I saw the books

I saw all these books
                and I thought
so this is what heaven looks like
and I am right on the edge of it.

-k.p.

Stuff we do

SINKING FRIENDSHIPS

We're swimming in the blue
Nigh misfortune: Unlively like a glue
My eyes are soaked all way through

Our sinking friendships
We drown them all

I'm singing a sad tune
Is this all I do? (Ooh Ooh Ooh)
Is this all I do? (Ooh Ooh Ooh)

We should all wear two lifesaving layers
We should all wear two...

No one knows you, till it's over
You know no one true, till it's over

Is this all I do?
Is this all I do?

My lips are pale blue
My shivering half-moon
My last night's lost tune
It's the end of the end of the end

Our sinking friendships
We drown them all

I'm singing a sad tune
Is this all I do? (Ooh Ooh Ooh)
Is this all I do? (Ooh Ooh Ooh)

We should all wear two lifesaving layers
We should all wear two...

No one knows you, till it's over
You know no one true, till it's over

No one knows you, till it's over
You know no one true, till it's over

Is this all I do?
Is this all I do?

Jónsi

Life in the Doorway

It seems we live life two ways--
in the doorway
where we were placed long ago. 
We stay put.
We could lean toward the light.
We could collapse back into the dark from whence
we came.
I'd fancy myself somewhere in between but
you can't fight demons
from the sidelines and you can't feel
the warmth of the sun
from the moon.
Stay put and you might as well not be living at all.
So what do you do?
Rumi might know.
Mary urges him to take his time as he answers.
But God is the only one who showed them
and to discover that the roses are children talking
not to you or anyone really
just amongst themselves
just might be the answer.
The roses know themselves.
Do we? Do I?
Does anyone?

-k.p.

"4am thoughts" (not about you).

No one knows me like the piano

No one knows me like the piano does.
What's buried in my chest
is a forest unexplored,
untamed and spotted with strange light.
There are creatures there
from many places and
some of them look like demons of this world.
No one knows me like the rain does.
I've walked
purposefully with it
thousands of time
and I daresay it knows me better than anyone.
It has felt my scars and wondered where they came from,
not just that they are there.
It talks with me for hours.
No one knows me the way my pillow does
as it has carried
all my tears
and never once begged me to stop, pleading with me to control myself with those selfish eyes of external affairs
that are far, far from me.
If I holler let me know.
When the tears follow hold me down.
If I falter let me go.
I don't want to swim forever,
but it seems I have no choice.
None at all.
I've curled into myself more than
I care to admit
and not all of those curls were selfish.
I'm just alone sometimes. And
sometimes, I'm always alone.
No one knows me like the piano does
in my mother's home.
The bitter thoughts I've pressed into it like a needle with hot tears and trembling, aching rage.
Years of doubt pouring over
its innocent white teeth
and I wonder
from time to time if
there's blood on those white teeth that
tastes and smells
like my own.
The piano, the pillows, the walls, the headphones
they've all seen the worst and the best of me.
They know me best.
So why do I feel so unknown?
Surely God knows me.
Perhaps I'm merely beneath the covers
trying to grow like roots,
but find no soil.
Perhaps the piano knows
my pain is good
and tells me to whisper.
Listen.
Rather than play. 

Feb. 23, 2017
Thurs.
9:58pm

Days like lost dogs

Warm and wet
I run like a tired old mare trying to make sense of a cold dark moon
resting far above me.
Underneath the lights in your room,
I was loved.
On quiet days I was loved by you.
I was your shadow.
I'd follow where you'd go and never minded the tug along.
Darkness and deep green musk are my woodland home now and
the stars that know my name--my atlas.
I don't want to live my life alone, but I've been waiting for you all my life and
all my life I've never been free.
Set me free.
Warm water fills my lungs
rushing down my mane in a trickle of disgusting emotions.
What do I do? I let myself go.
You are gone with the mist and shadow and I--
I am still here.
I bark at the moon, I howl for you in pointless agony.
It's your name they all hear from
far, far away
and wonder what on earth I'm trying to say.
Rage against the dying of the light,
they say,
but all I do is desperately wait for the etching of the sun on the
royal blue horizon like an old friend.
Silently it comes.
Silently I wait for it to see me and warm the coldness of my cheeks, my bones and skin
out of numbness
into reality.
For it to love me.
There will always be better days for dogs.
But not today.
Today I run until the grass is green
and a grown man cries out affectionately
just for me.
The art of racing in the rain is why I run.
I run as
my name is howled at the moon.
I am not lost you fool
I am found. 
I can feel His arms around me and my own and that is enough.
For now, that is enough.
Dog days are here again
for people who know why.
I, too, was once too young to understand.
But does anyone else smell the taste of rain as it's coming
and listen with their heart as the
music softly beats against it?
That's all I need to know.
Like lost days of the dog.

