[x]

raw collection of poemsand i am missing you
and i am fucking
with you
---
when you climb into bed, think of me. the
rosary that downs the bottom of your
drawer is a silly reminder of what i had
taken from you
---
cold
ice cold and his
fingers
ventilation;
i was warm
---
i look at myself and i see lines
impending on themselves
bending from the weight of my soul.
i am heavy
i am middle-afternoon
and-you're-still-missing heavy
and i can't uncurl myself
from the telephone or the
idea of you
leaving
---
we work like polar
but i swear to god i was meant to
meld with you;
you go north
and i south,
departing
thwarting what we built
between force fields
---
i look at my self and i see lines,
cracks in the mirror
all down my thighs where you
broke me in two
i will come back together
one day
(only to be
split back a
part by you)
come home, come
home, come
back
---
i need early morning
i need lack of sleep
and i need the cold
curling me
to my soul
just to stop
the world siphoning the
air from me
---
i am not doing

note 28you are beauty
written over and over

pour a little salt, we were never herealmond in

your wooden lungs

pursed your lips to the

sound of our love- i woke

the new birds & stole

the cusp

of rain on little

window panes

i'll be patient, i'll be kind

i'm too tired to be fine

i am yours, but you're not mine

i'm so close to taking time to myself, but my hands are turned upward

like petals choosing to

give the sun another chance

rose inside your cedar trees

climbed your weighted, burly leaves

leave your lonesome will to me

i'd pry the sea dust from the strands

of southern eyes & shaking knees

an apology letter to my body.i am sorry,
i treated you like disposable napkins. like cheap china, or a rug feet have worn the 'welcome' off of. for treating you like fast food in a landfill and for letting others treat you that way too.
most days i can't look at you in mirrors,
when i should be writing you love letters .
i have deprived you,
i have scarred your passages and eroded your halls.
i have let your sacred places be defiled.
you are a country i have never learned to call home,
a language no one has ever spoken.
i made you into a map i told everyone not to read,
planted railroad tracks like break crumbs, like my flesh was an industrial revolution i sometimes follow with my fingertips.
forgive me,
for the days my stomach became a ghost town,
my mouth a forgotten portal.
for the days spent with two fingers down my throat
like the trigger of a gun reversing the cycle of food.
i'm sorry for the nights i didn't sleep
and the days ballet became punishment.
for the days every muscle felt a

swell. (collaboration)i.

a little birdie told me
that when the kiss of dusk
comes knocking, the night owls
come out to play -

i heard birds singing
mid-may, i thought you said
you'd come back to stay, but i
must be listening to star-dust
without sound;
i must be watching the sun
rise for us
in the wrong hemisphere

the thing is, it burned out
years ago;
light just takes
so long to move (on)

ii.

a little birdie told me you've been
staggering late
into everything, and

god, where did the time go?

the white rabbit took
two months from me
he bites my skin, & ebbs at my sea
i knew it by the way that he shook-
i saw it in the way he couldn't look
at me

(i must b

lukewarmshe had the kind of voice
that seemed to be stuck
in the hour of four o'clock
in the morning - soft
and tired and luring,
mumbling her way through
subways and tunnel lights
all pale yellow with noise.

there was tea and long baths
and longer absences,
hiccups of breath
the best
she could do.
long springs and
longer falls,
one equinox to the next
and still the bad
was never that bad
and the good
was never that
good,
and she continues to hum
the birds continue to sing
the apples continue to
grow and
sour and
fall,

and bury themselves
again.

black lights and fresh mintsTo be honest, I think about
smoking more often than not.
I like propping my feet up on the chair
and whispering to filters
that taste like chocolate deaths
and hopelessness.
I remember falling apart on drunken shoulders
of boys whose thoughts were colorful kisses
on my gray-scale skin.
I remember you.

I used to have better words,
when they were blisters on my tongue
and darkening spots on my already bleeding gums.
I would write them in the time
between the last pull and when I would let my body,
high and dehydrated, collapse under sheets,
stained with long nights and loves lost.

It hurts in the cave of my chest,
so that whenever I inhale,

old thinkingyou're getting sick of the grotesque
bulge of your abdomen, how it seems
to rise above your chest and you wish
to flatten it. roll over to lie on it,
punish it with the hard cold cement
and wait for its obedience, to heed
your careful counting and the hours
you've spent walking circles around
the block [the neighbors look at you
kind of funny] and drinking tea with
just a bit of sugar so you don't fall
over while you're standing at work,

drinking water with just a bit of nothing,
pressing the pulse that beats thin enough
just below your ribcage [count: one, two,
one-hundred until you feel comfortably
nothing]

