kaywrites33

[kaywrites33]

and nothing's gonna happen

cast in pink, pink,pink

spare the dramatics

just a touch,just to take the edge off

pulling the curtain on the ordinary

your big prize and sorry we missed you

behind the wall,oh sorry we missed you

ha ha ha

it's the magic type, it's the ordinary

last trick takes the edge off

last track goodnight

[kaywrites33]

would you like a nice glass of

[kaywrites33]

My therapist told me today she's proud of me because no matter how hard

No matter how fair

I always get back up after I

F

A

L

L

I get back up

I desperately want to stay

Stay kick

Curled up on the floor

But I'm too stubborn for my own good

So I

Get

Back

Up

I climb

Crawl

Sob

And claw

My way back up to my feet

[kaywrites33]

I have never pictured myself as a mother, as a parent.

I never wanted children never saw myself as a nurturing figure. 

And yet

I’m an enigma of one

Two that were lost to an unfertile body

I don’t know what you’d be like, whether you’d be like me

Growing up with noses stuck in books, laughing on a volleyball court,

 playing with Hot Wheels more than dolls 

Or, like your father

An instrument in your hands, a video game controller when you’re not playing music to my ears, a football game every Friday night 

I don’t know what I would have been like as a mother, or how well I would have done compared to my own mother.

But I do think I would have liked to meet you two, my angel children.

Happy Mother's Day to those who didn't get the chance,

Happy Sunday to those with mothers like mine

Happy Mother's Day to those with their rainbow babies safe in their arms.

[kaywrites33]

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

[kaywrites33]

Devin Kelly, All that wanting, right?

[kaywrites33]

got a gun and you're too scared to use it

got a heart but you're afraid to prove it

a real mess you've made

get yourself out and ease this pain

find a way to fix this mess

a way to ease this constant stress

as long as you try your best

if you can find what you have left

it'll see you through

it'll see you through

i will see you there

i will see you there

where the sun hits your eyes

warms you from the inside

i will see you there

always there

[kaywrites33]

It’s so weird whenever i see a writer or poet say they don’t read other people’s work because they don’t want their style to be influenced like huh art is a buffet and eating a lot of different foods is only going to make your own cooking better and more interesting baby stop falling for the trap of ‘originality’ you’ll end up just bland and repetitive and boring

[kaywrites33]

it cuts my head in half

cuts in and snuffs out

a few cards short of

a rusted steel elevator

cuts the lights in half

but nobody is home

chattering around the frame

and nobody is home

where one door closes

another one opens

flitting around in frame

with cut and frozen headlights

where one door closes

a trap door opens

and i always fall for it

i always fall for it

[kaywrites33]

glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling

sticking your head very far out the window

finding the right veins in the right places

placing faith in a strange future

strangers holding you closer than friends

closer still to the yellow line

still frantic and perfectly contained

perfectly frantic and still repeating

this is a good life this is a good life

this is the good stuff for good people

and you hear the dogs howling

(if only you could hear the dogs howling)

as you hear the dogs howling

(if only you could hear the dogs howling)

as you drown these useless strays

(if only you could hear yourself)

as you finally slip away

(if only you could see yourself)

[kaywrites33]

a hill by Frank O'Hara

[kaywrites33]

[kaywrites33]

Please elaborate in the tags if you want to. I'm really curious about what the relationship with their own "bad" art is like for other people.

[kaywrites33]

slipping through chambers

wandering aimlessly

wandering stars

sunlit clouds in moonless nights

lights in travellers clothes

precipitated ploys

touchless tasteless twist twist twist

clean condensed and diffused

smoke in every hallway

and fog pours from the floor

ceaseless and sourceless

wet and electric

wandering alleys

slipping through walls

pronouncing holes

sharpening corners

hollow rooms for harrowed places

(empty rooms for you)

and you hear about days passing

and you hear a lot about nothing

doors that lead to themselves

the house is a revolver

and the floor shifts in place

and the laugh track starts to play

and you can't go home

not even close

[kaywrites33]

Emotional unavailability doesn't respond to your emotional needs or cues. 

I feel these things still. 

Despite the scars running through my heart, making every beat hurt, I still feel.

An emotionally unavailable person has persistent difficulty expressing or handling emotions and getting emotionally close to others.

I feel.

I see.

What causes a person to be emotionally unavailable?

I see people who hurt me try once again to get close

I see people who only have the potential to hurt me try to get close.

I hold them at arm's distance, hoping it keeps them from hurting me. 

Emotional unavailability may also develop due to experience in past relationships.

I hold my scar-ridden heart close to my lungs, and I breathe in these walls I have built with the hurt people, people I had thought were mine inflicted on me.

Often, those who have experienced infidelity or gaslighting are fearful or hypervigilant in future relationships, causing them to protect their emotions so they don't get hurt again.

But.

Do emotionally unavailable fall in love?

My scarred heart, my scared heart still beats for you.

Yes. 

[kaywrites33]

Emotional unavailability doesn't respond to your emotional needs or cues. 

I feel these things still. 

Despite the scars running through my heart, making every beat hurt, I still feel.

An emotionally unavailable person has persistent difficulty expressing or handling emotions and getting emotionally close to others.

I feel.

I see.

What causes a person to be emotionally unavailable?

I see people who hurt me try once again to get close

I see people who only have the potential to hurt me try to get close.

I hold them at arm's distance, hoping it keeps them from hurting me. 

Emotional unavailability may also develop due to experience in past relationships.

I hold my scar-ridden heart close to my lungs, and I breathe in these walls I have built with the hurt people, people I had thought were mine inflicted on me.

Often, those who have experienced infidelity or gaslighting are fearful or hypervigilant in future relationships, causing them to protect their emotions so they don't get hurt again.

But.

Do emotionally unavailable fall in love?

My scarred heart, my scared heart still beats for you.

Yes. 

[kaywrites33]

It’s getting bad again. 

It feels like I've fallen from where I was

A dark hole with a light at the end of the tunnel 

I never seem to reach that light, but it feels farther than it has

A dark, lonely hole

I know I have my people, but they seem just as far as that light

This place isn’t new to me. 

In fact, it’s probably more comfortable curled up down here than it is when I try to climb

Than, when I try to heal

Than, when I try to claw my way out of my own walls built of hurt

I hate myself a little that this dark hole of spirling thoughts is more comfortable than climbing.

But soon, I’ll pick myself up off of the dirt, the floor of this hole, and try again to climb up to the light.

To try to climb up off the dirt moistened with my tears up towards my friends', my people’s voices

To try again to heal the hurt that permeates my flesh, reaching toward a light I feel I’ve never reached.