I have two friends in this place,

and although the scowl on my face

says otherwise, I love them with all my heart.

I'm an angry, bitter man these days,

and while I think of ways

to show affection,

the best thing to do is to tell them

I love you, girls.

Each time I say it, I'm scared shitless

that it'll be the last time

I look upon their kind faces.

Each time I say it, I don't know

if I'll wake up tomorrow to tell them

or keep myself from making a rash decision

that might end my journey sooner than expected.

It is with this same fear that I bid you kind people, my friends, goodbye for now. I don't think sharing my writing with you all is what's best for me in the current moment. I love each and every one of you. Your kind words have helped me through some rough times and I couldn't ask for more from strangers over the internet.

For those that might find my writing in the future, whether I'm still on here typing away or long dead, I hope that you find something of value in my writing. If not, that's okay too. The words of an angsty college kid might not mean much to some of you.

Finally, for you whose mind might stray one day and think back to me, I hope you find what you're looking for. Know that wherever I am, alive and well or stepping through the gates of hell, I will always love you.

Goodbye for now, my friends. I'll see you all on the other side of time.

- Kevvo

It's been a while since I've written to you...

This place has changed since the

last time we actually had a conversation.

This space has bent and distorted,

twisting me into a man that I'm not

all that proud to be.

I still think about you everyday though.

Do you remember the boat people and train people analogy

that our professor mentioned in class?

Do you remember how ready you were to label

yourself as a boat person, drifting wherever the tide takes you?

Do you remember how conflicted I was,

coming to the conclusion that I was neither a

relaxed boat person or an overly strict train person?

Detatched from reality.

You see, I've been thinking back

to things you used to say;

things along the lines of:

We'll just see what happens, Kev.

You see, there are three tenses of life

that can only be described as

the past, present, and future.

You see, some people, like yourself,

tend to gravitate towards living in the present,

sometimes coming off as ignorant to the past or future.

I'm just saying that's how it can seem.

Feel free to prove me wrong.

I've thought long and hard about how I think.

Most of the time, I'd like to think that I'm

rooted in the tenses of time, balancing out

past, present, and future; however I'm sure

that I have a tendency to dwell on the past.

What stands out to me, though, is that

there are times when I'm outside of the tenses.

There are times when I can feel the tenses of time,

of reality, slip away from me

in much the same way water flows.

There are times when the space in front of me stretches,

detaching the soul from the body.

This separation of soul and body scares the shit out of me.

The soul, our being, is the signified,

and the outward shell of our bodies are the signifiers.

I don't know where I was going with all that,

but I wanted to tell you.

We haven't talked in a while.

I've been trying to forget about you,

but honestly your presence just throws me off.

I'm sorry if I'm ever cold or distant to you.

I'll always be here for you.

If for some reason you made it this far into my words,

I love you, and I haven't forgotten about you.

I Hope You're Happy by Blue October

#poetry #prose #?

There's this image in my head

of a smoker looking out at

whatever surroundings are on the horizon,

but there's that look in his eye, a sentiment

that I understand wholeheartedly...

She's not coming back.

The alternative song singing right now,

'Things Happen' by Dawes

just seems a little too real somewhow.

I don't really know where I'm going

with this, that is...

these words on virtual paper.

Is this what peace feels like?

The momentary relief in a

raging storm of testosterone fueled emotions.

I'm sure none of this makes sense to you,

the average reader,

and I'm doubly sure this makes no sense to you,

the lady who opened this door for me.

There are so many things I want to tell you.

So many ideas about this place we call space

and this planet that we inhabit,

so many dumb ideas and so many real feelings

and bad ideas that are going to hurt me.

You're gone now, so I mostly bottle it up

and age it like fine wine.

Maybe one day we'll open it together.

Hope is a strange thing.

You're gone.

I need to move on.

Like that smoker, I can't.

I'm stuck day after day,

smoke break after smoke break,

looking out at the horizon

waiting for you to come back.

I'll be okay.

Things Happen.

#poetry

Do me a favor and make sure he's good to you.

Make sure he's everything I wasn't, but in a good way,

ya know? Try not to break his heart either.

No one deserves that. And hey, if the universe

says it's your turn to share the heartbreak,

then hey, it is what it is.

Do me a favor and at least have the courtesy

to give him that date that I never got,

the one where you get dolled up

and I wear my fancy shoes,

you drive and I pay,

and we hit the town without a care

for where the road takes us.

