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She who converses with monsters.
Kayla.22.Poet

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
tearinmyside asked:
Your poems are lovely. They tear at my insides and remind me to feel.

Torture was my plan…;)

I am the daughter of a sailor,
there is pure sea water
rushing through my veins
& my vocabulary can be
just as colorful.

But,
how do I begin to tell you
we all have jungles growing
& growling
in our chests?-

Wild, fierce,
untouchable
by human hands?

Sometimes,
I like to pretend
it’s Draco residing
in this chest of mine-

his smoke
clogging my lungs,
choking &
suffocating me.

I have forgotten
how to write
poetry-

or anything with a shred
of feeling.

I have no space left within myself
for celestial, fire breathing dragons-

because I realize now
when I look in the mirror,
I do not see my father.

Anonymous asked:
I love you and your words please don't worry about things because you are a column and nothing can keep you from standing tall <3

When I first saw this brought me to tears.  I’ve left it in my inbox for a few weeks just so I could come back and remind myself of this.  Thanks so much.

If I said I wanted the cold blue,
I wouldn’t be lying-

I have never longed to
lay with the dead,
but I can’t get the taste
of graveyard dirt
out of my mouth, no matter
how hard I scrub.

I am choking
on my own sadness
these days,
devouring it slowly
until it clogs my throat
and I can no longer
speak.

I have never missed someone
this much.

I don’t think I ever will
again.

That alone reminds me
that the stars he always said
were inside of me,

still breathe
within the confines
of my
anatomy.

And I’m not okay
with this-
I need to set them
free.

I’m so stressed out.

Not knowing where I’m going to be living these next few weeks/months has me in panic mode.

I just want to run away, but that even has me scared to death.

I have no more space
left within myself.
It’s all filled up
like shoving
all your favorite books
on one shelf.

Except,
there is nothing
favorable
inside of me.

I just found a letter from my daddy addressed to me in the back of a book and omg I can’t stop crying.

Or is death just too too sad for any of us to talk about?

If I wrote a book of poetry all about sadness, and cancer, and…starstuff, would you even read it?

I had a dream about my dad last night.

We had a full conversation
before I reminded him he was dead.

what can you say when your own writing almost brings you to tears.

I am going to curl up with passion.
I am going to read my cards again.
Gods, he will answer too.

Anonymous asked:
Dear Ms dear poetry I am so sorry for you loss I can't lie and say I know how you feel Or say it could be worse cause it can't. I'm one of your newer followers and I have looked through blog and I find you to be a big inspiration, remember when you can't speak the words write them. I hope you'll feel better soon keep writing. - fellow poet writer

Honestly, be grateful you can not relate.  And all I can say, is make sure to show/tell your parents you love them as many times as you can, because there will come a time when none of us will be able to do that again.

I hope I feel better too. Thank you for this, your words are much appreciated, Anon. :)

For a writer, I’m not very good with words.

My daddy passed away a few hours ago, at 11:52pm after fighting a long nine months with cancer. Even through these last few months it’s hard to wrap my head around it all. Because as children we sort of grow up believing our parents are immortal. Everything has just happened so fast. Too fast. But I’m grateful that I can say that I was with him until the very end, holding his hand. My heart is broken; however I know he’s in a better place and no longer suffering.

He was my biggest supporter, and that ‘dad’ kind of annoying. I miss him terribly. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I’ve never lived alone before. But I also know he would never want me to stop writing, or creating.

Two words: fuck cancer.