October 23, 2018 at 6:59 PM

mis ojos  

“The eyes are the window to the soul”

You told me I don’t say I’m sorry enough so here’s a list of things that sound better if ‘I’m sorry is in front of it: 

I’m sorry my windows are dirty. I’m sorry they are made of sugar glass. I’m sorry there is dust six inches thick that lines the sill. I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to see through them. I’m sorry if you can see through them. I’m sorry they aren’t bright. I’m sorry they look like the pitch-black sky at night. I’m sorry if you try to open them they will cut your finger guaranteed. I’m sorry they made you lose blood on grounds you didn’t wish to be. I’m sorry the curtains keep all the light out. I’m sorry they never tell you when it’s light out. I’m sorry for keeping all the antiques in the house but you see they are too old and fragile to be let out. So, when you ask me when I’m doing tonight and I say nothing..... I’m washing the windows, it’s going to take all night.

- K.N.D. 

when i looked out the window i saw bright blue.

i called it the raincolor

and went back to sleep.

makeup stains <3

all around me

i am so in love with those who allow themselves to be obsessed with me, especially to express it
to verbalize to me how your hearts scream and cry my name
it’s always my name, it’s always screaming;
it keeps begging me for more and more so i have to keep the doors and windows locked at all hours
i can feel it crawling sometimes, im not sure how it moves
i know it’s somewhere slithering towards me
it’s dark and wet, it radiates a heat you can feel from 5 miles in any given direction
i can’t stand the nosy cars, im turning my head to face all of them to see if its in any of them,
all the walking people terrify me, eyeing each one of them down to find your features in their faces, nearly fatally anxious to see you staring back at me
to be confused about anything and everything in this world except one thing, wether or not you want me.
i actively seek it out sometimes, and can feel grizzly figures around me swirling, spinning doing loops around my brain until it makes me dizzy, to the point where i’m delirious
i’m delirious, searching all around me for a thing i cannot see
i know it’s there though, i’m certain of it
how could i not be so sure when i can hear it’s sirens for me, i know it’s coming for me.
skittish doesn’t begin to describe the lack of hope, trust, and any craving for touch or lust that left me, i need to be alone now.
i’m still sure, i know what is mine;
i haven’t heard the retched shouting in quite sometime now, i’ve avoided it at every cost.
i woke up this morning and i heard it for the first time again, it’s almost as if i’ve forgotten the physical toll my leeches take on me.
my head starts to sweat, i start to think i’m feeling sick but that’s very soon overshadowed by the shaking in my ankles, i can’t find any position comfortable enough for them, crossing and uncrossing my legs, my knees are not as strong as they were only minutes ago, as my focus moves to notice both of my legs vibrating and i can’t calm them, my hands are the same and i watch them tremble as i reach out into the air as if i’m trying to grab hold onto a rope from the sky, that rope being the only thing that can stop me from drowning at this point.
i cannot return to still, there are forces inside of me different from the ones around me, glistening silver with red eyes, they’re less heaping but just as terrifying, only they want out from inside of me, they aren’t trying to forge themselves onto me, i don’t know how they feel about me other than resentment and hatred for keeping them in such a vulnerable vessel, allowing for such things to happen, they want to draw blood to escape, they want to feel pain to escape, the surface must be torn open and an opening to my core slit just for them to fly out of, straight into the sky, they don’t want to be restrained, they want to be untouched, floating;
i’m out of breath now, my chest as anxious as the rest of me while my lungs try to replace what has just been lost with oxygen instead of..
now the sick feeling has returned, im nauseous again and i can’t even pinpoint when i started to cry but my face is soaking now
i feel so dirty now, there’s a state of cleanliness i’m unable to reach, layers of oil cover me and i can’t wash them out, the slick shower tiles would only reinforce the grimey feeling i’m trying to escape anyway.
the outside forces are back and as i examine my physical self they’re presence has become pertinent once more, the obsessed has returned, they’re still heading towards me;
i dread the occurrence every single time, but i’ve felt emptiness before, i’ve felt boredom
before, i remained unstimulated for quite sometime
the screaming hurts my ears, my body can’t keep up with my brain, i’m sluggish with a brain that refuses to be tamed
i only know one force to be as brave and intelligent enough to do it
rare to value another as much as my own, already established the fearfulness i hold for both of them is equal
they scare me, and i love them
they’re obsessed with me, and i love them
i hate it when they go away, i hate it once i escape from the pestering, i hate the feeling, not the feeling of something lost, but i hate that stupid feeling of truth, of knowing something to be true, knowing the circling is meant for my head and no one else’s;
i know it’s true and i’m lying when i tell myself i’m not sure how i feel about it,
i am so in love with those who allow themselves to become obsessed with me.

