HOW STRANGE IT IS TO HAVE AN ARCHITECT
WHO DREW THE BLUEPRINTS OF MY HOUSE
WHO BUILT THE HOUSE WITH THEIR BARE
HANDS, JUST DEMOLISH ALL THAT I KNEW
WITH THE FATHER OF ALL BOMBS. ALL THAT
WAS ALIVE MERELY EVAPORATED FROM MY
VERY EYES. WAS I TOO STUBBORN TO SEE
YOUR EYES START TO WAIVER WHENEVER
YOU LOCKED EYES WITH ME? YOU COULD
BRING MERCY TO AN ENTIRE COUNTRY IF
YOU TRIED, BUT YOU LIT SOMETHING ON
FIRE IN ME, STARTING FROM THE TIPS OF
MY VERY FINGERS, FROM THE TIP OF MY
TONGUE, TO THE CRACKS IN MY FACADE
I FILL IN WITH PRETTY LITTLE LIES.
IS THIS PERSON SOMEONE I AM SUPPOSED TO
BE OKAY WITH? I MEAN, I FELT SMOKE
RISING FROM MY THROAT LIKE A
CHIMNEY AND NO SMOKE ALARM
TOLD ME IT WAS A WARNING OF A
PRICE I WOULD HAVE TO PAY. NOW
I AM GIVEN MY ARCHITECT'S HAND,
AND DESPITE HOW MUCH OF A
TRAITOR THEY PROVED TO BE IN THE
PAST, SOMETHING IN ME WANTS TO
CRY. I WANT TO GRAB THIS FAMILIAR
HAND,  BUT I DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT
TO TOUCH YOU. I WILL WAIT UNTIL
YOU UNDERSTAND.

MOVE YOUR HANDS FROM MY REACH.
THEY HAVE THE CORRUPTED EFFECT
OF THE MIDAS TOUCH. THEY ARE A
PLAGUE. STAY AWAY FROM ME.

I HAVE THE CORRUPTED EFFECT OF
THE MIDAS TOUCH. I AM YOUR MOST
ACQUAINTED SHAME. WHAT IS IN
STORE FOR THIS CLOSED DOOR, FOR
THIS DOOR IS OPEN AND I CAN'T
REACH OUT TO IT. YOU HAVE
BROUGHT A COUNTRY TO IT'S KNEES,
BEGGING FOR MERCY, AND I CAN'T
EVEN GET MY DOG TO SIT FOR ME
FOR ONE ******* SECOND.

WHY AM I NOT COMFORTABLE WITH YOUR
ABSENCE YET? AND WHY DO I STILL CARE?
WHY DO I STILL TAKE THIS EXPLOSION LIKE NOTHING?

- kra

showing the amount of bravery i do, waking up each morning and
wishing that instead of writing sonnets at night, i would be blacked
out on the couch, i find inner strength. in twenty nine days, i'm afraid
of being an alcoholic and living a life where i am half alive. are these
sonnets the things i am missing or do i just believe in their half-hearted
attempt of covering the truth? i am hating these things about you all over
again, like you were the reason behind the bloodstains in the bedroom and
the reason bleach won't remove these stains. as i saw the wall between us
start crumbling, it solidified itself all over again. i am sick of the red pepper
i attempt to fling into your eyes, blow back into my own face narrowly avoiding
you. all over again, i wish to apologize and come to terms with my small existence.

- kra

why is it that home doesn't have a official plantation
for my heart to grow? when all i want to do is expand,
i shrink to make room for the negativity and the shadows
of me are becoming more relevant than my actual self.
i sleep out in the foyer of every person's life, where
god forbid i open their doors because i'll leave them ajar
when their wounds are at their deepest. i'll be the fish
struggling to adjust and train their lungs to breathe with
no water. i'll be the person, struggling to breathe thirty
feet under water without an oxygen tank because i fell
in love with a mermaid, and ariel has already made a
deal with ursula for another. here's to my 21st birthday
coming up, where the first three shots will have your
name written on the tiny plastic cups. here's to you,
suiting up in your best attire for prince charming.
here's to the home i have, where home is not exactly
home and smiles aren't always that honest.

- kra

you are my favorite book
with the worst of cliffhangers

- kra

you were the last person to dwell underneath my skin
like a rash and you developed a habit of creating back
acne or using my spine as a knife holder, the ridges catch
onto me instead of flowers spreading their roots out and
clinging onto my back like saddles for horses. what kept
me at bay was the mood swings randomization like, "oh,
today may be my lucky day." therefore, i never let myself
consider the dissapointment as an option but the results
varied every time you snuck you way back into the crease
folds of my skin, back through the fresh scars that's been
stinging my skin for over two years now, back into the
year of regrets where the side effects were better than
the apocalyptic aftermath where the blast was better
than the silence. i wonder if you've reached that point
where you believe every cloud loses its silver lining,
and again, i wonder if you wonder about me ever.

- kra

i tend to enjoy my collection of stationary
people who seem to be content with the
concrete architecture they have put forth
effort to collaborate on with(out) me. they have
colossal dreams, set forth for greatness, and
here i am collecting dust and becoming a
money termite. i am walking backwards into
a past that nobody seems to remember. or is
it that nobody wants to? regardless, i move
forth onto your battle grounds where your
castle is a brick too high, a climb too steep,
somewhat collecting dust in the meantime.
do i really wish to remember what kept me
in a stationary position, at the locked door of
your friendship, once a welcome mat, now
i'm overwhelmed with the restraining order
set against me. when i step backwards, i wish
to believe i'm putting two feet forward, but
alas, it's not always the case. lately, i've been
doing more backward steps than forward.
i wonder if it will always be like this, even
if i decided i didn't want to be stationary.

- kra