pop music tells us
"listen to your heart"
but all i know is
my heart beats
ten times faster
when i see your face
i don’t know what the **** that means
see, i don’t speak in beats
i already trip & fall
over my native tongue
and i don’t think vital organs
come with translators
i look to my hands
for answers
but what use are my fingers
when they've dropped everything
i’ve ever tried
to cling on to
when you smile at me
my skin breaks out
into a rash
to remind me
that my allergies include
grass, dust, anxiety
and pretty boys
just like you
i have to tell my legs
that no matter
how hard they look
they will not find yours
in the depths
of this bed
but they keep searching
for something
to wrap around
see,
i talk to my body about love
because it has the sweetest memories
of your skin
so when it whispers
of your fingerprints
i can’t help
but listen.

you are so delicate, like feather pillows and angel wings
yet you offered me the knife to cut you off from me, and
autumn happens in each season where leaves fall like
pinned up pictures on your wall tumbles to the dusty
corners of the bed or hides in the closets like skeletons
and happiness is hard to find, but it's so much easier
finding new ways to miss you when remainders of
reminders are hidden in the nooks and crannies of
my endless jumble of miswired thoughts, and the
inside of your soul is just a house of mirrors for every
personality you perfect on your face with such ease
i wish the mirrors would shatter, and i would throw
the knives at all of them already and see the truth

- kra

and I saw you.
And yes, you were good.
And yes, you can sing.
The paper hearts fluttered down
from somewhere,
snaffled by hands
before you sank from view.
Young things in shorts
wielding rainbow sticks
seats in front and I doubt
my indie record
is cooler than yours
but I saw the sparks,
circus tricks,
dancers popping
along the stage.
But now it is Wednesday,
a four-hour memory
that is sleepily blending
into delicious red.

to that one girl over there*

chock-full of intimacy,
i can't stop looking at the wrinkles in your hair
and the way they caress the curvature of your ears.
every smile drives me deeper into insanity,
and as your upper intersects with your lower,
i heave a sigh of pain.
waltz there, waltz here - your every move is like a dance
God Almighty choreographed himself.
My soul is like a bird - fluttering to the unknown,
but every season I come back for you.
your thighs were sculpted my Michelangelo,
your voice was crafted by Ella Fitzgerald,
your grace was gifted by your parents,
and my love burns hotter than the passion i have for you.

write out your stream of consciousness, your every thought. explicitly and unedited with every little detail. don't scratch anything out, don't think twice. read it, reread it, read it out loud and feel embarrassed or ashamed. resist the urge to tear it up and forget it ever happened. save it for another day. hide it where no one else can find it because that's the part of you no one deserves to see.
2. take off all of your clothes and stand in front of a mirror. become aware of every detail, every mole, freckle, birthmark. trace every curve and crevice. pinch and poke and drag your fingers along while you follow the trail of sensations. look at yourself again. notice the little flaws. the crooked part of your smile, the unevenness of your skin, the way your face is not perfectly symmetrical. look in the mirror and see what you don't want to see. embrace yourself.
3. turn off every electronic device, every distraction from the world or connection to the world. lay in bed. wrap yourself up in blankets. focus on your breathing. don't think about anything else. you can almost do it. clear your mind. but the monsters always find a way. lean on them. don't fight the nightmares. find comfort in it, somehow, because what other way is there.
4. go for a run and watch the world changing in front of you. look at the sky. are there any clouds? are there any stars? feel the impact of the ground hitting your feet. feel your weight, your every pound and gravity pushing you down. feel your lightness when the breeze hits and you think you're going to wither away. why are you running? what are you running from? don't look back.
5. fall in love with the wrong person and follow them. then what.
6. get in your car and fill up your tank and find a highway and drive. put on some music and sing the wrong lyrics and sing them loud. turn off the music and listen to all the people in the world trying to be somewhere else.
7. pack up everything in a suitcase. everything is subjective. leave behind anything you don't want in this new life. walk around in circles. think about leaving think about starting over think about a clean slate. then stop and look at where you are and unpack your things and put them back where they belong.

last night, I had a fever
and for a few hours of wonderful
hallucination I forgot about how
you left and all I could remember
was your accent and your
whiskey-and-cigarettes voice
and how you’d sound ****
reading the phone book.
I remembered your dark hair
in my face at night and
the smell of your perfume,
I remembered your gentle touch
and the way you smiled at me.
I remembered conversations about
a future we wouldn’t share and
breakfast and all of that mind-numbing
life-changing beauty of yours
and I woke up in tears because somehow
at some point I also remembered
that I’d spend all of my days without you.
(we did the right thing, I know we did, but
I will love you, I will love you.)