I will when I get my poetry out of my storage box:)

Wall

I can feel your eyes--

Gouging into the back of my head

Skewing out my eyes and pulling my irises into a long, uncomfortable embrace

I feel overstimulated as your fingertips caress my cheek,

Your hands are cold

I almost smile at this sentiment,

But the memory that brought me here lingers beneath my croaking throat,

and underneath my sunken eyes

I'm so tired

I find it in me to close my eyes and turn around

And I scream

I screamed until I thought I couldn't anymore,

Until my vocal chords grew so weak and fragile,

just like the rest of me

And I weep

I open my eyes, as for you to finally see the look on my face,

To grasp the severity of the state I'm in,

you're so cold

I collapse

And I fall to my knees

Because it's just a wall

https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BNLS81GZ

Check out the free sample. You can read the whole thing with Kindle Unlimited (or, of course, by buying it).

https://www.amazon.com/One-Cold-Day-Zombie-Story-ebook/dp/B00X0XBJ7W?ref_=ast_sto_dp

My shoulders are man shoulders?



My shoulders are the foundations of a loving home that I carry on my back everywhere that I go, it is a home filled with all the care and gentleness the world never gave us but that we radiate out to anyone who touches us and sometimes that gets a little heavy



They are pillows for my friends holy gentle heads to rest on when the world weighs too heavily on them and they can't support themselves alone anymore, but my broad shoulders can



My shoulders aren't too broad for a girl. My shoulders are broad because I am a girl but

I'm a girl like I'm a home,

I'm a girl like I'm a revolution,

I'm a girl like I'm a bonfire,

I'm a girl with worlds to carry,

And a girl like me needs shoulders broad enough to hold the sun and moon in the sky



So no my shoulders aren't man shoulders my shoulders are the shoulders of the women who carried their communities on their backs even when their communities didn't always have their back,



My shoulders are the shoulders of brick throwers, world changers, cycle breakers, and god's favorite lovers.



So no my shoulders aren't too broad for a girl they are just broad enough to carry us into a softer world

'Daydreaming'

I talk to my friends and they respond in my voice,

I reach out to them and feel the cold empty air,

when I cry they wipe my tears with my hands, 

when I close my eyes, I see their faces, hear their voices, feel their touch,

when I open my eyes they remain.

Mine is really short, but I think of it a lot.

I'd give anything to be normal, but I have nothing left to give. I guess I just gotta stick with what I've got, no turning back.

November

the other day I talked to you on the phone

sobbing as you split open, parting the seas in your skin 

i hope someday you learn how to be my friend

until then i will continue to pander to the hurricane that slips from your tongue on our wednesday night reunions, your breath smelling of the alcohol and bitter like your mother’s

my sympathy has changed from steel to paper maché

crumbling under the pressure of a paper doll that pulls himself apart

you seem to be homesick for chaos

devouring stability and covering yourself in the juices of your darkened world

inviting me to share a glass

it drips down my throat, hot and full of little glass shards

i brush my teeth with perfume and bike to your house

the air is gray and smells like an elementary school morning

i apologize to you for falling short

you blow away in a million sharp pieces

yesterday i shook fearing one day there will be a funeral 

your parents showing off a doll in your coffin while they lock up your body in the attic

roses burst forth from the valleys in your arms

a november snow freezes your pale trembling hands

Here's mine!

"I wish that I was a kid again

I've got this story that's on Amazon about a trans girl going through school in the 00's and there's a few I really loved!

https://a.co/d/5AwWAO8

My favorite chapters I wrote are 3, 9, 12, 15, and 19. Anytime it's a simple adventure is my jam! The fundraiser was really fun to write because of the well crafted cringe

On Letting Me Down Gently

Was the habit of a long face
Long lost habits in a long lost place
From the back of yr long limousine
City looks like cardboard forts & magazines

Say yr dear friends & fly from yr grave
Summer breaks back to fall in the end
No use trying to save every moment
Drawing lines out of chalk on the pavement

By the water
By the water
By the water

I can't be guessed to change my mind
Change my shape or close my eyes
To me it's just another side of my mind

Madmen on thеir silver steeds
Enchanted by forgotten deeds
Copеrnicus would scatter seeds, now wouldn't he?

