Nov 23

watch: a portrait

spiderwebbed fishnets
on her
barbed wire

and charcoal eyeliner
that became
a hollow mask

her molten lipstick
was painted on only
in hopes of being
smudged away

hair strewn everywhere
glowed blue under
the pulsing cadence
of the bar

never faked that

hazy graffiti embedded
broken glass
over her veins

beneath a
teetering bulb

beneath the
shade of dust

a glimmer of ecstasy
in curved skin
a shiver in the ivory

moonlit sweat
over her body

a swift embrace
never disregarded

wanderers and dreamers alike,
decay in the unnoticed

Nov 21

Paper Thin

walking home from
school enjoying the sun on my
face muscling through the
books and binders begging my
spine to collapse
i saw them

in a spotlight of perfect sun
(as if i already couldn’t
help but stare)
they bent, tumbled through
scrupously sculpted piles
and i saw light pour
right through their
diaphanous silhouettes

words encircled their wrists, necks, chests
their clothes, harvested from of
technicolor ads
labeled strawberry kiss, honeydew, coral reef

when they turned they nearly

when they paused
wads of pulp within
hung midbody

i pressed my gaze to their flimsy
frames, yet kept walking
wondering if everyday dilemmas
tore them right in half

wouldn't it? if your very flesh
was nothing but the fabrications
orchestrated by someone
hoping to please someone else

Night Lights

It was a dark (but not stormy) night, as most nights tend to be. I was riding in the car armed with nothing but a camera to defend myself from an impending case of boredom. Valiantly, I began pointed the afforementioned camera at various objects, but alas, they were too blurry to suit my taste.
Fear not, dear readers, for I realized that by shaking the camera around as fast as I could (I'm sure there are actual ways to adjust the shutter speed or whatever it's called, but I happen to be technologically disabled) the light smeared into laserlike patterns. As long as one remembers to embrace the blurriness, and accept the dozens of images gone hideously wrong, they too can become a night light ninja!
*Photos may take a long time to load. Please contact Kitkat via commenting with any questions or concerns.
Nov 19


They had always been in her home, long before she was old enough to question everything. It had begun when she was still in the stages of simply taking it all in, not understanding anything but what caused her joy and discomfort. As she grew, she added dimensions to these basic emotions, but she’d never thought to question their presence in her home.

It had fallen to a basic routine, where whenever one entered, she learned to rush upstairs, to the second floor, quietly rearranging her dolls or reading, but never, ever going downstairs. She identified which type they were based off the smallest of details, a scar, a ring, a bushy moustache. The safe ones, a vacationing family, a beginning actress, an elderly man heading to his family’s house: those she would trot downstairs innocently for, wash up to help her mother in the kitchen, offer the visitors a plate of cookies.
Nov 19


Still my actions must be tapered, for they continue to hand me the small tablets that make the world go gray and silent. They watch as I thrust the pills past my lips and gulp down several swallows of water. Ha! I let them believe this, I smile and nod when they tell me how good I am being. But when they move forth onto the next tray, I pull the capsule from my cheek and slip it into my pocket.

Such tactics would not be necessary had my malevolent father kept to himself. A crippled man, eye lost to disease years earlier, he still slumbered beneath my roof, shoving food down my throat and chattering nonstop. But the words were not of the ordinary- far from it. The words ran together, twisted in knots, stabbed their way around my questions. Those words would always point in the wrong direction, the tones soft, like those around madmen. Eventually he grew fearful of my insight, tricking me into coming here and signing my own imprisonment.
Nov 13


“Don’t bother,”
“it’s only more begging
for more money.”
I pry apart the fibers
dyed whiter than snow
slip out the innards
I hope you will consider…
Still, it would have been nice
to have been right
Nov 13


Their world is always full.

I see it, in the filmy plastic bags, stretching to hold the bulges of unwanted paraphernalia, massive dumpsters overflowing.
Metal chambers, that could fit dozens of humans, but not any of them.

Plates piled high with another slice of pie, a once-bitten chicken leg, a runny biscuit, tossed away.
Plates that could fill dozens of bellies, but not even theirs.

Crumpled sheets of paper, a line too dark to erase alone in the whiteness.  A painting that smudged a little too much.
With every slip, the creativity only grows, but not for them.

A cracked chair, a dented toaster, a flickering bulb. Toted away, exchanged again.
Opportunities are thrown everywhere, but directed into the trash can by them.

People, carefully evaluated. Promised their world but then lied to again, shoved away.
A tad more work, a little more kindness, but that’s too much for them.
Nov 07

The Mail's Box

As I transfer
from the roar of leaf blowers to the
plastic inside
(brightly lit
yet the shades are drawn)

I pry apart the
creaking mouth of that brassy metal box
balanced on a rusty screw
with two fingers
(elegance is everything
and the time before the timeless
always a tad too long)

and note the scuffed surface
one of those things
never thought to be cleaned
just there to stop gravity
stop the rain and the wind
stop the fingers that find their way
into purses and
windows without discretion
(our world knows boundaries
better than anything else)

yet in doing those things
(but never pondered)
to be impossible
it is only noticed when

it starts to fall.

Nov 05

Let’s face it:

I have been letting my work build up into a terrifyingly solid mountain
(and I’m afraid chipping into it will cause avalanches).

I know the only reason I’m writing this is to fool myself into thinking it’s productive
(so the worksheets won’t find me).

Even this is a waste of time, because I can’t even come up with creative excuses
(and it’s only going to make me depressed to reread this)

(and the only reason I added that little “us” half hidden behind my “let” is to hope I have company)

Nov 04


When I woke up, there was blood on my sheets.

Okay, perhaps it wasn’t the dramatic murder scene you were hoping for.

But it was a nosebleed, and it was still another inconvenience, which I couldn’t exactly take in stride at this point. I mean, it’s not like I’m in college anymore. I have work now. Expectations. Barely enough time to eat dinner, let alone deal with a possible onset of cancer. Thank god I kept a spare jar of Vitamin C tablets in the back of one of my cabinets. I popped one in with some of the leftover smoothie I’d since the weekend (blending stuff took time, and I just couldn’t get myself up before 5:00 anymore).