Go give him that date.

You're you and I'm me.

I'm just not a part of you anymore, and I've accepted that.

Your choices are yours and yours alone.

Just do me a favor and go be happy.

I still love you, and I always will.

I'm proud of you.

Love,

Kev

#poetry

I don’t know how you people do it. How you manage to crawl to the finish line of each and every day. I’ve taken my fair share of punches and beatings and heartbreak. I’ve had people leave my life, both on a stretcher with their face covered and another with a “it’s not you, it’s me” routine. The thing is, I know it gets worse. My knees aren’t going to stop begging for mercy anytime soon, and my lower back is going to keep deteriorating until I can’t even lift my kid sisters.

The thing is, one of the heaviest things to lift isn’t the four-fifty on the floor or the three-fifty on my shoulders. The heaviest thing to lift is my spirit out of this muck or this quicksand that I’m in. It’s the weight of what most of you life that’s the heaviest. From a certain perspective, it means nothing. The relationships that we build, the friends we make, the goals we accomplish, the very love that connects the entire human race and every living being on this planet does not matter to the howling winds of Neptune or to the Eye of Jupiter. These things don’t matter to the massive black holes at the centers of galaxies, nor to dear Voyager I, destined to never see this green planet again.

This suffering, love, beauty, and pain that come together to form the human experience are ultimately insignificant to those dense fuckers sitting out there, filled with nothing but mass yet appearing to be nothing to our tiny eyes. If this is all this place has to offer, then I’m not sure where I stand. I could get a degree, a nice job, a comfy house with a comfy wife and a couple of kids… of course nothing goes exactly to plan, but if that’s all there is… I don’t know. I could explore every crevice of this place and see what else there is to offer, but both scenarios leave us old and still insignificant to the vacuum of space. There are even greater pains out there to be experience, greater loves and greater friends to be made… all for what? Maybe I look up at the stars too much.

I understand the beauty of this place. I understand the horror of this place. The dichotomies of this thing called life. I just don’t understand it. If it means nothing in the grand scheme of things, why do I care so much? Why am I left bitter and untrusting when you left if none of this matters? Why does this human mind care so goddamn much about those who are long gone? There are questions that will never have answers and that kills me. I’d tell you all this, but you don’t care enough to listen anymore. You were the one person who understood what I was trying to say. I miss you. Fuck.

#prose

You ever feel like the color grey?

It’s kinda like having the life sucked out of you,

all the time, without an end in sight.

It’s like living in that old black and white TV

that Tia Ada had when I was young.

As we held each other the other night,

filled with nothing but passion

and a youthful cluelessness,

I couldn’t help but realize just how badly

you really fucked me up.

I realized I was unfulfilled.

Empty.

She’s a good person without a doubt,

but my heart was longing for something

or someone… that either doesn’t exist or

might still be hiding somewhere.

My heart longs for...

You.

The lady who doesn’t exist anymore.

The thing is, I know I should move on.

What scares me is that I’m actively trying

with all my might to forget about you.

When you left you took the color from my life.

There’s just the sickly grey on

her scalp after she shaved her head

because the chemo was taking her hair.

There’s just the grey in my hometown air,

where there used to be so much god damn

color.

I guess the tan in my skin stayed,

and so did the blood in my veins,

the red and purple on my back are gone,

but the memory stayed.

This place lacks color.

Yet even if these walls were covered with paint

as vibrant and as beautiful as you,

there’d still be something missing.

I’m trying. I know you don’t care anymore,

but I miss you.

#poetry

I’m doing something I haven’t done in quite some time right now. I’m watching the sunrise as a result of a horrible night. I’m pretty sure these girls brought home a stomach bug from school and I’ve been puking and shitting my brains out all night. Regardless of how much weight I’ve lost in this eight hour period, I’m here watching the sunrise.

There’s something about the way the sky blends color better than any halfway decent color I’ve made in studio art. I remember when I was losing weight in high school, and how during that one summer I’d get up before the sun did and watch it rise while listening to Arcade Fire and The Walters. Things were a lot simpler then. I didn’t know you yet.

There’s a single resilient star poking through the trees right now that makes me think of you. The light that we see here on Earth out shines the light of most stars in the sky, but not this one; it’s still going strong. I like to think that it’s my love for you. It hasn’t faded regardless of this new light. With time, our eyes won’t be able to perceive it until sunset.

