i remember
when i was little
the tub would overflow and i would get this awful fear that clutched at my chest
but my heart resisted being torn out

i remember
when i was little
seeing the smoking Twin Towers and i didn't understand what a terrorist was
so i would have nightmares of terrorists climbing the trees in the backyard
and looking at me through the window
it's the kind of fear that makes you question your own breathing

it's like your heart is asking you, "are you still alive?"

i remember
a few years ago
i had the mental capacity to experience suffering
i would take a paddle and hit the pain pong ball against the walls of my head over and over again

i could write it into the soles of my feet and i wouldn't even squirm from being tickled

am i overly sensitive now?

i can't even finish this poem for fear-

"I thank my God
upon every remembrance of you."

(i do)

Crawl into this space I made for you
Be the elephant in the room
I won’t think it odd when you snore like my father
Your head resting soft on my shoulder
All of us need to rest sometimes
Rest yourself on me

Race through this gap I hold open for you
Be the bull in the china shop
I won’t blame you for cracking my favorite teacups
Your hooves crashing down on the fragilest pieces of me
All of us need to be reckless sometimes
Wreck yourself through me

Shroud yourself in the cave’s mouth I hollowed out
Be the cat that’s got my tongue
But don’t scratch out that writing on the wall to the left-
(Because it’s about all I’ve got left)
All of us need to be left alone, sometimes
Let yourself alone in me

I’m not the strongest tree out there
My skeletal trunk is slumped over with moss
But green is your favorite color,
Make a bed of it
And rest your weary limbs upon my own
I’ll cradle you in the hammocked branches
Watching my fingershadows of you fall across the forest floor

It’s on nights like this by the light of the moon
I pretend you need me
Like I need you

I would very much like God to write a book
           on what would have happened tonight

If I'd stood on the table at Olive Garden and shouted:
           "there is no proper etiquette for slurping spaghetti"

blank stares? (especially from that awfully annoying girl I knew in high school who waits tables)
applause? (from myself. like a giddy two year old.
                   after throwing my noodles at the wall to ensure proper stickiness- which could make or break
                                                           ­           the reputation of an Italian restaurant, you know)
cold shoulders? (probably. it was twelve degrees outside tonight. you saw the way our breath mingled
                                                         ­             forming a smoky veil across the stars as we walked)

nah.
i don't care to know any of that, really.

mostly, i just want to know
if the night- well, if I -would have been found a little bit more beautiful by you
had i made your life a little more colorful
and a little more human
by just-

being myself

how many times do i have to run myself into the ground
(and if i do, will anything grow?)
i am hickory, ivory, take me and sculpt me or carve me
tell me what i'm needed to be
i want to know someone will play an f sharp
or use a wooden spoon for their soup for the homeless
i don't want to cut myself down, spread myself out into a self-help book
i'm not selfish
i don't get satisfaction from that
i take my temperature like Neal A Maxwell described
and i find that i'm still not happy
i pull myself up to see my roots
i know where i've been, but not where i'm going
and for someone who is directionally challenged,
that's pretty concerning.
i am a goldfish clumsily dropped into the ocean
i've never been in open sea
i am a broken-in horse outside the fence
will someone please tell me what's beyond the next horizon
or do i have to get there to find out?

I boxed up the shirt with my heart on the sleeve
Cliché- But that’s the only way I’ve learned how to deal with things
And I don’t plan on ever taking it out again

And I’m not really all that sad
Because it has so many holes in it now, anyway
And wearing it would mean showing people too much of me too soon
I’m never doing that again
Like I did with you

I went to my dresser and pulled out all of the simple things
Simple – A word synonymous with ugly for almost everyone these days
And I dusted them off and locked those away as well

And I’m quite sad about that
Because I feel that someone (once)
Thought that they were beautiful in a special, old-fashioned way
That no one will ever see again
The last person I showed was you

I went to my closet and pulled out a mask
Mask – What you wore every day when we were together
And I slipped it onto my face

I won’t let myself be sad about that
Because maybe people will say that I’m prettier now
With a different face and a different personality
That I’ll never take it off again
And no one will ever know

I went to my mouth and forced all these words out
Words – My most prized possession
And I fixed them onto a page

I don’t care to think about that
Because it means my heart snagged in threads that
Detached from the sleeve
Of the shirt that I used to wear
Every day
For you

he handed me the sky in a pitcher
and told me to bathe in it
so i undid my hair and my shirt and slid into the ocean that frothed over with white clouds and swirled like the mist in hot chocolate
and as he watched me i had a thought and asked if he fished out the sunlight on purpose
because that was my favorite part
well
he leaned across the cold bathtub, took my face in his hands
his eyes fluttered shut, and he whispered
you are the sun

are you jealous of the jellyfish?

it is said they have no hearts at all
neither loving nor hating
floating in a utopia
"nowhere," as it is called

the tentacles have no one to love
hurting everything it touches
they have no eyes
love is blind, they say
but what use are
eyes if there is no heart

what use are these arms if no one will reach back?

