-oxide

When the world ends
Know that I hate the way you grind your teeth when you sleep
Just so you know they make braces for that
When the world ends
Know that I hate that stupid plaid T you never got rid of
Just know there are people who need that shirt more than you
WHEN THE WORLD ENDS
remember that I love you
just saying, because I can’t recall how many times I told you before.
sounds better when performed(:
Klaryssa Feb 2016
Looking at the past wondering
Did I write these words?
Did I feel this inflamed?
I just learned about change
in this moment
I am changed
or rather
I have

I read all of my old flames
to recall how much it hurt to be burned
but I don't feel the same
I took a band aid to my soul
and I am patched
like stained glass windows
all the reds and blues stick together in a harmony
so that on Sunday morning
when the light shines through and the choir sings HALLELUJAH! it's not just a word, it's a feeling!
you can feel this hallelujah it says
thank you lord! for all I have fixed and thank you for wrestling my demons and and taking the luchadores out of my mind
because number one
men in leotards not appealing
and two I can finally stop having internal battles
about what has come to pass
and climb new saddles to take these horses to new corners of the world
I can finally explore my own mind without walking on eggshells
so when I say I can't read my old poetry and still feel the same
It’s a good thing.

I used to get high on the sound of my old passions
like knowing how angry I was at you, moved my soul!
inspiring
I loved knowing how much you elicited such passion from me
I was selfish
but I can do that without pain now.
Now I read the words of others
and wish I could pass the my fingers through the veins in their rivers of thought.
I treasure it like silver
(second is the best)
it’s a cold tingling sensation from the back of my neck down my spine
I love being able to contribute to the wealth of contributions previously added
It’s like revisiting history every time you open your mouth
so when those smile lines start to crinkle at the corners
as you start to part your lips
by all means, enlighten me
I learn about the future when you tell me your aspirations
because I discover that listening and patience are symmetrical
the past still exists in the present
and we learn about our future by creating tiny infinities for ourselves to love
tiny black holes we dare to dance at the edge of
never to be pulled in
    (the music wasn't that good)
thank you for sharing your mind with me
thank you for speaking
but thank you for all the things you never said
thank you for laughing so hard that you made no sound
you brought me more joy that way
and to you who wanted to let the light out
I see it
and it traveled right into my eyes
how did you figure they determined that light travels anyway?

I see something in sharing
like we are just the sum of all our pieces
and my goal is to have the largest most colorful

people who don't see symbolism confuse me
and I smile to myself because that metaphorically describes every love interest ever
I have the heart of an eighty year old woman who loves everything about life
and I think like an impulsive baby that screams when she is hungry
and I stand like a lighthouse
unrefined
but consistent
weary
but not tired
I take my poetry most times at face value
I don't like revisions
because in life you don't really get any
you can't really make up for your past pains
but you can patch them with a bandaid
and you will be left with a scar that reads “forget” to all of the people who doubted you
but it seems doubt
more than love
is almost more stimulating
I don’t feel this angry but I do feel this passionate
And more so than the fruit, I love knowing that I can elicit this passion from myself
I love me
I love you
let's keep writing our own stories
our own ways
in every aspect that counts.
Jan 2016 · 504
Untitled
Klaryssa Jan 2016
our love was synonymous with all the things we thought we knew but never quite understood
Nov 2015 · 682
A Red Promise
Klaryssa Nov 2015
Life hits me harder than I expected
And I cannot yet give my opinion of death

I just know that I don't want to go the same way I grew up
Slowly,

I was one of the lucky few,
The closest experience I ever had to death was falling over at the feel of my blood leaving my body

I could feel the darkness of my mind fall into the path of my eyesight
         I could see the other side of my brain
                 I could hear the pounding in my veins
                               I was levitating

See life holds so much gravity
so
when the tears run out my eyes
you know
that I have been
moved
The move not inflicted by depravity
NOT the move that changes direction
NOT the move that leaves
but the soul shattering defining movement
that can change the direction of FaTe ITSELF!
The move that cannot be measured by velocity
It has a vector in all directions
mostly pointing at me

The empathy in the way that I feel
can be intrinsically compared to the war waged on terror
just from the insides my body

inside my soul
I am afraid
but I choose to be brave

I was told I could never be a doctor
or could never be a nurse
not only because I HATE the sight of blood
but because I understand the promise each drop holds
I understand how necessary that promise is
how vital to survival
how blood holds its weight in gold
and all the horror stories I have ever been told
can never compare to the heartbeat of another soul
and all the lives that can be saved
from the paths we have made
and to this day the choices I weighed
I have strayed from the path decided.

