#rebecca kokitus

[lifeinpoetry]

hi!! do you happen to have the full poem "coffin bell" by rebecca kokitus or a link to where i can purchase the chapbook its from somewhere? i've looked everywhere online and there seems to be no record of it anywhere anymore. thank you!!

Sorry, I don't. I looked at the URL I got it from (linked in the source of the excerpt's post) and the page is not loading.

--

Does anybody else have a copy of the poem or know if it's in one of Rebecca Kokitus’ chapbooks? An excerpt is here: https://lifeinpoetry.tumblr.com/post/181331366285/when-i-stand-up-too-quickly-i-feel-like-christ. Thank you!

[bostonpoetryslam]

I am always a tourist pretending I’m not / I am always a gypsy moth throwing herself / at the neon / whoring myself out to the cheapest glow / I’m saying / look at me / I’m calloused and I hardly ever smile so / I think this is my home

Rebecca Kokitus, “Sweet Rancid,” published in Reality Hands

[rhythm-andbones-blog]

“when I was twelve or thirteen

in my first sex ed class

outside of “good touch, bad touch”

I saw a diagram of the uterus

that ram’s skull painted in

blood and tongue color

and I pictured it much larger

than it really is”

By Rebecca Kokitus @russetdreamer

[lavampira]

how about something for Edelie or Kai? :3c

thank you!! 🖤

EDELIE DUINE-CADERA

a short playlist for her

enjoy the silence - anberlin

only happy when it rains - garbage

line of fire - the veronicas

now - paramore

fade into you - mazzy star

a picture aesthetic moodboard

a ‘steal her look’ outfit inspired by her

a small collection of quotes that fits her aesthetic

“if there is a hole in this heart it is a canyon. if this heart is a dark heart it is the whole night sky. listen: it runs deep and wild. listen: I am filled with stars.”

“what is a promise if not your hand in mine?” -alice walker

“tried not to think about how maybe I’m just like the stars / burnt out for all I know.” -rebecca kokitus

“it surprises me, how a gesture so small can feel so very big. how sometimes you don’t realize the nervousness or sadness you were holding deep inside until the touch of someone you love lets it all out of you, like your entire body is exhaling.” -lucy keating

“the worn tired stars say you shall die early and die dirty. the clean cold stars say you shall die late and die clean. the runaway stars say you shall never die at all, never at all.” -carl sandburg

a list of things that are her aesthetic

a lingering smell of smoke and amber perfume

the thump of armor against armor and a still-new language on the tip of the tongue that feels like coming home

flashing neon holosigns and seedy bars and cantinas

the steady whir of blaster pistols reloading

warmth of fire and being pressed close to someone special beneath blankets with an expanse of stars filling the night sky

[visionmarred-archive]

sky for the character aesthetic? :]

thank you, Shan! 💜 going to tag @consulaaris, @sirotras​, and @lotrificationer​ here for asking as well - ty guys 💜

Skysargas “Sky” Starbrac

a short playlist for her

Brand New City - Mitski

Everybody’s Fool - Evanescence

The Ballad of Mona Lisa - Panic! at the Disco

Little Lover’s So Polite - Silversun Pickups

Hazy Shade of Winter - The Bangles

a picture aesthetic moodboard

a ‘steal her look’ outfit inspired by her

a small collection of quotes that fits her aesthetic

“There are certain kinds of deaths that one should not be expected to relive, certain kinds of connections so deep that when they are broken you feel the snap of the link inside you.” -Jeff VanderMeer

“Some days I want to spit me out, the whole mess of me, but mostly I am good and quiet.” -Camille Rankine

“I am so tired. I want to be held by everyone I have loved and told that it is all forgiven, all done, all made well.” -Catherynne M. Valente

“tried not to think about how maybe I’m just like the stars / burnt out for all I know” -Rebecca Kokitus

