for starters, i am not the first thing people pick
off the apple tree of the garden of eden. in gym
class, my classmates deemed it appropriate to
pick me last. nobody thought fondly of me.

the serpent deceives me with lies to this day,
my brain a portfolio of snapshots of those dark
memories, almost to make a point about how i
am a loser who deserves to be in last place.

even after experiencing the serpent, i found you,
a lotus flower blooming with purity and created
verses for me to follow along to. you know, those
dark days are always close behind, but you're a
step closer to the light. even when some days i
become spineless, you teach me how to crawl
my way through the strange garden of eden.

at ground level, sometimes i find beauty.
that is also the way how i found you.

- kra

my spine was built out of wood that was
already rotting from carrying the burden
of the world on my shoulders, already
growing mold in between cracks of the
floor boards because somewhere along
the way, i stopped taking care of myself
and focusing on you. maybe that's why
you were the needle, and i was the aired
up balloon filled with radiating hope that
somehow, this feeling applies to you too.
like a rotted out tree, i fell slowly then all
at once into this rut i knew climbing out
of would be a challenge i did not sign up
for. would you call me an invertebrate?
without a sturdy backbone, you could
see i'm already to fall at your ******* whim.

- kra

this understuffed bed in my stomach is capable of containment
because it is a forest of redwood fluttering with bats, slithering
with snakes, and crawling with panthers. it is an expansive house
that is mostly empty, always rented out, people crossing the
threshold of my comfort zone as if the door to my life is a ******* welcome mat, everyone seemingly feigning ignorance to the
existantial crisis in my stomach that is like a world war three.
people ask me why i have anxiety. well, they're the same ones
who cuts down the forest of redwoods and turns the ending
result of the paper into origami, and they watch the way my
skin begins to imprint a crease that stays. they're the same
ones who don't notice that the redwoods are my pillars,
just like how bones and atoms are building blocks. cautiously,
you knocked on the door to my comfort zone, and opened the
door when I allowed you to come in. you are a natural green
thumb, planting trees where others cut them down, mending
the creases in the paper to the best of your ability. you prevented
me from going extinct, from these localized fires becoming forest
fires, and gave life to the empty gray parts of myself.

- kra

do not cover your tracks, for as steady as your body
carries itself, as long as you hide from the inevitable
downfall, you will end up losing your way back home.

with every blanket you own, you covered everyone in
immunity forgetting me, as if i had my own to defend
myself from the sky where debris of planes fell, shrapnel
cutting through air gravitating towards me, the odd one
out. all i had was a flashlight to defend myself, but what
good does that do when you're living in a ghost in repeat?

my mind can't agree with my heart often.

i am a passing glimpse in your windows progressing nowhere
not brave enough to voice myself because the blanket rule covers
me. when you are brave enough to glance at the windows, i hope
you glance at me and remember that the opportunity of finding
your second home lies in my soul. when you remember that, i
hope you end up clashing with me and figure out if you want
to keep me there in your life or not. when i point the flashlight
at you, i hope you are able to forget the shallow blanket rule.

my chest hurts from my heart beating so roughly against my
ribcage but don't blame me for shaking at your very presence
because maybe i'm as scared of god as i'm scared of the devil.

- kra

every memory ends up like a kamikaze airshow,
where they end up hydroplaning on the air in
panic during the most vulnerable moments,
and the crash leaves demolition and a small
indention in the creases of my skin. my pain
is broadcasted to an audience of one, myself.
my name does not end up in the history books
nor does yours, but the pain still broadcasts
itself on the theater screen inside the crown
of my skull. it is like watching a kamikaze
airshow, where the planes are aimed towards
me. i wonder if it's just me in the planes or
if you have many different lives and it's normal
for you to die so many times and not feel pain.

- kra

I find it sad that I've begun associating you with headaches and bad dreams more often than not.

It's like the only way to reach out to you is to reschedule the days you want to fall in love with me all over again like those days are just some sort of meeting for me to potentially become a home for you.

My arms are open like the front doors of a 5 story mansion with a small attic added on top like icing to a cake and yet you refuse to close them for good for me.

You arrive and pull open every single window and door, you turn on all of the lights, and every trinket that thrives off of my energy is switched on in addition to that without a care in the world of how much of my electricity you are wasting.

Eventually you come to the heart of the house, you turn the flame on high on the stove, you walk straight out and you leave me to burn again.
It's every single time I see you that you do this to me, and somehow I always found the tools to rebuild myself.

This time is different. This time I can't because I'm shattered beyond repair.  Being the glorious architect that you are I figure you could design the sort of place you actually wish to live in.

But you won't.
I'm not in your outline anymore, am I?

You once told me you wanted to fix me, and now is your final chance, because once I find the courage, the meaning, and my resilience to assemble myself once more... Just know that:

I'm closing all of the doors and locking them from the inside with golden keys that I can melt down into reminders of who I'm to not let back in. My arms will not open up for your embraces any longer, lover, not even if you try to pry them open.

I'm closing all of the windows and barring them from your needy hands. They will have to find a new toy to play with.

I'm turning off all of the lights so someone new can learn where the lightswitches to my soul are located, since no matter how often I moved them from you, you still knew me well enough to turn me on.

I'm extinguishing the flame that is constantly flickering between our fragile figures, blowing it out like a candle, and never giving you the ability to light me up again.

I am a female powerhouse and I belong to no one.

by now, you should have recognized my architecture
and seen it's outer and inner beauty. you should have
been the prince, wielding a heavy sword ready to fight
my inner demons as you have always done for me.

by now, it should be someone like you examining and
taking care of me. i am decomposing, unraveling myself
from my roots that keep me safe, with no signal of any
kind. you may never arrive to that point, so if you do,
i hope my inner demons are strong enough. if you are
willing to battle them even after all this time, even if
you lose to them, this will mean it was worth it.

by now, you should have battled them and even
been willing to give your life to save me. i hope
you realize my inner demons is because you tend
to focus strictly on your own in private. i hope
you realize that true love's first kiss is embedded
into my memory as if you gave me a lobotomy.

by now, in reference to prince guide books,
you should have saved me, but instead, i am
carrying a burden instead of a bouquet of roses
for me to hand off to you. you left me an empty
shell of the house i once was, covered in webs,
dust, and a mess you left me to clean up after.

- kra