Victoria Kiely

Victoria Kiely Jun 2014

How do you close your eyes once they have been opened?

How do you deny what you know

& turn a blind eye, refuse to see

what stares back at you blankly, believe real lies?

We know that we are doing wrong,

that we have done so for our own good.

Why are some things okay

so long as they go unseen, why

do we continue on happily,

as if we are unaware

of just how scared we should be?

Is it He, the man in crisp white collar,

who teaches us to fear

the monsters under our beds

but not those in our minds?

Is it he who makes us believe

that we cannot live but in this way at this time?

When will we wake from this dream,

this terrible nightmare that is reality?

When will we open our eyes,

are we truly so blind so as not to see

that this is something we willingly chose to believe?

Victoria Kiely May 2014

I am something you should try not to leave behind

Take me with you on that silent subway train, travelling in the dead of night.
Take me with you each time you take flight.

Take me with you to meet your mother,
Take me with you, read me cover-to-cover.

Leave no page of me unread,
Take me with you to your bed.

Take me with you.
Take me.

Victoria Kiely May 2014

What is this feeling?

The problem that I have with people like you
is that you aren't even aware
that you have become one of them.
You have become the very thing
that you vow you are not; you are the type
who thinks they are a sight for fantastic eyes.
You believe yourself to be
what others both envy
and fail to comprehend.
In spite of this, you yourself fail to comprehend
how far from that reality you have fallen.

Victoria Kiely May 2014

No

You tell me that I shouldn’t be so insecure, but each time I reach my hand towards yours under the cool sheets, you tell me, in changing words and signals, “I do not want you”.

Victoria Kiely Apr 2014

It is okay to keep things broken.

I have a coat that I have kept for many years now, that I still wear each time the air becomes colder and the new season takes over. The left pocket rips into the seam. Inside I am able to play with the innards of the jacket while I play with the soft fabric using my left index finger.

I kept my favourite boots for two years, even after I had scuffed them and torn small holes in the toes. "Why do you keep them?" some would ask, and each time I shrugged and told them the same excuse that I had told myself just to hang on to them.

The shirt I am wearing today was bought many years ago, and I have since watched two buttons fall off on the lace back. It doesn't do up the way it used to; only one button remains. Still I kept it.

I suppose I have a tendency to love broken things, but this does not make me ashamed. The ripped coat pocket that separates at the lining allows more space in the pocket for other things. The boots had been broken in perfectly one winter and now fit my feet in a way I have not seen since. The shirt looks better without the buttons, almost as though they were never meant to be there at all. Some things are better left broken.

Victoria Kiely Jan 2014

You are Everything (and Sometimes I forget)

Some days I forget to love you

But I think those days are balanced out

Because there are days that I cant remember

What it was like to ever not know you

In all of your imperfect perfection

Some days I resent you, and you resent me

And we pull apart and ask ourselves

“Why do I love you at all?”

But we part and return once again

Like magnets made to repel each other

But still kept in the same place

Those days that I forget to love you

I repay a thousand to one.

You are magnificent and terrifying

And completely mine, as I am yours.

I am sorry for those days that I forget

That you are everything - the wind that blows

The trees that sing to me as I weep,

With each bent branch hanging overhead,

That you are made of a thousand stars

And the sun and the moon alike,

You are the change of the season

The cusp of the tide - You are everything.

And I promise to try to be less forgetful

Victoria Kiely Jan 2014

Frost Bite

Each time I am ripped from your grasp, I feel

as though I am being ripped away from

Life itself. My breathing quickens, and the

room spins each time my mind spins the outline

of your name. I constantly look for some

reminder of you to be close to you

even though i know that it will make me

feel the way I do now. I yearn for the

crisp kisses you gave me on the cold nights,

sodden with frost bitten lips, frozen. Is

this true love, or simply what cannot be?