.im just saying
if you hear music that -is meant to stir your soul with a wooden spoon
shoved down your throat to scrape out the best of you like left over batter out of a bowl-
if that brownie mix still tastes like me
you're not over it
not yet.

the burden of self is lifted when i laugh at myself. -- Tagore

i wanted to troll you
rummage through that closed mouth and find the feelings you forgot to floss from between your teeth

how was i to know
it "wasn't serious"?

you told me that you ached to call me yours--
and then you hung up.

I think you set me on fire
I mean
We were a match, right?
And our kisses were gasoline
I didn't realize it sooner
But I am much more flammable than the others
But you struck the match
Instead of keeping it forever
You thought it would be beautiful to watch our passion burn for a moment or two
I am naught but ashes now
I can't sleep
But
Every time I close my eyes I think of you
And I sneeze so often from the dust particles left behind that it's a lot more often than you'd think
I tried to fit myself into an urn for you
But I have this bitter feeling in my dark remains
Because we both know I am no longer beautiful enough to be kept
So I will cast myself across the ocean
And perhaps I will rise
Like a Phoenix
And let the wind carry me on

I would very much like responses to the questions dragged out of my soul when I listen to music
Like why people don't get married if they are in love
Must we all be logical like that
And wait for things to line up the way they do on notebook paper
Before signing a legally binding contract
It breaks me into pieces, the wondering
Hitting myself on the skull over and over
When it's my heart that needs the talking to
Because some things aren't as beautiful when you take that perspective away
No, when my heart is dragged out of me like that
And beaten to death as people tell me why he isn't worth it
Well, it works for a moment
But.. It doesn't work
It just doesn't work like that
Tell me:
why is the music written to stencil his footsteps; the very way he moves?
Tell me:
why are the notes plucked to follow the rhythm of his eyelashes when he averts my gaze?
Because we all know
Logic cannot give me an answer to all that

if you deemed me worthy
i would kiss you to wake with the colors of your favorite moments every morning
painting the scene with the brightest berries I could find across your bedspread

if you deemed me worthy
i would thumb through the sticky notes you keep on your forehead
pulling the ones you write in your sleep
because you are your own worst critic
and i don't want you to feel the need to look in the mirror
just to read your thoughts
(i know that you're a lot deeper than that)

but
i simply wish-
to be the spare key to your heart, sir
i know so many other things in your life come first
but i would feel like a diadem if i could be the extra set hanging by a rusty nail on your wall

because i simply wish-
to be a witness
(of the beautiful life you create for yourself)

It was a catch and release
But you never took the hook out
Reeling me back in whenever it's convenient for you to show your friends the incredible catch you are capable of procuring from a sea of nobodies
I am terrifying and beautiful
Terrified and wide-eyed
Yes
I loved you
I love you
Please stop.

that there are merchants of darkness and merchants of light
you run into them every day
sometimes
the merchants of darkness scream louder
and we voluntarily reach out our hands to absorb the darkness
because we are afraid
but merchants of darkness have no power
they cannot hurt us unless we are willing to hurt ourselves
unless we reach out our hands and deliberately take what they offer

merchants of light are quieter and softer
but the more light we absorb
the better we will be able to face those who give off darkness and say
"that is your darkness, not mine.
take it to God, not me.
i only absorb light."

the suns dance around
in their orbits
picking and choosing what will revolve around them
all in their tribal costumes
nothing matches
no unified purpose
no one remembers the first dawn
curled lips and fiery gazes
their chaos absorbs through the skin of so many
but i am wearing sunblock

i don't know how to shape my eyebrows
and that concerns me just a little
because i don't want you to think i'm surprised tomorrow when i run into you after your show
maybe i'll shave my head like people shave ice so i will look cool and calm and collected
maybe my hair will be blueberry flavored and your face will reflect the brain freeze you'll have at the sight of me
nah

because the thing is
i'm a blender that's always plugged in
and you're the only one who can mix me up so much that all the flavors run together and i don't even know what to feel anymore
so i'll expect that tomorrow
the way people expect childbirth to be the most painful thing in the world
though
i don't think anything could amount to the pain of this band-aid being ripped off
over
and over
and over again

I do not well up
Do not turn green and rip my pants up

I do not let the world see

I sit on the couch
Eating my lemonheads

Stewing.