But If some of my life can piece together some of yours then take it
take the pieces you need and patch it together like a quilt
I’d rather be multi-colored anyway

Because my roots are not my own
I have been planted and then I have grown
but I did not put them in the ground first
I am made up of the skeletal design shaping this world
a backbone of sorts
an inter-communication line
between your life and mine
some people are merely planted
but they never grow
and If my roots can reach to yours then all those internal wars on terror can make peace with the stars they have insulted with the excess of greenhouse gases
and the collection of our body masses can be put together in one piece
lets
     save
               our lives

I will bind myself to life
and wage a war on death
I will be your lifeline
If you need me then let me be there to patch together the crack in the glass of your insides
because I have super gorilla glue
and I am not the divine creator I am simply a piece
and if my pieces can fix yours then it is my obligation
to help find the edge-pieces and the insides for this  puzzle of life to connect one soul to all the others
     and

I will NEVER take the promises inside my veins lightly.
donated blood today and really inspired by all the people that do too, in order to save the lives in need.
Nov 2015 · 425
Magnitude
Klaryssa Nov 2015
I think my dis-attraction for you initiated at your reality
I think that I like to live in a world where the initiation of new action begins a better world
and one where the circulation of problems initiates an unending cycle of unnecessary  depository pain
is a world where the jeans don't quite fit me
Nov 2015 · 570
Fine lines and bullet Holes
Klaryssa Nov 2015
There is such a big difference between 1 and 0
like the future of the universe is decided between one person attempting to be brave and one person resigned to death
it's a fine line ready to be cut by three old ladies at any second
I think about all the people I used to know and all the friends I used to have and all the people I have loved and I think the difference between life and death fits somewhere on the scale from 1-0
I think that its a crap shoot between leaving your canvas behind and having it washed by the rain and I am just hoping to get the lucky hand

I have never been one for limiting potentials on a scale but I think the line for my sanity fits on there too.
right next to where the mad hatter left his
I was asked to define myself in three words and I think that’s a little damning because words are so hard to understand and definitions are so briefly interchanged that some of them will be misconstrued and how we are can change from day to day so we really don’t have to “be” anything
just
live
right
now
and that's why i was so infatuated with “success” because I think real success is chasing the dream that you realized you could do yourself.

I take small parts of BIG ideas and treat them like BIG ideas with smaller parts and maybe that deserves some sort of acknowledgment because i see BIG things in small places or maybe i am just straight off the mark
like the difference between having nothing or being barely there
because 1-0 that range isn’t even fair

I am so sick of preparing for life I just want to live
And maybe we die when all we have given is gone
and then we find a bullet hole in our shirts and rise before the dawn

I’ve been told that a small contribution to the world is better than nothing at all
I suppose that’s true
but humility has never been my shoes
so I never really tried it on
and I desire immortality but the reality is that the lethality of this belief can be strung along like all the souls I never made peace with.

I cannot hurt someone intentionally
I suppose I am inclined to say intentionally
because all of the I didn’t mean….
please don’t take it that way….
I never quite understood…
that’s why sometimes i’ll pick the number 0

Sometimes i learned it’s ok to feel as if you have been stepped on by a shoe and your bones are all crushed and your body is a little deflated and the jacket you’re wearing isn't quite insulated and your breath isnt coming out enough and you are struggling to breath
its
o
k
a
y
but it’s also okay to be on top of the world without a flying shame
it's ok to walk through the hallways and compliment people that weren’t expecting it and give you half crooked smiles
it's ok to embrace how you feel and if you can’t quantify it on a damning scale then that's alright

and its o
                k
                   a
                       y
to feel like the stars are out just for you even though the world has more than 7 billion people who all feel the same
it makes you wonder what the hell maslow was talking about on his hierarchy of needs because everyone just wants to be loved

I haven't seen the whole world but i have seen mine and even if i want to throw all my fears down those highway lines I know that loving one person is a lot better than none.
and forgetting everyone can be a lot easier than one
I think monsters are just people who have all the ugliest parts of ourselves and maybe that’s why we hated under our beds because we tried to find the darkest places and spaces to put them away
I have learned a thing or two about hatred.
it boils up faster than water but the burn will never go away
and you sit in that *** and wait for the other person to pull you out or retaliate but all you are ever gonna do is die and wait for the other to go first
I think that if we have time for hatred we have time for love because hatred is the most selfish thing a person can do and since we all live to be loved than maybe maslow is crazy and maybe all we need is love

