This is a problem

"This is a problem." He said to me as if it were all very obvious and I was simply missing a heavy truth purposefully.
He sighed and then held my hand as he said, "Yes. Your problem is you have a singer's heart inside a drummer's body. You want what isn't meant for you and you're unhappy about it. But that won't do at all."
He stepped closer and said ever so quietly, "The only way to fix yourself is to learn to love what you really are even if it is different from the rest. You must know that you're still worth something valuable even if there isn't anyone else on earth like you."
Then he left me standing there without a clue as to what any of what he just dropped inside me meant. Not one clue.
And yet, something inside me knew and that made me laugh thinking about how stupid this heart of mine can be. It made laugh and cry at how far a person can go to find themself. I don't remember why he told me what he did, but I remember how it made me feel and that has made all the difference today. All in the world.

"On the Run"

I feel as though we've broken up and this is the beginning of the worst part of it all. This is the part where I come out from your place, barefoot, tear stained, all my useless pocessions cupped in my arms disastrously and then I'm leaving you just as your coming after me to yell somemore. I throw all my worthless stuff in the car and allow my eyes to flicker up to your apartment just to remember one last time (in case I forget) where I've left the most valuable piece of me.
I shove the door closed, adjust the mirror to better sights and don't look back.
Almost.

-k.p.
"On the Run" 2016
10:06am, Wednesday, October 5th

Whoever

Whoever said that art does not make sense has never made art for themself.
Art does make sense.
It makes sense of the riddle.
The anguish.
The pain and
yellow stained light inside the heart.
The long roads wet with waiting endlessly and wanting.
The ink spilled on the night of our souls.
Art spoils the reality we see blindly
and makes what is essential, truthfully what cannot be seen,
visible. 
Art does make sense.
It creates the only sense my soul can connect to, the only sense it knows
like an old friend I sit and sip warm tea with. 
Art disturbs me because
it is the only thing that seems to distort, to pull and tug at every possibility and plane without ceasing.
But really, art reveals every last thing about yourself, all the beauty
and the quiet music humming within you constantly.
Even the ugly bits it pulls from you.
Art, true art, reveals it all. It has the divine right to make sense within us--divine, godly, powerful sense
inside us all.
That is what real art does. It beckons us home within ourselves, sometimes,
only with the truly
special art,
without us even knowing it.
-k.p.b.
Oct. 3. 2016. 8.49pm.

Night Changes: part i

Catch me smiling
without me knowing it and
            you've captured my heart
            unraveling at the seams,
                                     happily.

Catch a smile curl about
my lips when
I'm not watching anyone
       or feeling the world around me existing,
just feeling
my own world of happy thoughts
                                    existing;
        happy dreams about life,
about picking the stray strings of myself on the bed I sit
on now,
just feeling
about
                                    you.

-k.p.

3:02am
9-18-16 (for you, "birthday brat"--happy birthday.)

How Do I Love You?

How do I love you?
Oh, this way and that way.
Oh, happily. Perhaps
I may elaborate by

demonstration? Like
this, and
like this and

                no more words now

-m.o.

Felicity
(pg.55)
2016

Chaos

The calm before the storm is just as unsettling and overwhelming as the chaos within it. Sometimes, within the most worthy and untelling occasions life can bring, even more so.

9/11/16 3:58pm Sunday

There was a little voice

There was a little voice inside of me
It did not frighten me to hear it;
I was lost
And it found me.
These are the words it said,
"Paint little one. Paint."

...

And I listened.

-k.p.

12:09pm September 7th, 2017

Human

You will soon be free.
It tells me quietly, as if I haven't got a clue what it means.
But I do.
I have tasted freedom and I know enough of it to love the careful way it sits on my tongue and astonishes me. It rests within my chest quiet as a kitten and silent as the stars and it is riveting as it is potent and I know exactly where it comes from, the little beast without a name.
I know what freedom tastes like and I want it.
I desire it more than almost any other sensation these days and I will tell the voice that whispers within me right now,
"I am already free. Truth, light, love--they are all the same. Once the world decides what will make you happy, you have already missed it. I am happy now because I am in love. I am in love with you, little voice, for even you denote there is a God. You denote, along with a multitudinous amounts of other dazzling sensations in this universe, that there is not only in fact a God above us all, but a Father within us all, loving us, giving us a name and letting us belong to Him."
And I finish resolutely, "No, I know what you are little voice and I am not frightened. I am inspired and I will take you down to the depths of my soul and help you understand that I am already free. I am free because I love you. I am free because I love God. And I am set free because I love him too, the one that may or may not be making a ruin of me. I love the one who may not even love me back, but I can let go of him too. I am free because I know I can let go and I will. I know it. Freedom is given to those who can make it within themselves. Truly."

-kpb

  8/27/16
   10:51pm

Anne *spelled with an 'e'

"Dear old world,
you are very lovely and I am glad
to be alive in you."
-Anne Shirley
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables, pg. 332, p.3

Finished 8/8 2016, evening of cloudy stars beneath my chairless writing desk

stargazing

she still looks up at the sky
during the day
as if it were night and full of glittering
listening stars.
even in the day she is caught in a sleeping map of stars
even when there's sunlight
she is stargazing.
Always.
-k.p.