The saddest things in the world are found between the lips that sip from coffee mugs
Trying anything to start their hearts
Up
Again

i would look like a million dollars every morning
get up at 5 am just to lie down again onto an ironing board to get the wrinkles out from under my eyes
paint my lips with Avon and plaster shadows above my lashes

i would pay very close attention to the things that come out of my mouth
i would make a special effort not to stutter and i would look each person in the face when i walk around with messy hair and ugly sweaters

i would surround myself with those who'd walk 7 continents just to fault-find
(with no means to protect the victims from the emotional earthquakes caused from the comments)
and i would be strong enough to handle their abuse
strong enough to pick them up off the sidewalk when they planted weeds in the cracks instead of flowers
and i would cradle them in my arms and hold them while they cried
[everybody needs a friend; but especially those who hurt enough to hurt others]

i would let my darling drop the dusty curtains from my soul to let the light in

we'd let up the gates
i'd let him trace his fingertips along the floorboards
knowing that he would never chip the paint
the way other prying eyes and anxious lips have done,
all other lovers left property damage

but he wouldn't
i know

i would let him install a microwave for heating his favorite foods
and if he liked art, i would let him take a crayon to the refrigerator

he can hang from the ceiling fan
tear up the carpet
rip out the doorknobs and knock down the doors

leave everything out in the open

because i am not afraid anymore
(love is the most empowering emotion)

there is a magic
in watching you
pack up your things
knowing that next time
you'll unpack them with me.

do you remember fruit roll-ups?
i do, too
though that is completely irrelevant
(and i think they were called fruit by the foot, now that i think about it)

i guess im avoiding talking about serious problems
because i don't even know how to solve them
i am my own jigsaw puzzle with a jugular
so i cant mess up

do you remember ever choosing your first grade teacher?
or whether or not to learn your timestables?

i never had a choice in that
i was never really informed

but i conformed myself to their insanity, anyway

do you remember choosing what clothes to wear to school?
i did do that, at least

but now i'm staring at a list of choices that adults get to make
and i realize
i never really learned how to think for myself

i never learned to make decisions

sometimes you want to take a sledgehammer to someone's face
so they know how hard you've hit your head on the ice at the skating rink (we are the crazies)

my world is water
and reality is oil, i avoid it
because the food pyramid says it should be the smallest fraction of our existence,
and because water and oil can be shaken up for hours (mulled over and over again in my head) and in the end they'll always settle in and go their seperate ways

i ask myself if other people see the world like i do
from the ocean
from the swimming pool
from the puddles made from leaky ceilings or dripping faucets in the tub
from the dunking booth
from the slip 'n' slide
from the goldfish pond in grandpa's yard or the half-empty cup by the park bench

did ice cubes melt across the kitchen floor
or are snowflakes falling onto your flushed, embarrassed cheeks

is it a waterfall spilling into a reservoir
or are you peeing in the shower again
did your mac n cheese boil over
or did the bathtub overflow this morning

well, which is it--

if water can take so many different forms
can't also each person's world?

say something cliché about love
talk about cutting yourself or having low self-esteem
mention tea or coffee
or rain
or late nights
or anything else that has to do with teenage drama

congratulations
i just introduced you
to a good portion of poems that trend on this website

I will leave lipstick stains on the glasses
When you try to get drunk you will still remember me.

i am looking for a reason to get out of bed
the way my husband will look for the toenail clippers which fell behind the desk
he could probably move it by himself
but i am weak
and it is very hard for me to lift myself out of these sheets
let my feet touch the floor
walk to the sink
finger my hair as i look in the mirror
softly blink
lift the weight pressing onto my shoulders
and whisper:
"Today is going to be a good day."
"Today is going to be a good day."
"Today is going to be a good day."

You cut the cords of your most common cliche,
[Because you are the puppet master of my fate]
Because I'm too obvious,
So easy to use,
With the flick of your hands I'd clap for you.

You watched me clatter to the floor in a crumpled heap
[For the last time]
Listened for the sickly beautiful sound
Of my wooden smile splitting
Into a chipped and broken grin.

[And for the first time]

Saying "I love you" isn't enough anymore.

