An Inevitability, An Unceasing Fear
The sudden heart-wrenching pang in your gut when you realize someone you love is gone.
As Night Goes By
Letting you down - the
one thing that scares me more than
being you again.
- a haiku to my past self
Counting the Days
1460 days ago - I didn't think I'd be sitting here now.
730 days ago - I defied that notion.
800 days in the future - I fear will undo me.
But history's proved me wrong
& I'm counting on it to do so again.
I won't let these days pass me by: for who I was & who I hope to be.
Questions at 11
Are life's inconsistencies what makes death so desirable;
Or death's consistency what makes life so rewarding?
This is my username on Wattpad, the first 'social media'-type app I ever signed up to. I chose the name years ago: since I love to read and write, I am female, and my first name starts with a 'K'. Recently activating a Prose account, I made this my username in hopes of channeling that youthful, unabashed activity that filled my first year of fervent Wattpad use, where I wrote, liked, and commented on whatever I liked without a hesitation--something I lost in other social media apps like Instagram. Here's hoping this platform ignites that creative fuel :)
with every pleading
word said, every piteous
stammer you echo
again and again
all you do is make me take
my trusted hammer
circular saw, and chisel
right back in my calloused hands
and force me to start
task of rebuilding a wall
you should’ve never
had the right to break.
this time, i refuse to be
you’ve never been. and
after such vile words exchanged--
there's no making amends.
A Few Best Friends
The first, a quiet cup of mocha. Unexpressive at a glance, however, take a sip and the sweet chocolate envelopes your tongue, always followed by a wave of bitterness. Yet by the time you’ve finished the glass, that sugary aftertaste is all that’s left. Absent: even the mere memory of that bitter taste. Leaving you waiting for more.
The next, an addition. Like simple math, 1 + 2 means 3 times the fun. Three times the energy. Three times the confusing cluster of emotions once it’s over. Perhaps it was always meant to be a duo, three minus you.
Part three was like honey. Sugary and oh so exciting, for one was only supposed to take a single spoonful for a cough. Not two. Not five. By the end, you’ll be sorry you drank the whole jar. It turned out the honey was never for you, particularly. In truth, it was merely one of many little jars, all neatly packaged and tied with a bow. All bits meant to be given away. That honeycomb you’d been promised was never truly there, no matter how much the syrupy flavor on your tongue begs to tell you otherwise. That little jar just savored being perceived as far more than it was.
The most important of all is like a dagger, dangling over your head by a thread. You must work with it, for if the string is cut, you will perish as well. You and the dagger are soul-bound, fused together in life and in death. There are frays in that piece of string, parts of it that once nearly wore out. But it is stronger than it looks. Throughout your life, you will have two choices: to let the thread go thin and snap, allowing the dagger to take you with it once it plunges down--or to work with it. To strengthen the thread into a sturdy rope and wield that dagger as a weapon against any you need protection against. This last friendship is eternal. And between you and you only.
When Worry Catches Hold
Stop. Look. And listen. Three things they tell young children to do before crossing the street. Three things I should’ve tried before it got to this--three practices I must undertake now.
The air in my lungs is still. And yet, I force myself to stop walking. I do nothing but recollect. I urge the oxygen free from its frozen hold, save a moment for my lungs to be allowed to remain ridged, then convince my airways to expand once more.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
One--again, not two. For now, one is more than enough, one is all I ask of my body. Over and over again.
As oxygen helps me regain muscle control, I take the time to look around me. I relish in the cool breeze across my bare arms. I note the delicate grace of bronzed autumnal leaves as they float down, spiraling and spiraling. Finally, settling.
After what feels like an eternity, I am able to feel the weight of my feet on the ground.
I make the conscious decision to listen. To hear the noises of cheering crowds as yet another person sprints past the finish line, to hear a faint exhale of breath through my parted lips.
Another moment passes and I hear a friend calling my name. I feel my body move towards the noise. And I am myself once more. Breath flows in. Breath flows out. That is what I need to regain control.
In A Room of Two
the echoes, growing scent,
stillness and held breath
“did you fart?”
If you aren’t okay
Someday soon, you'll wake up and realize you're one step closer than you were yesterday.