-k.p.

2/21/17
Tuesday
7:23pm

Hoppipolla (Jumping in Puddles) pt.i

It has rained a lot this week and I can't help but feel such comfort and abiding bliss from it. I listened to the "We Bought a Zoo" soundtrack in my room while I left my window open and heard it fall and it's moments like that where life can't seem to help but grab you around the waist and begin to dance with you. My daisies all watched me happily as I did dance with life and with myself and petrichor (peh--treh--core, the smell of rain) filled the room and with it, so much pleasure. Ahhh, sometimes I don't even know why this life is ever painful, but then again, that too is a gift. Isn't it? "We Bought a Zoo" always makes me think of you probably because it's so beautiful and cheerful and positive. Your heart is hidden all through beautiful and exciting things for me and I honestly see you so much in so many little, but big, things everyday. The song, "Hoppipolla" will always, always make me think of you sweetie Rachie. I love it so much because of that.

I love you Rachel. So much. A szivem. I hope this week is filled with pleasure and culture and warmth. Look for the light resting in everyone's heart. It's always there. I promise. To the moonya and back.

-from a letter to Ray, February 19, 2017 Sunday

I know

I know I'm not alone.
I know. 
But I feel so.
I feel so very,
very
alone.

Feb. 17. 2017
Friday Night
Nothing to do.

Just to clarify

I don't know who I'm going to marry and fall in love with in this world.
But,
no matter what one thing is certain--
I do plan to love and be loved fully, like a night full of stars.
That one thing is certain.

The Grey Havens

I miss you so much I almost can't breathe. I hear your voice and I see your face and I can't help but feel it isn't enough. I need you, here. I need you Ray. I need my Sam-Wise Gamgee. You feel so far away and the music plays so softly it's like a sad angel beckoning all these thoughts of you to me. Tears stain my face. My heart aches. I miss you. Where are you? Where has my light in the darkness gone to? Please, don't go where I can't follow. I need you here beside me. I need you always, my Sam. My dear, dear Sam.
Please, come back.
I'm lost.
I need you with me.
Please.
Come back Sam.
Please.
Please.

-kierst

02-15-17
1:27am
Wednesday
"The Lord of the Rings" 💙

Brooklyn

Your car is everywhere, you seem to be in a lot of places.
Fireworks couldn't make me not see them, see you, and it's supposed to be easy to ignore such a stupid thing like an old black car full of too much adventure.
But it's not.
It's infuriating.
I despise this. You slip from my fingers like tears, but stick to me like glue--what a stupid conundrum you are.
I'm past sadness now; I'm through weeping over you because you are a terrible friend and I've finally seen it for what it really is.
You don't care about me. You hardly ever did. But you do care about yourself and what a company I am happy to be rid of now.
So let me be rid of all the black cars and the possibilities of seeing you that linger in the air.
Leave me be.
I'm through being somebody's nobody.
I'm nobody's nobody. I am my own. I was never yours, but I could've been, what a loss for you.
Float me down the Hudson with a radio playing all the songs that make me think of you.
Blow out the candles, drown the flowers, let the rain fall while I walk alone through it.
I'm done.
I'm very, very done.
Goodbye New York.
You've taken all my love for him and I'm okay with that.
Now I'm free. Now I'm free.
-k.p.

Feb. 9th, 2017
7:49pm

"F-O-X"

The best love story is full of wit and wisdom, laughter and embarrassment.
It has mischief and misunderstanding and confusion. It is rich in teasemeant and lots of 'almosts'.
But the truly best love story begins with a letter and ends with a kiss.
-k.p.
Feb. 6, 2017
Monday
6:41pm
"You've Got Mail"

J'ouvert

she writes French poetry on her bandaids
and drinks tea for breakfast.
Radiohead dances in her blueberry headphones
while the world tries to bring her back into their quiet, quiet world.
nothing pleases her unless it might be French or art and even then she makes it up in her wild garden of a mind.
nothing puts her down
until the day he left
her as empty as the spaces between
her ribs where flowers used to grow.
they used to sing.
but she's still happy alone.
music, tea, art--
how can one be alone with any of them?
who needs them when they won't hurt her? this she knows.
the real pain is out there in the quiet, quiet world.
this she also knows.
here she is safe, but alive. safe, but undone. safe, but on some edge.
safe, but she is loving more than many people could love
in one measly second of trying.
she pretends to speak French and sing well;
she sees angels and she chases demons away with clumsy catastrophe.
she is lonely but in love. she is loved.
in the hours of not dreaming, she sleeps and sees a world as good as hers,
but with a lover and somehow it is better there.
she wonders how that is.
she does not know.
yet she smiles.
there is beauty hidden in the unknown
and it always makes her smile.

-k.p.
February 3rd, 2017
Friday 1:29pm
"No Surprises" Radiohead