[I don't even know that I'm hurting]

your kiss was a swiss army knife
i smiled because i couldn't help it
"everyone's going to hurt you, you just have to find the ones worth suffering for"

A paint bucket filled to the brim with blue
Sitting on top of a ladder
Right before the earthquake

my longing (for the crude, cheap replacements of human emotion scattered across this minefield known as the internet)
has entirely disappeared

i am filled

are you?

do your eyes dart to the lightning bolt in the right hand corner
always longing, never satisfied
(it's been years since you talked with God
perhaps you dont even believe in Him
say He'd need to strike your head from heaven)

do you miss the stale crusts of lovers past,
crave money,
get hunger pains of longing at the thought of being beautiful or famous
when really you are starving for something missing from your soul?

God,

He is the answer.
If you want it
If you let it

His Spirit can change you
fill you
transform you
(and you will be happy)

i look back on the past
the demons jeer from behind the glass
but they cannot reach me now

i have moved far beyond what i ever thought i would

i remember when my legs were broken
my fingers were cramped and swollen from crawling across hot pavements, the thorns of life i left behind.

i must look back
to reclaim the glowing embers of memories
but not the ashes

i don't much want asthma
we are not stuck in the twentieth century anymore
there are child labor laws now
and i am not required to stoop down and scoop the **** from my past
it is gone now
fossilized

what is the lesson to be learned from Lot's wife?
don't look back.

am i going to make it?
-- well, that depends on where you want to go.--
i don't know where i'd like to go. are you happy where you are?
-- yes.--
then i'd like to go there, wherever that is.
am i going to make it?
-- if you want to.--
i don't particularly enjoy it down here. everything seems like an empty dream. and i am just going through the motions. do you feel? i just want to be human. i want to have emotions and be a real person again.
-- i feel. why don't you want to feel?--
because it hurts. it hurts to give yourself up and accept that other people might not give themselves up back.
-- well, i gave myself up.--
you did?
-- yes.--
and did it make you happy?
-- yes.--
even though not everyone gives themselves up back?
-- that is the thing about love. it must be unconditional in order for it to bring happiness. one must come to understand that happiness is found when one looks outside of their self and stops focusing on what he or she is taking.
give, and one will find that they have an infinite amount to give.--
that seems like so much to ask.
-- but it is the only pathway to happiness.--

he opened his window to the darkness
put on his shades and stared at the stars in captivated awe

i never saw anything but light in his smile
never thought that he could tear a delicate,beautiful creature to pieces

but the phone rang at 4:00 this afternoon
and i saw the crestfallen face of my sister that matched the face of the crescent moon

he confronted the darkness
he told her it had place in him

but he broke the open window
he broke through the darkness
he poured star dust into her trembling hands
(he didn't know that he turned gray
didn't know it all would fade)

she is alone now
but doesn't know how to put the contents of broken trust into an urn and leave it on the fireplace

but
he put off the darkness

and he will not go back to sleep in the morning
he will battle himself
until
the daylight
comes

is this normal?
i could writhe and shriek like a chicken that doesn't want to be picked up
you could watch the feathers fly up and get kicked to the dust
i could scratch you and scramble to get away

we haven't had a fight yet.

is this normal?
i could lay in bed with you all day if we weren't shackled to other responsibilities that make our lives so rewarding and rich.

we don't get tired of each other.

is this normal?
nothing about you bothers me and I wonder if anything ever will. we are made for each other, you know.

<3

9/11 was the end of the world
but people are still getting up, getting dressed, going to work, being normal
obama's re-election was the end of the world
but people are still getting up, getting dressed, going to work, being real people
the mayans predicted the end of the world
the government is restricting gun rights
on the streets in the Middle East the innocent die
it's the end of the world
but everyone is wrong

take a good look around on the freeway
a mass of metal and gears controlled by one person
i refuse to believe the world is headed for hell
until
nobody trusts each other enough
to drive cars on the same street anymore

Falling.
I close my eyes. I don't want to be seen,  don't want to be asked what is wrong.
I will suffer and die alone.
I do not even flinch as I am about to hit the pavement.

i want to throw up all over my auto-biography
want to set a timer for 3 seconds just to be able to say that i started at zero

my heart is just that

but it doesn't measure up to its intended purpose

if my heart is on a swingset, the metal chains are too hot or all of the children lost their shoes and are forbidden by their mothers to walk on wood chips
if my heart is a sock, the match got lost in the dryer
if my heart was soft
i wouldn't feel like a hollow tree
withered branches shooting through my veins
i've lost all will
to love

I had a dream that you never deleted any pictures of me
And the one you took of me where the sunbeams were coming out of my hair
While we ate chicken nuggets and drank Dr. Pepper from McDonald's
The one you told me I looked beautiful in
Well
You'd kept it
After all this time

i am the moon
the rise and fall of your chest is the tide
your breath in my ear is the ocean
the waves spill across my lobe

i see the salt, taste it on your skin
you finger the stars strung through my hair
(this all fades ((usually)) in the morning)

we will blow on the sun like a dandelion
so it never rises
we will never be blinded again

accept everything
let go of the past and reach
for what could happen.

