Some Dark November

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Why did you have to break the vow that I made?

Born again they say.

“You must be born again”.

I was.

Twice.

The first for childlike faith.

The second for naïve visions of hands holding hands.

There was a day when I was baptized in the usual way…

With water on a Sunday.

The day I remember most though,

Is some dark November.

In a strange light, and covered in bedbug bites.

Some dark November,

I was born again. Twice.

I sold my soul to the quivers of my body.

To the way I heard someone screaming,

Far away, but embodied in choking chest.

I sold my soul to feverish ache.

To insomniatic rage.

To how carpet tastes like nothing but coarsens the cheeks.

I was baptized in that unusual way.

Wonderment crucified beneath the scathing hot rivers I cried that night.

Raised to walk in newness of life…

And it’s still the newest life, I don’t know how to live.

The newest life I never wanted.

Spitting image of this unfamiliar family…

Singing for the outside our dearest song-

“Never be born again twice”…

“No, never be born again twice”.

Intimacy

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Rush like August comes and goes.
Leaves on trees never stood a chance.
The inherent flaw, he dances with it.
Like, the way one such Pan triumphs with every swing of arrogant dagger.
Like, he knows it makes me want him more.
Hush now August, stay.
Or else, I should call shotgun.
If only the incorporeal could lift the heavy burden of a body…
Then I should know him truly.
I hope that when I die,
I become the essence of Summer’s breath.
To be taken in by the ground.
Giving life to the stolen moments of little flowers.
To be breathed and released again and again by the newborn creatures of steady spring.
By children laughing.
I will be the music of their lungs.
I want to be exhaled by youthful, pounding chests…
Wrapped around the bodies of solstice lovers,
Dancing in the warmth between.
All the while being intertwined with that one spirit of creation,
from which my own body kept me prisoner all the years of my life.
That one whose leaving rushes, and I mind it.
But, he knows I’m one for tragedy.
He knows I’m one for romance.
The tale will spin, until that day I take my last breath of him and my first within him.

Tattoo

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Time heals all?

Not of this sort…

 

You.

 

The only eternity that matters anymore.

 

I danced with a needle,

 

You took up a pen.

 

You would choose paper, but I would choose…

 

SKIN.

 

Forever.

“What a fool!” “What a fool!”

 

I cried to the Savior.

“Wash me clean!”

 

But this was no stain like I had at thirteen…

 

Scarred.

 

Needle scraped skin of insides unwritten,

 

How could I not know you’d forsake my “Forgiven”?

 

Oh how I’ve steel-scrubbed my heart-skin,

 

Just striving to wash you away.

 

And turning my face from the canvas,

 

Trying to remember it blank.

 

But on and on you are with me,

 

Long after the needle has scathed,

 

For I would choose skin and you would choose…

 

Paper.

 

On paper you penciled me in.

 

To-do today,

DONE tomorrow.

 

If you etch within margins, you can skip the sorrow.

 

You.

 

Bored like a child.

Blind to the value.

Scared of a pinprick.

Me.

 

Thrilled.

 

Longing to learn.

 

Beholding priceless treasure.

 

Committed to the art,

 

Yes! Even though it burned.

 

And fuck, I regret you.

 

I finally do.

 

My killer, my friend.

 

My eternal tattoo.

To: The First Person Who Broke My Heart

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It’s me again.

I know I keep popping back up like it’s not over… I’m sorry about that. Truly.

Because I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. The problem is, I don’t know what hurt you.

I know your favorite numbers are 3, 5, and 8. And I know corn makes you gag even though your favorite color is yellow.

I know you don’t brush your teeth in the shower and that acoustic pop rock is your jam.

I know the names of all your pets.

I know that cookie dough ice cream is your go-to after a rough week.

Your car has a funny, yet accurate name.

I know you think you were born in the way wrong decade.

You love pretty sundresses, but hardly ever actually wear them cuz you work a lot and your style hasn’t changed since high school.

Fall is your favorite season.

I know you have a country voice and that you can’t stand it when people talk around their teeth.

I could go on.

I know a lot.

But I don’t know what hurt you.

I know there were misunderstandings. I know that words I said out of concern for something I wanted to protect were taken the wrong way.

I know we are different.

I also know that we are similar.

But I don’t know what hurt you.

What did I say that hurt you so badly?

Because I never want to say it again.

What did I imply that wrecked your heart?

Because I never want to presume it for the rest of my life.

But I know you don’t believe in second chances anymore.

One was all I got.

And I ruined it without even knowing that I was.

I watched as other people got their second chance, but mine is never coming.