“…I have always tried to be like a closed door, so that no one would see and get to know my frightful inner life…. I have tried to be a human being, and at the same time be a living presence within myself…. We can trample a certain feeling underfoot, but we cannot deny having it at all.” -Forugh Farrokhzad

a list of things that are her aesthetic

polite smiles and laughter in conversation that seem sincere to all but those who know you best.

standing alone near ocean waves on the beach during a clear, star-filled night.

getting to work right away if you see somebody that needs help, because it’s the right thing to do, and because you hope it’ll help you sleep better at night.

keeping your problems to yourself even when your loved ones offer to help you, simply because you don’t want to burden them.

playing the piano again for the first time in years, and finding that while you’re out of practice, you still enjoy it.

[pussymagicuniverse]

Ode to the Season

There is something so inspiring to me about the return of springtime. Living in a place where I experience all four seasons (at least for now), I can easily say that seasonal shifts are one of the biggest influences on my craft. 

Musings on the weather are often seen as the ultimate form of small talk, of conversational fluff. I’ve never hated talking about the weather. I could write (and have written) entire poetry collections about the weather. 

There is something wild and affecting to me about watching the earth go colorless and quiet, then watching spring creep back in— first the sun, then birdsong, then that one morning in April when you wake up and the whole world is suddenly vivid. 

I’ve never despised winter, despite my mother’s insisting that I eventually would as I grew older, despite the implied sadness of it— I’d always found summer to be sadder. 

Winter is a limbo. I never changed the clock in my car—mostly because I didn’t know how—and eventually got used to the comfort of checking the time and knowing I actually had one more lost hour that hadn’t gotten away from me yet. Recently, time snapped back into place again. 

The Spring Equinox is considered the astrological new year, the reset of the zodiac. It has always felt like more of a “beginning” to me than the traditional American New Year, and there is something so comforting about a clean slate almost four months into the calendar year, isn’t there? 

Now is the truest time to plant seeds within yourself and to set intentions for the year. Rewrite all your broken resolutions; the earth demands it. 

Here are some musings both new and old on the coming of springtime—I hope they inspire you to create your own ode to the season. 

•

four poems on springtime

pulp

the air looks sweetened with honey / like afterglow / stricken pink earth / rosy lightning fingers / my veins are telephone wire pulled taut / lightning rod spinal cord / coiled telephone cord wrapped coyly around a finger / while the sky whispers pillowtalk words to the dirt / another missed connection / feverish earth gagged with vine / rotten plum earth teeming with worms / earth turned pregnant pulp / loves in breezes and poison oak caress / sunblown kiss, breath that scatters dandelions / seed by seed / I pray on tufts of milkweed / I wish on things that don’t know where they’ve been

•

poltergeist

branch arms opened for me, she stands at the edge of the woods, split down the center, leafless canopy over a circle best reserved for black magic yet littered with beer cans.  whitetails pause to regard me before disappearing, and I nestle into her damp, mossy arms. tangled faery world forest turned sepia, winter’s gentle way of decay.

is there a place to stand that will turn me back to star matter? I guess I’ll settle for ash.

there’s this way we learn to love a shock of moss among dead leaves. I smell springtime like a poltergeist among these trees and I’ll chase her until dark.

•

ode to spring and summer

brink of mating season, March’s warm gaze and cold hands— spring is a tease, these nights will grow teeth

April’s sigh, warm as human breath the sun hangs like a lightbulb on a wire saline mornings, the earth still covered in nightmare sweat— baby green underbrush laced like fingers cherry blossom petals on windshields, May’s pink and white insides splattered like roadkill sapphic bumblebees buzzing like power lines, ivy holding a tree like a lover —parasitic

the sunlight trickles, fickle, dancing on the dirt as if underwater— trick of the light, trick of the wind, June trips over its own feet running from me

the woods grow dark and matted, poison ivy tangled with phlox July burns like a paper in my hand, but slower the fireflies are lighthouse beams in miniature—they speak in their tired morse code about the way the sky becomes a mirror at night

