#kit's kittens: poetry & rambles

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an unfortunate disaster

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latter first, former later. thank you. L keeping his thing with light going – keeping everything purely "hypothetical" no matter how many evil laughs or aloud conversations or fucking weird shit light does – is purely because L knows if he arrests light for being kira, he won't have his fun little game anymore. he won't have someone who thinks like he does and someone who gives him a challenge. despite light being kira, L is still interested in both. thank you. in this essay i will

I feel like lawlight shippers are split into two core groups. people who think L is into Light despite him being Kira, and those who think L's into Light because he is Kira. and the latter will always be a far sexier take

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god.

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waiting for something to happen?

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only people who are without a doubt the jeremy heere's of their lives can know jeremy heere as well as i do. i am him. he is me. we is we. i stare in my mirror wanting to be something greater than i am no matter what it takes, seeing my name in lights is something i dream for and cringe at, and yet i can still never reach the stars with my own bare hands so why not climb a bastardized version of the tower of babylon? i'm a religion from hell, a blasphemous non-worshipper. i fear the day people wake up and realize they haven't been living in harmony with a fellow brother but they've been devoured from the inside and out instead

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i love having a little brother but lord, why can't you be kind?

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i watch my train run along the track and wish that i, too, was free; but is the train really free if it has one predestinated destination? it has one stop, a one-way trip only able to be reversed (albeit, back to the same start and same finish) by somebody else's hand? even when you allow it more time, more freedom, by taking the tracks away, it only stops. it doesn't continue and it doesn't reverse. maybe i am similar and maybe i am the same.

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7/14/24: goodwill chronicles: dude came in with a plastic bag full of old packs of cigarettes – thinking at least five or six – and bought a pair of cargo shorts. cool, no prob. first thing he does is say "are these a 30 or 31?" i, confused and half-deaf, ask for clarification. "are these size 30 or 31?" i check the inside of the waistband. there, in bold numbers, 30. i reiterate this to him. he nods almost sadly??? he buys the shorts and i confirm the purchase.

i get ready to take extra hangers to the back before backtracking when i see him stop in front of the store wheelchair. thinking hes just going to look in the display cases, i hover with the shirts in my hand. i turn to go back to the back when he doesnt do anything.

then, horror.

a zipper sounds.

i speedwalk to my manager in the back of the store, directly down the aisle from The Man. she tilts her head at me as i arrive and i go "um. i dont know what to do about this." confused, she asks for clarification before turning in my direction.

chat, when i tell you we were like this 🧺🧍🏻‍♂️🧍🏻‍♀️

we just stare at this man as he STRIPS. IN GOODWILL. RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF THE DOORS. and then she just quietly goes "i'm, uh. gonna head back there. one sec." i distantly say "okay?"

the man leaves. i stare for a few more minutes. i head back into the back and take my fifteen. my manager laughs at me.

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moved houses recently. sad girls make sad poetry

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and he says "hey," like nothing's going on. "i love you," like he's capable of it and "i hope you're well," like his clothes aren't too big for his skin and his shoes aren't too small for his body puddling into the soles.

maybe the real "getting better" is the light leaving his eyes where there was only coldness, maybe the real "improvement" is going from a fatalist to a nihilist and circling back to bone-deep tiredness you can't put a name to.

you have an appointment coming up. can't you wait that long?

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ten reason to stay alive, minus five.

(this became mechanical after typing "reason one". if i died today, what would you say to me?)

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ain't your you-dentity at stake?

does aspirin kill you with the pain?

you're not your thoughts,

you're not your brain,

you're just the character you've made.

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sometimes i drop bangers

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someone give me writing requests!!!!! aaaa!!!!

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it feels like god only reaches it's gnarled hands out for me in the stifling heat of the night or the baptism of early morning. why must i suffer to earn righteousness?