i found a home
in a rats cage
i found comfort
within its palms  
i found a home
not yesterday,
not years ago
but today,
in my last stage
a rotting age

- Kaya

Her poetry is a wrist continuously weeping
Emending fallacy of her bare actual being
Liturgy of her demurring heart screams
Perhaps a pellucid précis of sodality's grim

Moreover, never did the words pierced thee
Ephipany to her cloaked cry, 'tis ought to be

you're a rose
with many thorns
your heart torn & forlorn
awaits soft hands
to strip you of your ache
tend to your wounds
love you

I am glass
my love for you transparent
ill be your vase
your place of rest
hold you safe
in my fragile heart
just promise not to break me

your soul
a purple field
of dreams
softspoken
dewy flowers
outpouring love
its covering
uprooting weariness
uplifting the spirit

All the pages of the calendar ran past
The fingers, arms, and face and the second counting hand
And for a second, I thought I had a real life plan
Then it turned out real life had a plan
I don't understand
Why
On the third time, these birthdays, for the first time
No head in the sand
I feel like a hundred grand saying "I am who I am"
Even without ionic, atomic, nuclear clocks ticking
I can feel I'm gaining time as the plot continues tricking
my mind and skin are thickening as I continue picking
and pricking the skin, like queen mab said
This world is a dream, sometimes its a nightmare
I'm happy, it seems, having something to share

Sitting, writing
Picturing a fantasized version of reality
Thinking if how it could be
Only if..
things were different

Thanks for the struggle and pain,
If it weren't for these things,
My knees would never bend for humility,
My head would never look up crying for pity,
And my heart would never yearn for Your presence to reign.


In my weakness, Your strength is made perfect.