City looks so tall
It's really nothing at all

I am a labyrinth

A labyrinth of time

Lost in a place 

Yet stuck in my mind

There's a way out 

Yet it I can't find

I am a stowaway 

trapped in my mind

My eyes gave me away

The fear struck behind

You have to be smart

To be able to see

That striking fear

That fear is of me

-a poem of self hatred-

~O,R,D

A promise of an Identity 

When I was a child, I played alone.

I didn’t quite mind playing alone, it even grew so peaceful.

I could imagine anything, dream anything, my mind broke the limits and before long I was flying!

Yet no one was there to tell me.

Who am I?

No one was there to describe me.

Did they see me?

I had a vague idea.

I could discern a shape, hard to make out.

That was my self.

Yet nothing reinforced it.

Did I exist to these people?

They told me I’d know more when I was older.

They promised me an identity when I was older.

That vague image never changed.

The person in the mirror never became a person.

It stays a husk.

A shell.

All that’s left are masks.

The lies told out of fear.

There’s no core, it never got to form.

They promised me an identity when I was older.

Yet all I have now are lies.

I could never forget

giggling and shushing each other,

our towels loosely wrapped around us

covering sand-stained swimsuits

walking on thin branches like circus performers

Singing camp songs and laughing when we would mess up

ignoring the sweat dotting on our foreheads
ignoring the pain of the burning concrete on our bare feet

shoving each other playfully

I could never forget

lost footing

a short, cut off scream

air knocked out

heart pounding

close words that sound far away

touching my knees and feeling blood

but not feeling pain

dazed and blurred thoughts

I could never forget

the pain hitting like a train

counselors words

still far away

the laughter now silent

rummaging through backpacks

waking up

the smell and taste of blood surrounding me

I could never forget

nauseating pain

electric-blue and snow-white bandages all over my legs

loud people forming around me

burning pains in my knees,

like gunshots every time I moved

the camp center

smelled like sanitizer and wood

I could never forget

sitting up with the gunshots still in my knees

teary-eyed apologies from her

assuring her it's okay

reassuring her it's okay

I could never forget

scars on my knees

raised skin adorning my legs

caution at camp

the smell of metal and sanitizer

the rush of people and drained blood 

no more laughter or circus performers

My assignment was to write a poem based off of Richard Blanco's "Looking for The Gulf Motel". This isn't even that amazing, it's just one of the first times I genuinely felt proud of my work.

This isn't my favorite work I've written, but I've noticed the trend of poems being published. So, here's the only poem I've ever semi-successfully written:

--/---/--

There’s this pit in my stomach

It’s black, and infected;

A teratoma with a mouth and a mind of its own

And it tells me things:

It tells me I need it;

I wouldn’t be here without it;

It only does what’s best for me;

Everything it does is for my own good,

But I don’t feel good.

I feel like I’m starving,

Thirsty, 

And so, so cold.

And it teases me

It forces me into a room

With cream-colored walls and even duller bedsheets

And through the window, I can see the rain drop down from the sky

Into a bucket just out of reach

A bucket I know won’t be used to quench my thirst

The rain drops:

Pit…Pat

And through the window I see a bunny

Lean and hearty

And surely scrumptious

The bunny hops:

Hop…Hop…Hop

Before it’s shot dead in the yard

I can hear the meat sizzling on a pan in the next room

I can hear laughter and the clinking of forks on plates

It sounds joyous

So loud I can almost get lost in it

And pretend that’s me

And I laugh with them to drown out my howling stomach

Through the window, I see two figures;

Two women, both petite and pale

They share an hug

As the older woman runs her hand along the other’s back

I hear the fabric moving beneath her nails:

Scritch…Scratch

The embrace looks warm.

I wonder when I last felt that warm.

The tumor hears my thoughts,

And tells me that I should be grateful for all it does for me

It breaks its back everyday trying to keep my frail body healthy

I should be satisfied

I’m perfectly whole– perhaps, even gluttonous!