I’m sure you know about my attempt to move on. I just want someone who cares; someone stable who won’t get cold feet; someone I’d be proud to stand next to. She’s a good person, and she’s not you. Yet you still haunt me, day and night. The memory of you has left me scarred. As the day outside grows brighter and brighter with time, I can’t help but think of you. I still miss you so god damn much, Kayla. Hell, you might’ve even stopped reading these after all this time, but I can say that I haven’t stopped writing these or thinking about you.

I know I’m not the perfect man. You told me that I shouldn’t have blamed myself after what happened, but I went ahead and took responsibility anyways. I can say now that I’ve paid the price for any wrong I’ve done you. I should’ve been better. I’ve gotten the help that I clearly needed though. I’ve been “clean” for a few weeks now.

I guess there’s no clear purpose as to why I’m writing this. I saw a star that made me think of you after I’ve been shitting my guts out all night. Romantic, I know. Maybe our paths will overlap again one day. Maybe I’ll finally get that date. I’m not gonna get my hopes up though, but it would be nice, no? I’ll see you on the other side of time, Sunshine.

- Kevvo

#prose

I see no reason to cease my writing

to you, that is at least to the idea of

you, the you that I once knew;

I’m writing to what remains.

I’m sorry for letting you see

the mess that I really am.

What remains of the bloody and bruised

work of art on my back has

faded away with time.

I used to worry that my brother

or Mom would see what I’d done to myself,

the shame I’d brought to their name.

The bruises and welts have left my world,

in much the same way you have,

leaving behind a canvas with only

the memory of what occurred.

I barely hear the screams of my knees

and the groans of my lower back these days;

they’re insignificant compared to

what I’ve done to myself.

I guess I’m doing better.

I’m not exactly alone anymore, but

there’s nothing wrong with being alone.

I can do with the absence of those around me,

but it’s the absence of you...

it’s the absence of that woman

I once knew and fell in love with

that kills me on the inside

more and more each and every day.

You tore away at the trust and love that

I was capable of giving. I will never be

the same man you said you loved

in much the same way

you will never be

the same the woman I said I loved.

I’ve got to work with what remains of me,

and hopefully contribute something to this world

before there isn’t any of me left.

You still da best.

#poetry

I realized today that I was still in love,

but not with you, but rather

with what used to be you.

I’m in love with a girl

that used to occupy your space…

I’m in love with a memory.

Each poem or prose that I write

usually ends with me begging you

to not be a stranger.

This time I’m writing

to whom this may concern.

Shit happens, I guess.

Like the beast once sang,

the memory of you

resides in my heart,

tormenting me for evermore.

I’m glad you’re out there finding yourself,

growing and learning like you should.

What you did was a selfish necessity.

I’m doing the same these days.

You’ve changed and we’ve all noticed.

I’m proud of you, Sunshine.

If you end up trying to find someone,

make sure they’re someone of worth,

someone who’s going places,

someone who treats you with respect

and most importantly,

someone who Chloe approves of.

A resident at the nursing home

taught me to not believe in goodbyes,

but I’m not entirely sure she crunched the numbers,

so I’ll just leave you with this:

I’ll see you on the other side of time, Sunshine.

Love,

Kevvo

#poetry

A new sun rises over the quiet horizon

bearing only light this time. There is no room

on each wavelength to carry love.

Her hair’s falling out,

each strand waiting in line for

Earth’s gravity to take hold of them.

Her face isn’t what it used to look like,

the youth sucked out of her skin

at the ripe age of a little over thirty.

She never married, but at least she has

someone who loves her; a humble Jamaican man

bringing her aloe drinks and coconut candy

to make her existence somewhat bearable.

Mi hermano is having trouble finding a job

in a world where experience from

naive college grads is somehow

justified, as if

God had given his stamp of approval

on all of this.

He’s doing the work around the house

that I used to do; he’s depressed.

I’m almost home, bud. Hang in there.

The girls are starting to understand

her condition… what cancer is.

The little one cries that she’s lonely.

The older one is going to have

her heart broken before the age of nine.

I don’t know how Abuelita is taking it all,

but she’s a strong woman. Despite all this,

she’s coming to the conclusion

that her time with us

might be over no sooner than the next

sunset of my life.

I cannot fail these good people.

I owe them everything.

It’s going to be a long day.

#poetry