but that’s another poem

and the real difference between one and 0?
maybe that’s the difference between the chances we pass up or give up or never really find,
maybe its the choice between immortality and imminent death, or maybe it’s the difference between the world and oblivion….
or
maybe it’s just 1 and 0.
Jul 2015 · 1.1k
Wanderlust
Klaryssa Jul 2015
Every seven months every cell in our body regenerates
we are made new
truth: when we accept Christ all of our sins are completely forgiven and we become new
it's kinda like how a caterpillar uses fibers it eats to form a chrysalis and then into a Rhopalocera or butterfly
completely new
in our time we are constantly changing creatures,  compared to the life of a mist on the ocean or a breeze
there for a second and gone the next
its not the milliseconds in our second of life it's what we do with those precious milliseconds

thats why its so beautiful when one traveling soul can find its twin copy in a form of love
farewell to being compared to the world because the only comparison that now mattered was how your eyes were like black holes.
holding fire and gold.
fact: scientists found that what people call "love" is a chemical reaction
truth: love is a connection deeper than the chemicals, love is a bond between two souls predestined to meet way before life was even thought of.

we were both full of wanderlust
a desire for knowledge and travel
to rid the world of secrets and hiding places
I wanted to know how to travel the railroad tracks in your mind because I heard the view was spectacular and I had to see for myself.
That's something I often did, find out for myself
I had a fire burning in my brain so full of joy and passion
you quenched my curiosity

impossible: not able to occur
truth: the word impossible actually spells out i'm-possible
we were impossible lovers; fire and water
its like the moon and sun never too come close but to love from a distance.
except you sure as hell are not the moon and I am not the sun because we were not star-crossed lovers we were neighbors of the same ideology merely just in the same galaxy.
we could send our love in a box with a big red ribbon and mail it to the god of irony
we were co-captains on the same ship marked lets-get-out-of-here

our love was as long as a millisecond
but felt longer than forever in the best way
we have been marking off days in our calendar pages,
and all of our time had been spent thinking on the end of our days

You were my geode
hard shell on the outside
filled with such a brightness invaluable in comparison to any crystal
fact: the word geode comes from Greek meaning earthlike
which could not be closer to the truth,
you were my world.

loving you was better than any  high
I was soaring
I was Icarus except even closer to the sun with weaker wax
I could have fallen at any minute but before I ever got too close you always had me by the seams of my levi jeans

Your love was like injecting sugar in my veins it was full of kinetic energy ready to explode at all times.
I could get high off your voice it numbed me more than any drug and  
being close to you almost wrinkled the fabric of time because we were explosives set to go off at any time ready to disintegrate anything in our paths

beauty isn’t just in rebirth
there is beauty in destruction
because once you are the lowest you can be,
life only goes up.
I've been looking for inspiration for awhile and this is what is to become of it.
Jun 2015 · 564
wonder why
Klaryssa Jun 2015
To the kids who ask too many questions in class and do so with a smile keep on
to the men and women who do not see value in worldly desires never stop looking upwards
to the people who want to know why
please explain it to me when you figure it out, there are others of us that would like to know
          (p.s. I dont mean the textbook definition)

for those that cannot fall asleep because the pitter patter of all the wheels in your brain producing thoughts at an above average rate
this one is for you

As I lay here I am now hyper aware that my world appears in technicolor,
I'm not sure if its because I'm letting go of my control or find myself unable to sleep but all I can do is think.

I cannot go to sleep by counting sheep because I count thoughts per minute rather than those wooly creatures
If you mixed redbull with coffee you would be able to see my mind because at this point sound waves seem to appear visible
my world is in technicolor
I am telling my brain to encapture my thought processes into logical words because if you could see my mind and define it,
it would one l-o-n-g s-e-n-t-e-n-c-e i-n ALL CAPS   andsaidinonebreath  thinking is exhausting and the awe-struck out of breathe but not moving way I feel right now when the world seems to be spinning cannot be defined by mere words other than by what it must feel like to drown and consider your life as it appears before you in forms of success or regret

How ironic is the phrase "good grief"?
because nothing about grief is good
it hits you harder than belly flopping off the high dive right when the surface tension hits its simpy unavoidable like these thoughts rushing to mind, 1000 at once.
I am so used to numbing my mind to all my thoughts because I know that if I sit and think it will never end
its messy like 52 card pick-up    
they get thrown at me all at once
I hate trying to thesaurasize my thoughts finding the right words for all the wrong things
soon they  overflow and catch up with me
as I assume that eventually a man will tire from being pursued by the lioness.
my thoughts so cold and hot, metastasize into a form of physical and mental pain in my heart and head.
Producing existiential thoughts and hyper self awareness in their wake so much  so I pause to hear my heart beat and the blood that pulses into my fingers because my breath quickens and I wonder what is so romantic about being alone?
Why must we be the only one to think a though or be adknowledged instead of all of the combined efforts of humanity?
What is so romantic about being different?

