while i'm sitting here in the dark
with my feet propped up
and my body warm
i should be content
but i can't get this sensation to go away
it doesn't seem to have a name
that i can recall
my storage of words is limited
to 11th grade vocabulary
and what i've read in books
if i were to try and explain
i guess i would say that it feels like
there is a vertebra missing from my spine
i can still stand and walk around,
but when i do the world seems to tilt slightly
all of the bookshelves in my mind
have slid to the opposite wall
the cabinets have burst open
and things are falling out
clattering on the hardwood floor
i know i should have a smile on my face
but all i can think is:
why
why not
how

The boy asked, "How do you write a poem?"
and the teacher was perplexed 
How can I explain? I don't know!
She tried to respond in an eloquent fashion
"Pretend that your pen is a cup and pour into it your soul
but only let it out in tiny, undiluted drops.
The boy did not understand so he questioned her once more
She thought
"Make believe that the page is a baby's rosey cheek
and kiss it softly with only the most delicately chosen words."
Confusion continued to cloud the young boy
So she decided to give it one final try:
"You are a summer garden plot, a poem a flower bud
find an open space to plant a seed of thought
bury it in the soil naked and undeveloped
and give it your utmost care and contemplation
along with water and sunlight in preferential doses.
After a time a poem may begin to sprout
but it can often take longer than you expect
do not assume the poem to pop right up
and there are no guarantees
about what will result in the end
that seed may grow into an exotic rose
or an unforeseen dandelion
you never know how the sun will shift
or the how the wind will shape the land."

The boy thanked the teacher thinking he understood
and hurriedly outside he ran
straight to the wooden gardening shed
and grabbed his shovel, gloves and watering can.

i'm sitting on a bed without sheets
in a half-tidy room
that i didn't finish cleaning
i'm wearing the strangest outfit
a combination of the last clean garments
from my floor
which seems to be playing a game of hide and seek
behind boxes, and clothes, and things i will probably never need
i'm not quite sure if i'm hungry or just tired
but something feels wrong
maybe its a leftover feeling from just having opened my report card
that i fished out of the piles of mail
because i knew i'd have to face it sooner or later
and right now i wish i had chosen later
or maybe its because i've never even kissed a boy
or that everything always feels messy
and unfinished
like this poe


-kk

hundreds of eyes in my mind
watch my every move
i guess they have mouths too
because they tell me i'm no good.

-kk

i know i'm not supposed to want you
but i do
if only i had been there sooner
maybe you
would want me too
because most high school love
is circumstantial
and i don't think
she's any better

-kk

Today I was thinking about God
and how it must feel
to hold the universe in your hands.
I wonder if the earth to him
is like a small piece of clay
taken between his index finger and thumb
and rolled into a tiny ball
handled with such a delicate touch
as to give each surface
the same amount of pressure
sculpting mountains, shaping oceans
creating infinities
with momentary movements.

Do his fingers slip on occasion?
unbalancing the careful equilibrium?
I've been told that God makes no mistakes
but nothing seems to make sense to us
down below
trying to make a home
on this ever-spinning pottery

I wonder, is his other hand preoccupied as well?
maybe the earth we live on is just one of many art projects
or is our little ball the only one he has invested in?

sometimes I wonder if he knows how it feels to be lost
blindly stumbling through the blizzard
snow flying at our faces and getting caught in our noses and eyes
feeling around for something to hold onto in darkness
trying to be good and do well in a place that is confusing, unscripted
everything we know taught by sheep who call themselves shepherds
when in truth
they are just as lost as the rest of the flock.

-kk

I find myself feeling lost
in the same place as I've always been
but not knowing where I am.
I feel like I've just awoken today
from a deep slumber
that lasted several years
all of the people, places I've known
have completely changed
some are not here anymore.
All the things I thought I knew
are simply fabrications, memories
the person I once was seems like
she doesn't even exist.
I am angry, sad, depressed
filled with thoughts of confusion
the world is so much harsher
and more rotten than I ever understood.
I have memories of being a child
full of life, excited, curious
gravitating towards love
going after what I want
but slowly over time
the energy that I held
has been drained from my soul
a little drop everyday
the more I age,
the more things complicate,
the more it hurts
my past rosy life
is now blurred from view.

-kk

then I am the paper.
Scissors were made
to cut through me,
and we all know that
paper doesn't actually
have anything on a rock.

My pens keep running out
I think I am too

i try to cry but the tears don't run
i try to feel but the sensations don't come
i am numb.
(but i know the pain is there)
-kk