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Kat 7d
I.
A little pakalolo for you and me to light up,
can you hear the tom-tom of the beat,
dissolving into a smooth sax…
That night in the discotheque, my god,
you were so handsome under neon lights,
swaggering with your schoolboy smile.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of
the green-golden-halo around your iris,
inviting me in to adore you.
In the space of bodies, I grasped for the untouchable,
so greedy for this tenderness stretching out
in the dark heat like a fat cat in the sun.
You left east. I smell you on my skin, I smell
freshly mowed grass, wash drying in the wind,
the pure air of the high mountains.
I never really touched you after all.


II.
When you spoke, I only heard your voice, the melody,
its joyous tremolo, its tired flatness,
the deep bass arising from the middle of a storm.
We never called each other by our names. We didn’t need to.

I walk to the open window, below,
the busiest street in the city, silent at 2 am.
The air is buzzing with uncertainty. Just a minute ago,
your tiny room was drowning in light so orange.
I thought that sunset would last forever.
Forever? I’ve wanted you more than anything,
more than sanity, more than life itself.
For ever ever?
The sky melted into ink. It meant goodbye.


III.
It’s your song
that moves within me what can be voiced only in clichés,
as if I couldn’t talk about the deep end of love
without comparing it to a gushing river,
turning gentle into rough then gentle again.

Pisces Moon –
next lifetime maybe,
you'll be free and I'll be brave
and we won't know each as we do.
If it's real, does it matter, what kind of love we're given?
(don't fall in love with pisces moon men. just. don't).
Kat Jun 9
we’re standing in front of the theatre. they’re playing love,
a misunderstanding, a dream
that’s been killed by living it too much.
it is mostly trivial, this story of two people
desperately describing the sun to each other,
while only being able to point at shadows.
seldom they saw the same silhouettes on the ground.
is that ever enough?

it was enough for joy to linger,
as dusk painted your room in shades of red,
your walls zebra-striped. this eternal sunset.
it was enough.

we saw it, briefly,
looked away,
and walked in different directions.

and love remains
a misunderstanding.
Kat Jun 9
We are both shyly engaging with the madness on screen,
distorted faces, screams from nowhere –
I don‘t believe in hesitation,
having always indulged in my impulsivity.
Not used to waiting, calculating, anticipating.
I was very careful not to let you sink in,
although your teeth aren‘t very sharp.

I don’t pay attention, I’m too focused now
on how my arm is pressing against your shoulder –
this golden halo
that your touch casts onto the here-and-now;
no moment can ever be insignificant again.
Oh, it feels so nice to be with you,
real nice.
Makes me wanna travel all the distance
from Tokyo right to your doorstep.


Morning arrives with it’s awkward limbs that will be drowned in black coffee. Yesterday there seemed to be no more blue tomorrows, but now your eyes greet me and I don’t know what to say.
(things that happened)
Kat May 14
I.
in this space without shadows,
i was a witness how this world became stranger
until it wasn’t mine. the memory of touch carries the torch,
through a deserted island, an abandoned house,
another girlhood turned ghost-town.
his sour amaretto mouth
closer, closer, closer.
saturday mornings i used to watch cartoons on the tv,
big goofy characters. these pictures come to me from afar
and dissolve into black lava,
at his hands cold metal sting.
with the tenacity,
i cling onto the hope of forgetting,
monuments were built for
gods and prophets.
so it goes.
somewhere in the world
mouths move around the filthy word,
forming the saddest companionship,
like two orphans who recognise each other.

II.
once upon a time,
i believed in a magic stronger than seduction.
why don’t we try to be less entitled?
after all, nothing was promised.
those of us,
attacked, assaulted, agonised,
in the sacredness of home,
in the public eyes wide shut,
fade into TV static noise.
how loud are the sounds of this
realism replica,
in bold letters proclaimed
now available:
FEMINISM!
(sold at every fast fashion retailer)
ALL GIRLS ARE BEAUTIFUL!
(but we still need to profit off your self-hatred)
LOVE IS HURTING
(why don’t you try to see his side?)
it’s nothing personal.
shame just happens to make good money.
that was a hard thing to write and to post. my mind felt very hazy. i still don't know whether i struck the right cord with my words.
  May 14 Kat
putiira
You are still with me
hidden in between all of my words
and sometimes that's enough for me to love you.
Kat Apr 2
this humdrum summer.
i knew you as someone
who was never anywhere for too long,
sorta bohème so to speak.
so maybe now you are back in montréal.
how naive to believe space & time will grant you mercy.
i envy you for that arrogance.

the here and now sits on my memories like dust.

would it have changed anything –

never mind.

days in parks & forests & meadows. the honey bees were busy then.
we roamed through every supermarket like it was a ******* carnival.
and love,
it was the joy being each others witness.
this fever dream that is the mundane now.

if there was a way to look at you,
beyond a lens of reminiscence,
beyond the script of hurt.

this humdrum summer.

they say TIME HEALS EVERYTHING and i smile.
i don't feel the warmth of the sun anymore
but how could i forget that it touched me.
obviously i remember.
  Apr 2 Kat
Rohan Press
I abscond from
the phone calls where her
voice reminds me of her.
She's mumbling of the brittleness
of the east Cascades;
memory can't but etch, line to line,
some sore straightliner, wheeled.

I'll still playback what you leave me,
and harbor beneath the arches of ourselves.
Penny for the poor: I never promised to pay
this sum.
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