August sun works its way into your blood like whiskey— my body feels like overripe fruit it’s wearying, like love god whispers to us in windsong, it’s a language we can’t understand but can feel— the storms are an apology

•

the tired place

cage dancer mannequin in someone’s front yard

this town is the cage womb I first existed in

snow nursed grass, downy yellow turns green when I’m not looking

the pastel of april fades fast the children grow up feral

and die by twenty-five I feel rotten, feel river silt plush

the mildew honeysuckle smell follows me I’m calloused and wild as the land

…

*these poems previously appeared in SOFT CARTEL, Quail Bell Magazine, Riggwelter Press, and Bone & Ink Press, respectively.

…

For more poems on seasonal shift and the ways the earth impacts the spirit, check out my debut chapbook, Seasonal Affected, available here.

Rebecca Kokitus is a writer and poet currently residing outside Philadelphia. She primarily writes about her connection with nature, her experiences with mental illness, and also on subjects such as trauma, love, sex, spirituality and femininity. Born and raised in rural Pennsylvania, she has always felt spiritually connected to the Appalachian woodlands, which sparked her interest in magick. She is a crystal collector, tea witch, moon worshipper and flower child who can probably be found picking up every acorn and leaf she finds. In her free time she enjoys reading and writing poetry, spending time in nature, going to concerts, and exploring abandoned places. 

You can find her on Twitter and Instagram at @rxbxcca_anna, and you can read more of her writing on her website. 

[deracinemagazine]

Volume III | Winter 2018—Now Live

Volume III is now live! Click here to read the latest issue.

A huge thank you to all of our contributors and readers. You have made the magazine’s one-year anniversary truly special. We hope you enjoy Volume III!

Contributors: Anne Casey, Tiana Coven, Elizabeth York Dickinson, Kristin Garth, Tara Lynn Hawk, Elisabeth Horan, Patricia Hughes, Seth Jani, Kayla King, Rebecca Kokitus, Tucker Lieberman, DS Maolalai, Sara Matson, Noelle Schmidt, Yi Wu, Meagan Arthur, James Ezra, Olivia Fitzsimons, Emily Murman, Charlotte Newman, Rachel Newsome, Logan Noble, Val Rigodon, M. Stone, Robin White, Chris Beckitt, Lily Bell, Phantasmagothica, Fabrice Poussin, C.R. Smith, Christopher Woods, and Jim Zola.

[leucrocotta]

“tried not to think about how maybe I’m just like the stars / burnt out for all I know”

— Rebecca Kokitus, from “in the past few days,” published in Rose Quartz

[lifeinpoetry]

sleepy small town across the river parenthesized with chapels, the women there say they haven't seen me at church in a while but that I've gotten so beautiful. I want to say it's because I'm my own god now.

— Rebecca Kokitus, from “as february,” published in Moonchild Magazine

[lifeinpoetry]

when I stand up too quickly I / feel like christ on the third day

Rebecca Kokitus, from “coffin bell,” published in CLASH

[lifeinpoetry]

I am the world’s most secret trauma / I am a burial ground of rawness and heat

— Rebecca Kokitus, from “Chlorine Dream,” published in Rogue Agent

[lifeinpoetry]

I think I’m looking for something

that will sand off my skin

like a cicada, or something

I think I’m looking to

reincarnate my body

— Rebecca Kokitus, from “LUSH,” published in The Sonnetarium

[lifeinpoetry]

                        have you ever been

congratulated on your own suicide?

                        —I have

— Rebecca Kokitus, from “withering,” published in Awkward Mermaid

[lifeinpoetry]

tried not to think about how maybe I’m just like the stars / burnt out for all I know

Rebecca Kokitus, from “in the past few days,” published in Rose Quartz

[alyssawaking]

I picture the single pound of water weight I’ve gained today melting off in the shower as I nudge the faucet westward— some horizon’s underwater sun, I summon. To go heavenward, you must be light enough to float.

rebecca kokitus, “bile”

https://rustandmoth.com/work/bile/