Mouth of Babes

A little girl with tight braids and a messy smattering of bangs across her forehead comes running up to him with a look of sincere contemplation on her face.
She looks at me then back at him and smiles widely, definite mischief tugging at the corner of those little lips.
She then squeaks excitedly, "Is she your girlfriend?" and giggles like a lunatic--or rather a little kid drunk off of too much soda.
Without a moments hesitation and without a glance at me, he replies simply, "Yes she is."
My eyes flicker to him quickly and away from the curious accuser. Did those words truly come out of his mouth? I wonder. My heart raced as he said it and I'm probably captured with a look of awestruck on my face. It was so strange to hear those words out loud, alive in reality.
The braided beauty looks at him deeper and squeaks even louder, "Is she REALLY?"
He laughs for a moment and smiles. "No, not really."
My heart sighs and lifts all at once.
Little does he know how much I want those words to be true, the former I mean. How I want to see that look of mischief on his face one more time before I tell him I love him too.
What a precipice I know we're on and someday soon, if we're not careful, one of us will fall and hopefully if I'm lucky enough--though luck really as nothing to do with it--I'll fall into him or he into I and all will be there.
The stark truth and all.
"I love you too." I'll say. And he'll say it too.

// written for a night of fire and food and happy people ; for good company and an itch to inch closer to someone who makes my heart race just by looking at me and my heart melt just by living and laughing and existing. Ha. For foolish dreams and a silly proclivity for falling in love with you. Truly.
7|27|2016
Vic, Bridger, and I surrounded by a bonfire and a wonderful family.
Thank you always dear friends.

"You're gonna be okay kid. You're gonna be okay."

There's so much blockage of emotions right now my heart can't seem to take it.
There's a grey wall and I'm trying to jump it.
Try and try and still it's hurts like hell every time when I can't make it. I can't make the jump.
Cry and cry and suddenly I'm all alone again wishing so fiercely I wasn't. The wall simply gets bigger.
Look.
I want stars where there are bruises and kisses where I breathe.
I feel myself letting go of everything and the only thing left I see is me reaching for you.
Reaching.
Never touching.
Always arriving at an almost.
Ugh.
Sheesh.
Wow.
I surprise myself because I just want to kiss you and brush my fingers across your cheek like I would if I were brave enough to tell you I love you, like I would if I were brave enough to sit alone with you in your car and run my hands through your hair and up your chest to where your beating heart is.
But I'm stained.
My thoughts are scarlet on my hands and I don't know what to think.
Somehow I always end up thinking about you and never fixing me.
Well, damn.
What now?
What do I do when all I want is you and not me? What can you do when your hands reach for something white while they're red and wet and dripping all over?
Nothing.
But wish.
And wait.
But I'll be okay. I always am.

Jonquils

Your words stick in my heart
like little white flowers clinging to my red hair.

They are quiet and lovely
and bold.
If I ever have one bad dream of you I remember those little flowers; I smell the sweetness on my breath
and imagine it's a kiss from your soft lips that taste like
the rush of summer and the slap of spring.

Simple and sweet.
Just how I need you.

-k.p.

Summer Plans

Est. July 14, 2016
•To not fall apart
•To find love and all its precepts
•Books...lots of books
•Finish "Anne of Green Gables" before August's end
•Cry a little less
•kiss?
•Listen to the wind
•Meteor Shower: August 11th
•Deep clean my room
•Write every single day
•Get to Oregon
•Save money
•be happy
•Write Ray ❤
•Read poetry every night
•Run

That you are here—that life exists

O Me! O Life!
By Walt Whitman

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

                                       Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Source: Leaves of Grass (1892)
Posted: Tuesday July 12th 2016 1:32pm

j bellion

and then I saw it
the glint of understanding in his eyes when they closed for just a moment
then opened ever so slowly
seemingly soaking in every sound
and shutter around him.
just listening
not talking or moving at all.
he could hear it when our voices were calling out his name and
singing every word of his songs.
his songs
that were our songs.
i could see it clear as day, strong as night--
the artist had seen his work and finally realized they did too.
his piece was now a masterpiece simply because we were touched and he could feel that meant something.
something great.
he could see his work and smile knowing we saw it too.
it is a smile that only an artist that has never tired of hearing his name cheered from a crowd of people, all there for him, his work and his mind, knowing deep down he has worked every moment of his life for this moment right now
in the crowd
swirling in the smoke and sweat and music
the small atmosphere of ecstacy and understanding.
he is found.
he is finally heard.
what a beautiful
blissful smile to behold
(eyes closed, cheeks ridged, soul glowing softly from beneath his clothes and from his eyes as they open and look at us illuminated by his light--looking at all he's done).
-k.p.