copaceticyou know when the person you love and
you decide to break up, and you both say
to each other, you both agree that you
will be friends. and you think it, for a day
a week even, and he is still texting you and
you are still texting him, laughing like you
would do when you were one. and then you
meet his girlfriend at the mall, some butter
blonde bitch whose decolletage busts out
in peach ovals and she can't even tell you
how many guys she's fucked or let alone loved and
your boyfriend, or your lover who no longer is
yours is smiling like he has what he has always
wanted, all that is not you, and you become
bitter and backbitten and say something rash
and laugh and he gets it but his bitch doesn't
and then the next few weeks you are quiet
and he doesn't seem to think of you in his
experiment. you become an enemy and you
watch him from a window on your laptop
every move every suggestion every shirtless
whore make a common thing out of something
that was once undeniably yours. a

hvirfilbylurin the morning i throb
against a lilac bruise
from the ache i've
carried for you

what if i said i wake up and i look at you
and your skin has not blackened
from disuse, has not paled from
neglect and still
i find perfection in the way
your arms hang like
a willow and the
arch of your back
and the width of
your ribs like a
marrow-cage
for me
what if i said i loved you?

lovesong for sailorboyRead aloud and explained (somewhat) here.
i have always loved words as you love the sea
but i have grown to hate
prepositions
because i have always had words
about you
with you
to you--
but never for you.
words for everything
except you.
but i have words for this, so
i'll take them
one by one.
about.
the ocean was your first love and
i could always see it in your eyes.
most would call them blue--just
blue
like a swell over a sandbar
blue like the spring sky over a poppy field.
but i don't think anyone
got as close as i did and they're not blue
not shorebound and
safe--
they're gray like the steelbellied sea itself
like the horizon at dawn as it
encircles you
hems you into an impossibly vast canvas
like a demarcation line
or a promise.
one you always chased.
with.
maybe i had a streak of ocea

Iwhen the grey wolf
comes striking at my door,
i will strip him of his cloak
and make him
a man,
naked

FableMoon cloaks
fallen from
shoulders,

(and you are)

left clad in only
the softest of
shadows.

a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crash
that almost killed her,
through whitewhite walls
and dreams
where her lover dies
nobody thought she'd make it
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway
trying to remember how to start all over
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
of not-quite-cold-enough-for-snow
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.

PaginationI perused the pages of your spine,
like a desperate and dying woman
would cling to the collar of the last man
to walk past and say
"I'm going and I'm okay with this."
Turn around.
And hold me around the hips
so when I fall apart,
the last part of me to go would be where
you spent the better of your time
with me.

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More from *KaitForest

note 52i don't know how to properly
wrap my love: either
in words
or whips

pacificher longbow mouth is un-
strung; loose bottom
lip with a cocked
jaw -
.
she
births into him like
a womb

note 51we'll meet in the north somewhere
bus-tired, train-worn, back-seat
bent from sitting so long.
we'll meet here because it is far enough
to make you forget that i am a chance
with too many losses, far enough for me
not to be called back

hvirfilbylurin the morning i throb
against a lilac bruise
from the ache i've
carried for you

what if i said i wake up and i look at you
and your skin has not blackened
from disuse, has not paled from
neglect and still
i find perfection in the way
your arms hang like
a willow and the
arch of your back
and the width of
your ribs like a
marrow-cage
for me
what if i said i loved you?

note 48i've hit the part
where you say
'i'm leaving' and
i don't ask you
to stay

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Submitted: January 17
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for winter:by *KaitForest

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Letters

1/? - a series of letters from an anonymity to a person addressed as winter
(this is under 'non-fiction' only because i wanted this to be listed under letters. it is, however, very fiction.)

ask me to let go and i will

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*scatteredwords Mar 31, 2013

Featured: [link]

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*0hgravity Mar 27, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

despite it being fiction it feels very real.

the final letter...gripping.

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*KaitForest Mar 27, 2013 Writer

thank you for reading, love <3

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*0hgravity Mar 27, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

^^

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=Sammur-amat Mar 27, 2013 General Artist

what glossy jorge love said. you know i adore your writing so very truly deeply.

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*KaitForest Mar 27, 2013 Writer

thank you so much <3

Reply

=Sammur-amat Apr 6, 2013 General Artist

always a pleasure, love <3 <3 <3

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*glossolalias Mar 27, 2013

i don't think about the heroine
---
i think you may have met 'heroin', hun.

otherwise, this is really a gorgeous piece of writing. at times, overwrought--while the language was beautiful, i found it distracting me from the emotion when the language could have been more plain, especially in the third and second letter--but the ending had such an impact and the first letter is honestly my favorite. so real.

Reply

*KaitForest Mar 27, 2013 Writer

hahaaaaa ch. yeah i knew that

i see what you mean! i was thinking about going back over the letters and changing things but i am always so clueless about my own writing and where improvements should be made (for instance, i thought the first letter was a bit lousy; i'm glad to hear you liked it!)

thank you so much, i appreciate your opinion greatly <3

Reply

*glossolalias Mar 27, 2013

no problem. thanks for sharing.

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