twenty times at least I’ve
stayed, propped up arms and eyes
to watch the sunrise -
it seems so new

so circling the sun
twenty times hardly makes me
a veteran of living -
the world can still be new

and I can too.

mid year crisis, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #writing   #quote   #literature  

But is it art?
-you ask

If you think it is
-I say

But is it okay?
-you ask

If you think it is
-I say

But is it love?
-you ask

If you think it is
-I say

Summary of Abuse, k.s.

#poetry   #quote   #lit   #writing   #abuse  

I think one day I’d like to grow
my hair,
but every time it hangs low enough
to tickle my shoulders and
with sweat
to the back of my neck as I run,
I reach for the scissors again,
all the waiting - in quiet snips
- undone.

So when I say I’d like to know you
see the way my bathroom floor,
littered with split ends,
shows the brushstrokes of unfinished […];
I keep a pair of scissors on every shelf
for when I start to feel it
every time I turn my head or try to

I don’t think I’ll sign up for Craigslist, k.s.

#poetry   #quote   #lit   #writing   #literature  

My mother told me sugar-laced lies,
fed me vegetables to
see in the dark and
I saw through it, as children do,
but if I counted out my carrot sticks and
there were sweeter things in store
for me.

But there are darker things I
see through
now, and I’ve a taste for greens and
growing foods now,
but there are words of which
I won’t take “one more
bite” in hopes of sharper vision and
something fluffy-light.

In fact, I’ll fold my arms
until you’ve finished dishing up
then flip the table,
make my own meals, fill my own
half-empty cups.

I know there are sweeter things in store
for me.

And Eat It Too, k.s.

#poetry   #quote   #lit   #writing   #literature  

“and it doesn’t mean you’re a

Does that please you,
Sir? Make you more
comfortable? Make it more
for me to fight?

So long as my sword is
blunted, so long as only my
nails are sharp, so long as I
conduct my contradictions
like bumper cars -
we can laugh about it
afterwards, and
get on.”

My parents used to hide
chopped tomatoes in my meals,
told me they weren’t there,
but take a forkful of your
fairground feminism and tell me
it doesn’t taste
soured by oppression.

If you don’t want to be associated with
that’s fine by me, stick another
token in the slot machine and laugh
as you bump into him - let loose
good-natured battle cries -

but stay out of my car.

We drive through barriers out here, and
I’m not laughing.

For She, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #writing   #quote   #feminism  

Words in my mouth like bones in my neck
refusing their release and
I can’t take myself apart disc by
disc or piece by piece - a single slip would break my
back in the old days and (thirteen again) I can’t
shake the fragment from me without
sending the whole careening down the corridor
to your feet to finally say (now
that my head will turn
again) “If I could remove every bone of me
I’d keep the
broken ones; It was you who shook the staircase
where I stood, words in my mouth.”

Broken Ones, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #writing   #literature   #quote  

red tea spilling on
my sheets, so
I flip them, smooth them
down, forget
until it comes to
laundry day,
faced with week-old
I can’t flip my face
for all its faults or
smooth it down beyond
cheap cover-up, barely
worth the effort,
no laundry day,
only fading frowns
in fading suns.

brewing, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #quote   #writing   #literature  

I think you left a paisley print
pale on my lungs, every time I breathe
in, every time you leave, it’s musty
floral curtains hanging from rusty
rungs - Nowhere near so riveting as the way
your rivets slotted into place
from your chalk-dust skin to
my cheap asbestos face -
Here our haunts dissolve and
reappear, I know we never
candled here but see, the
wick’s the same and all our faces
lined up on the walls in wire frames -
They catch the light and let it go
(we bottled ours,
thought we’d lose the glow) and
superfluous tang of coffee fills the hall
in our carrion display rooms
we carry on
we spill it all -
See mottled floral patterns on the walls,
see my breath hit the air and fail to fall.

Top 10 Homemaking Tips for Abandoned Buildings, k.s.

#poetry   #quote   #writing   #lit   #literature  

Rain doesn’t drive how it did
before, blood doesn’t boil like
it used to and I don’t hear or see a thing
in me I used to be
in neon droves, but blood cell heresy,
singing the body betraying, can’t
break these windows; There may be
mutiny in raising this maturity, and I’m not
used to mellowing - don’t know how not
to scream anymore because Mum It’s Still
Not Fair, but I’m growing
out my hair and down my well-worn spine
a column builds higher; I reached
my full height at sixteen
but of all the people I have been,
it’s this space I am most unsure of
how to occupy…

Homeostatic, k.s.

#poetry   #quote   #lit   #writing   #literature   #growing uuuup  

Good morning, I’ve decided
not to think about you at all today (except
just then) - instead I’m going
to pretend you don’t exist (and then
push your non-existence to the
back of my mind, where
I usually find things like that song
we danced to that one time, not that I ever
go looking) - I’ll
go about my day
drastically changed and settle
down again to say (and not in any way
recognising that you exist, don’t try to
twist my words)
“Good night, I’ve decided
not to dream about you at all tonight.”

This Poem Is About Me, Not You, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #quote   #writing   #literature