A Self-Portrait

My name is Kaylie, and I cannot capture reality.
I capture only what I think.
I trust nobody.
Two years later and I still cry over my dead dad.
All. The fucking. Time.
I keep a wall up for nobody to penetrate.
Some people, however, make chips in it, and I hate to love them for it.
I've been left in a smorgasbord of ways.
Death. Betrayal. Emotional and physical distance.
Pure old people getting sick of my shit.
You name the poison, it's gone through my system.
Abuse. Insanity. Mania. Depression.
But I love the world.
God loves the world, and He loves me, so I don't have much of a choice.
I hate it, but I love the people,
as stupid as they are,
I love the way they laugh.
I feel everything.
Wind. Petals. Heartache.
I smell. I taste.
Oh, do I smell and taste.
And I sing.
I sing to purge everything in me out.
I sing to let everything outside of me in.
I sing to stay alive.
I don't really fall into love.
I fight it with everything I've got.
No, love falls into me.
WHAM. And I fall. Hard.
Catch me on a line and I'll take you, hook, line, and sinker.
Just remember that in that situation, the hook can't be detached.
The fish bleeds.
I'm still waiting for that one kind of love that I would kill for.
The kind that promises not to leave.
I pray for it every night.
I don't care from where it comes.
In the meantime,
I have a wonderful boyfriend
and what I would call the best friends in the world,
as well as so many random, laughing strangers
and songwriters
and trees
and chocolate eclairs.
What can I do besides love?

So, this is what happens when brainy white girls try to freestyle

I'm tired of people thinking girls are something to push around,
so I hope that you will see you can't just knock me down.
I have a rhythm, I've got talent, and I know you will find,
that the cool thing about me is not my figure, it's my mind.
Just because I'm entertaining doesn't mean I'm here to entertain,
and just because I'm a model doesn't mean I have no brain.
I walk down the street, people tell me I'm hot,
they think it makes me happy, but I'll tell you it does not.
If you're noticing my looks, that just makes me depressed,
because that means my fire and wit have yet to impress.
I know that when you see a girl, it's just a reflex
to instantly think about her in terms of sex,
but please, take a moment to look at the girls
and think about them as citizens of this spinning world,
and if you come to meet me, it's okay to say hi,
but if you're not into thinking, you can pass on by.
I know that by speaking my mind I intimidate,
but that's just a test to see who will initiate,
and I can tell you now, that you're sick in the head,
if you think that acting into me will get me in bed.
I have a body, but that's not what I'm all about,
and if you don't respect it I will take you out.

Just Thought You Should Know

When we say goodbye on the telephone,
I wait until I hear your phone click
before I hang up,
just so that I can have a few more silent moments
of knowing you're there.

The River and the Forrest

You feel so small
underneath the waterfall
when you hear the river call.
My river calls.

You call the trees your own
because the forrest is your home,
and you know you're not alone.
We're not alone.

We're not alone, here with each other.
We're not alone.
We have a Father who is here for us.
He made our love.

Lover of Mine

Lay your head close to my heart,
and I will bless my own lips
with the touch of your eyelids
as soft as a butterfly's whisper.

Let your eyes shine
always and never should a tear
fall onto your good-morning blush,
so that your perennial smile is as dry as it is warm,

as your arms heat my countenance
and your swelling chest below mine softens the realm of my existance
more so than new towels from the dryer,
and twice as comfortable as a branch of cotton.

We can escape to the land of stars apart from concrete
in the middle of the day,
for like our bond,
the sky's burning map is as present as it is invisible.

Let the blowing of the leaves
be our love song,
the deer-tracks through the tall grass our center isle,
and the wind our spirit guide,

and we can be joined with
the birds and the sky
looking with the eyes of the solar system
as our witnesses.

If

If they would listen
they would hear her pain.
They would know her sorrow.
They would cure it.

If they would look
they would see her beauty.
They would know her worth.
They would appreciate it.

If they would stop
they would taste her tears
they would feel her falling away
they would smell her sweat.

If they would listen
they would hear what she has to say.
They would help her grow to all she can be.
They would know that they have the blame,

but they just put more bricks
on her back,
tighten her leash
around the doorknob on the front door,
and whip her back to work,

and she works to drown out the tears.

Wondering...

Why is it that when I walk past
a flock of birds
they all take off unanimously
with that "whish"
that I adore
and then, as one entity,
land in the tree.
Why do they all go to the same tree?
How do they know where to land
before they take off?
Do they have assigned branches?
Why don't they run into each other?
It is for this reason,
as well as that rapturous sound of wings
that sends me running through parks of crows
screaming at the top of my lungs
just for the hell of it.