And it wraps itself around me in an embrace

But it feels cold. 

And I feel so empty.

And I’m so thirsty I can’t form the words to beg for help anymore.

But it’s okay

I’m happy

I have everything I need in this room

With its cream-colored walls and snow-white sheets

I don’t need anything else, 

And I should stop whining, 

Because my happiness isn’t the only thing that matters.

At least that’s what Mother tells me, anyway.

i ask her 4 a pair of skates

she pushes me away

i ask 4 a book

she pushes me away

i wait

i wait

i wake

the day of my birth

14 years later

i wonder

if she thought

before pushing me

i wait

i wait 4 her

2 come through

my door and hug me

but it never happens

i stand up

knock on her door

she opens it

“its my birthday”

she hands me 

an orange box 

my favorite color is blue

i open it

a pen

and a sketchbook 

is what i see

“you better be grateful” 

“no i love it” 

i lied 

chat this was something my friend wrote 4 me bc i had an idea just didnt want ti write it so yeah!1!1

Sunshine

I miss you like midwinter misses daylight

Missing your warmth, beauty and light.

I sit in the cold waiting.

I sit.

I wait.

I wait for your sunlight to shine upon my skin.

But once sunshine comes it burns my back.

 Stings my eyes

 And whips my skin

I relish in it

Relish in the heat 

As I bathe

In hot daylight.

Warm, for once.

Nevermore.

my hands are beginning to look like my mother’s

our skin the same olive

small freckles on our palms

scrapes and scars on our fingers.

my knuckles are worn from my own wars

and hers from her own.

we’ve been burned by the same pizza pan

and the same men.

purples and blues shoot up our wrists

but sometimes mine are interrupted

and i think hers are too.

so if my fingers have felt flames

and my skin has been cut

has hers been too?

Before anyone says anything I have a new favorite thing I’ve written in very proud of this and I think I’ve improved my writing since my last post

I feel this requires some trigger warnings before reading so please be warned

Tw: self loathing/self demonization, implied victim blaming, implied manipulation, somewhat graphic descriptions of gore that were used as a metaphor, implied self harm, implied bullying, implied encouragement of self harm (this is loaded you’ve been warned)

Digital Bloodstain

Your lack of guidance brought me here.

Your lack of care is what’s to blame.

Don’t give me that horrified look when you’re the one to blame.

You created a monster.

Yet you blame me for becoming the very thing you raised.

Look at the computer screen you never checked.

You’ll find the blood spilled all over the monitor.

When I came to you with the strings I tore from my veins, my arteries, and my heart, only ten years old, I needed someone to mend the wounds.

You told me I had done it to myself. 

You let them fester and pus, and look at what that did.

Sure, I pulled the strings out but I never put them inside. 

You can see the blood spilled all over the computer monitor if you wish for proof.

When I covered the screen I did so because I would be blamed for anything bad that happened in that digital world. 

So I never let you see.

When I grew numb to the pain, I followed what I was taught, just so I could feel something familiar. 

I sliced my flesh open in hopes it would bring peace.

When it began to scare me I never turned to you. I turned to those connected by an invisible signal who told me it was ok. 

Keep going.

The blood on the computer monitor can tell you just as much.

When I followed their teachings and made others cry no one told me I was doing wrong.

I know you would’ve told me I was.

Yet how could I trust you.

When you let my wound turn into rot.

I’ve become a digitally created monster.

Because you never cared.

Because you didn’t want to care.

And the digital bloodstain tells that story just enough.

You kinda need some background knowledge of the Greek myth of Narcissus for this one but I really like it :p

Oh my beautiful Narcissus,

You gaze into mirrors and lakes,

Knowing nothing of love 

for beings not yourself.

But if you will gaze into my eyes,

For the rest of eternity,

Even if only to see yourself 

reflected in them,

I would be most honored,

To be your chosen reflective surface.

 Well, my oldest and probably the only one of these who wasn't for here 
 It is called Hardstep Brostep & The Hoof of Null for no reason whatsoever. 

 It isn't good but it is a favorite of mine because of the time where I wrote it, practically on notes made along a bad night of rave turns into club fishing with people I disliked. Pretty much every half an hour I would pop out the phone and start to write what I saw and what I thought until it became this, at home all I did was put the notes together and let the autocorrect decide the name, as usual.