It occurs to me I have a problem with both cheese and abandonment
the two evil earthy devices are both gross and messy
when left to their own devices for so long become mold or fungus of the worst kind although I am not a chef because I abandoned my cooking classes in an attempt to become a poet, I know that there are special instructions to handle both in a recipe book marked "Disaster"

I should have considered the profession of a detective because I find things without even looking
like how I recently found the key I used to lock my old self away with for so long and, after I put the key in the lock to open it, I fell backwards and breathless in awe of how much I had left behind and forgotten.

I have to keep the door  "open-close"
like my closet door from when I was a child because I wanted to see what green goblin possibly took residence amongst my clothes.

It's weird that time doesn't really exist its just a theory on why we change and it makes me wonder what it means to truly exist.
this exhausting existiential self cross examination leads to me to believe there are 1000 thing I could've done and a 1000 more I want to do and a millon reasons why.

maybe I am not afraid of what I can do but what I can.....

maybe I might exceed my own expectations proving myself and my expectations wrong but my expectations are the only reality I can hold onto because I cannot percieve anything without my mind and to prove myself wrong about myself would mean I challenge my perception which is the inception for a train of thought to go anywhere.

to prove myself wrong scares me because what if I am not as great as I could've been or what if I am better?

I settle instead for this medicority inbetween of average and great.


I have tried to read success books from beggining to end in an attempt to learn about the image of success
what scares me is that they aren't instruction manuals for life which must be what I am searching for subconsiously.
maybe we all are or  maybe I like the rules and those who live to break the rules still live by rules to break them. I begin to lose sight of the difference between ranting and poetry and maybe they are the same. The real question I am forced to ask myself as my mind begins to slow is what I am just overthinking this or am I falling in love with who I wish I was?

Which just makes about as much sense as capris. Too small to be jeans or long shorts? The world may never know
when you begin to ask why you will finally understand.....
Klaryssa May 2015
I have taken spanish since freshman year
and I’m no linguist but I think that everyone speaks their own language,
everyone has their own pronunciations and different communications
it’s kinda comforting that the very thing I love and hate about humanity is that it never stays the same
There are thousands of different versions, all of the same thing
just like how in the etymology and in the psychology of our minds we look at our words and they all start from the same kind of kaleidoscope
and I’m no chemist because I spent too many chemistry classes jotting down ideas for a stanza but I know that humans are all elements of the same isotope

I have been a follower of Christ since the sixth grade
and it’s kinda comforting that all of our sins wash away with rain
see I am no forensics expert but I know that I can determine a crime scene
from the red going down the drainage pipes in my middle school bathroom because all the 13 year olds spilled their secrets there,
to the tears in the back-alley way where the real trail of tears led out because too many broken hearts and too many bad nights and too many bad guys and too many prescription pain medications to know that the delusion with people is that they always think something is wrong.
personally,
I am afraid of failure so sometimes I don’t even try
but no result plus an excuse does not equal a reason why

When I was 12
I wanted to study astrology because I was in love with stardust and I wanted to go to the moon,
I wanted to know that my mind was as extraterrestrial as I thought
because even cynical people dream
and I wanted to know I wasn't alone
The cytology, the study of how we are put together fascinates me to no end because no matter how many times the doctor takes apart a man he only ever knows how to put him together again,
not how to get him there in the first place
and what about first place
because I can be the first to cross the line but still be dead last because I don’t believe in
       destruction
             corruption
                    unlawful seduction
                            purposeful obstruction
                                    meaningless instruction
you can win the rat race but at the very least you have to realize you are still just a rat

I have wondered about theology since I was thirteen,
we are all sinners at the same pulpit
some people just don’t meet us there
or find different pulpits for different things
so if going to the pulpit means I am above another
then maybe I’ll just worship in private because I don’t want to be seen
Maybe I'm a little self-righteous, and a little insecure
but if that means I am a sinner than there is a God
so take me to an altar
I'm Human
Because I’ve still got dealings with the devil and although I have a cross on my wrist it’s still upside down to some people and when we accept Christ all our sins are leveled but I still have some premeditated measures and some guilty pleasures that
I can’t shake off yet.
May 2015 · 393
Oh Dictionary!
Klaryssa May 2015
I am enthralled by the idea
of finally having enough words
with accurate descriptions and adequate depictions
of how I want you to feel, when they cross my lips to your mind

— The End —