And so I’m forced to wonder what I did that hurt you so badly.

So badly that you don’t want to help me fix it.

I don’t know what hurt you.

But I know what hurt me.

We used to talk about heartbreak a lot.

About yours mostly because my heart had maybe one scratch.

We talked about how the people you dated changed you. About how friends you chose a thousand times over didn’t choose you back.

And somewhere in my ridiculously arrogant, young mind I thought I could prove you wrong about people. I thought I could be the person who refused to give up on you and who would show you that sometimes people stay.

Never once did I imagine that it would be you who proved me wrong.

And I hate that you have to be that person for me. I wish that it could have been someone else. Someone a little less loveable. Someone a little less awesome. But it has to be you because that’s the only way to learn this lesson.

People leave.

No matter how much you love them, no matter how hard you’d fight for them, no matter how loyal you are, people leave.

And now that I know what you know, I understand you so much better.

You were right all along.

People suck.

I lost so much more than you when you left.

I lost my mind. I lost my heart. I lost everything good and hopeful that was left in me.

I lost two people that day.

But I continued to try and prove you wrong.

I never stopped snapping you. I never stopped writing you. I made videos. So many videos. I just never sent them.

I prayed for you until I couldn’t pray anymore.

And I never stopped falling apart.

Bursting into tears in the middle of the day, screaming in my car, getting rug burn on my face from hours spent dry heaving on the floor. Chewing every finger bloody and punching everything I could find, and learning how to swear because I had to.

I had to swear because no other words came close to releasing how I felt.

Everything I believed about the world, about myself, about God, about people, about friendship, about loyalty… it all vanished. And I’ve had to try and build new beliefs to replace them.

It’s been 166 days.

And yet I’m no better than the night of the fight.

Hearts aren’t as fixable as glass I guess.

I’m not the person you knew anymore.

But I’m glad you’ll remember me that way.

The way I used to be.

The heart-wide open girl who wanted to be your friend. The one who wasn’t afraid to invest and love without limit.

I always flashback to the last day we saw each other. My favorite day.

We were walking by the water and you asked me completely jokingly-

“So, if I fell in, would you jump in and rescue me?”

And without hesitation I said-

“Yes! Absolutely!”

And we laughed about it.

I’m sorry I couldn’t rescue you.

A little later I had to leave, but I was so sure I would see you again.

You hugged me pretty hard but I didn’t really squeeze back because I thought I’d see you again soon.

I had no idea it was gonna be the last time. And I always wish I had squeezed harder.

If I thought it would help, I would tell you that the day I sent those messages is my biggest regret. Actually, it’s the only regret I have in life at all.

I’ve done everything I could possibly think of to make it all right again. Because I don’t want to lose you.

But I’m not going to pop back up anymore. Because for whatever reason, losing me made you happy.

This is a pain I didn’t know existed, but if me being in pain is the price to pay for you being happy, and free, and the best you that you can be, then I’m more than happy to pay it.

You’re marked on my life for forever.

Maybe you’re angry with me and maybe you call me crazy Katelyn lol!

But I laugh and smile when I think about you, right before the tears come anyway.

There’s nothing I don’t feel completely, deeply, overwhelmingly.

What seems dramatic to some people is just how I experience the world.

So I’m sorry if it’s all too much.

I’m sorry if anyone actually reads this and isn’t quite fond of some of the things contained therein.

I am honest if I’m nothing else.

And someone once told me that sometimes things just need to be written, even if no one ever sees it. ❤

You showed me so much.

And sometimes I want to be able to wish you away.

I want to be able to boldly say “I wish we had never met!”

But I could never say that because whoever gets out of this life without knowing you really needed to improve upon their bucket list.

I hope that I showed you something too. Even if it’s just one thing. I hope that you’re better for knowing me than if you had never met me.

Goodbye my friend.

I wish you every good thing there is in this life.

From: Katelyn

The Exception

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Someone call a doctor, or someone call a nurse.

No?

Then, someone call the cops and someone call the hearse.

She’s lying in the trenches and face down in the dirt.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,

They could not save her from friends bent on killing.

So, someone call an ambulance, someone call a copter.

Fine.

Then, call up all the morgues and spread around the ashes!

Please.

She’s rotting on the sidelines.

Stained shattered glass passions.

Ocean eyes opened wide, but paled by the

Lifeless.

All because another threw down the

Priceless.

So, call up the rescuer, or the hands that hold boulders.

Why not?

Then, ask for the funerals and prepare the glossy headstones.

“Here lies the girl”

the exception to grace

NO.

None will be given.

Go right ahead!

Step on her face.