For 11:00pm wishing it was 1:00am and you were here kissing me deeply and making this racing heart of mine pound the way it did when I saw him and heard his voice sing so beautifully, honestly, and purely. All the things my heart denies sometimes.
For missing you darling and wishing I could see you every day of my life.
Thanks to you kid, these songs make some sense and penatrate my heart more deeply than an ocean of tears ever could.

pink skies

Calm my beating heart
Let it wrestle with the fearsome winds and speak softly with the stars above as if it were truly brave.
Calm my beating heart
And let it lay beside the pink skies in the morning clouds that are soft and gentle and lovely.
Oh how I'd sing ever so sweetly to those soft pink skies knowing you were always beside me
Watching from beneath them.
If I could tangle my hand in yours and watch the way your dark eyes chase away my demons happily
And dance ever so slowly with my angels.
Nothing but quiet and a steady beating from our chests.
There is little I would require to be truly happy.
Truly, truly.
If you knew what heavy torbillion you cause within me when you're near
If you knew the frantic way with which my restless eyes search for you in every crowd, there is nothing you would not want to know about me.
They say that if we could hear every part of every persons story there isn't a single person we would not love.
I believe that now, beneath pink skies, helplessly loving you.
Needing your warmth beside me, within me.
I need your beating heart to calm the pounding one within me.
Calm my beating heart
Let it rest beside you with an open morning sky, blush from the way you look at me and the way I smile back.
Calm my beating heart
Or let yours race as fiercely as my own.
Kiss me slowly beneath pink skies and I promise I'll never let go of you. I'll gladly listen to your stories and fall helpless for the way you listen to mine as if they mean more to you than the entire world.
Calm my beating heart beneath soft pink skies
Or tell me you love me.
After all I think they are the same--
pink skies
And my beating heart.
They both rise and fall for you
Rise and fall just for you.

-k.p.b.
{For meeting you and wishing that it happened all the more sooner than today. Wishing already that we were friends and telling each other everything. For you, whoever you are or whoever you might be someday, I wrote this for you. I wrote this because I met you and I think I've been waiting all my life to. I think someday, when it's right, I will read this to you, with my heart beating madly, and someday when it's right, this will belong to you and always will. For you, whoever you are. I wrote this for you.}

Human

"I'm not depressed." I say.
"I kept my light on when I sleep so I don't see my shadows look so still.
I read the same book because I find something new I love everytime.
I curl up within myself on the tramp because it's cold outside.
I look at the stars to feel less alone. To think.
I drink hot tea to keep me warm.
I cry to feel alive.
The headphones stay on because they hold me together.
They keep me human.
They understand.
There's so much shit I wish I knew but I don't.
I just don't know a whole lot.
I pray and I pray and I still feel alone a lot, even when I'm not.
I cry. I curl up within myself alone outside not because I'm depressed or need pills.
Because I miss you.
I damn wish you were here and I can't take the hole I feel sometimes instead of feeling you next to me. I take that I miss you and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.
I want pink skies. I want to sleep. I want to feel alive without me missing you.
So. You think I'm sad? No.
I'm just alone.
I'm just alone and thinking."
And then they're quiet.
And I keep staring up at the stars who are louder than they'll ever be.
Still missing everything about you--
even the messy bits.
-k.p.

My Mind.

The Cynic In Me

You know, there's more to life than getting your first kiss.
There is.
But not much more after that.

-Kiersten Benson, The Cynic In Me (page 38)

Ends of the Earth

Drifting like the tail of a dandelion on a summer breeze
I'm denying I even think of you all, let alone during all the hours of the sun and even more so the stars.
You're making a ruin out of me.
You're soaking my thoughts with the sweet saturation of your beauty.
Like a knife in the woods the hunger for you is like the rabbit that scurries far away from me the closer I get to it.
You are a brooch snagged to my sweater I never remember buying but fall fondly over anyway.
What are you phantom of my heart? What shore of intentions do you wash upon?
Where can I turn to hide away from you, forget where we met and how it made me feel.
Inside.
Outside.
Soaking wet.
Wet with you.
I'm constantly torn between wishing I could forget everything about you
and needing to know every possible thing about you.
You make me forget who I am.