“… or are we ashes and wine?”
    ~ A Fine Frenzy*

why do you creep [BAM!] between [-all over-] my lines
as much as I [don’t] try to cover [unmask] any trace of you [me]
everyone [no one] knows
everyone [someone] knows

you’re my favorite [most worn] pair of jeans [lover]
that I rip [kissed] apart [together] so many times that all you’re [we’re] made of now is
patches [of poetry]
[Letters] and [lines]
[Scraps and] rhyme

i’m always wondering [you know] what you [I] want [don’t want]
do you want to die [to live] never knowing [like that]

You carry strands of her hair in your pocket
I know these things
And when you miss her you string them through your fingers
Playing a song that twists my world like aluminum
Only because I wish I was beautiful enough
To be missed like that
To the point where just hearing my voice would be enough to stuff pipecleaners down everyone else's throats
And shut yourself into a book full of inside jokes and drink samples only we know about
So the only sound would be our breathing
As you hugged the phone closer to your ear
Wishing my words were more than just syllables smashed between a page of our brilliant business ideas and the thoughts of your synapses
Leaving you wond'ring as the connection collapses
Why you can't tell her

I am filled to the brim

My thoughts leaking out of my ears in rivulets in an attempt to find your abode,

A salty little stream running back down the calf
(From the soaked swimming trunks of a toddler as he makes his way up the shore)
Sliding through the sand
Downward toward the ocean (you)

With zero effort on your part

I mean

We haven’t seen each other

Really seen each other

Since July

I am still leaving pieces of you behind everywhere I go

The bridge I’m trying to build is so scattered, with such wide spaces between the slats

That it’s impossible to get over you.

Sir

            In my hand is the only reason I need to live

                        [I have so many more

                        But if they all escaped through air holes in the jar on my desk

                                                            Then he would be enough]



Sir

            There’s a sparrow in my hand

                        [Broken

                                    Trembling

                                                Still alive?]



It’s my saddest thought, sir

            But this sparrow would’ve stayed

                        [He told me so]

            But I clutched it so hard I broke his legs

                        [And you tell me all I do is hurt]

                                    Hurt

                                                Hurt

                                                            Him



But I don’t

            I love him

                        See



My broken fingers

            [From my pathetic attempt to be the lopsided branches

                                    He was so happy sitting in]

And you tell me all he wanted was to hold my hand

                        [Sometimes]



My chapped lips

            [From trying to lift his wings with my breath

                                    So he could lose himself in flight again]

And you tell me all he wanted was to kiss me

                        Take my breath away

                                    [Sometimes]





Sir

            Will he

                        [Kiss me

                                    Hold my hand

                                                And stay]

            Ever walk again?

depression is a box
where the crickets and toads and **** are dropped
devoid of human feeling, understanding
i don't want to be dropped into a box of numbers, don't want my legs wrapped around statistics;
my name is Kate Lyn
and my fingerprints and DNA are seperate
from every body else's

everyone should be more like flowers because flowers only open up when the sun shines-
they only absorb light

“I wish you could see yourself through God’s eyes

          And oh, darling, don’t think I wouldn’t lend you mine to look through

                   [I feel that no one can appreciate a beautiful thing like you

                             Like I do

                   And how I wish that I could change them, like they want to change you]

          But I’m so far from perfect, see

                   [My vision blurred as I cried with you

                               Though I really wished it wouldn’t

                    Because I feel I wasn’t really any help at all

                       (Your hand, I see as you rub your eyes

                                                      Is awful bigger than mine)]

          I know that coming from someone as despicable and worthless as me

                   [I tried to take the rust off the nickels in my pocket with those tears

I should’ve bottled them, instead

The cries of a tender soul are worth more than all the silver I could dream of]

          It’s not as wonderful

                   [I’d like you to know, dear-

I remember, I think, that I heard once

(The size of a heart is shown by the size of a fist)]

                             As speaking with and knowing the being who created the worlds-

                                       [Dear, He thinks the world of you].”

I scratch up my own insides
Because there isn't a window
Not one
And how am I supposed to tell how things really are
If all I can do is feel them
Like I feel you
Now

I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.

But I will be under your wing in four days.