poetry

salt in the wound (a poem)

they say salt
in the wound’s
supposed to
cure you.

if it don’t
cure you,
then it’ll
sting you.

but the sting’s
sure better than
the pain
inside:

so

cover up your
wounds, cover
them under
your hide;

and when the
salt touches
where i
touch you,

you will wish
the sting was
replaced
with time.


AN EXPLANATION.

Hello, my dear readers!

Another day, another poem for you guys, and today’s is… Well, it’s a little guy come to life from a random cold January night in which I thought to myself: “Salt in the wound seems like a cool phrase. I wonder if I can make a poem out of it.” And here we are.

Does anyone actually say, “Salt in the wound’s / supposed to cure you?” I’m going to guess not, but this question is actually something I really considered as I was writing it. At first the question didn’t make sense to me, because if there is anything in anybody’s physical wound, it’s going to hurt and make you even worse. But as I wrote the poem, I thought to myself: But what if that’s exactly what it’s for? What if rubbing salt into our wounds hurts us more, and therein lies the cure to our issue in the first place? Yup, there I go off on a tangent again that probably will go over even my head by the time I publish this.

Anywho, salt in our wounds hurts. It’s painful, but it sure does leave a stinging memory in its past. While we want it out ASAP, that salt’s power is engrained in us and who we become. And what happens if that metaphorical salt never really goes away, and our pain goes from external to internal? Well, that’s not a good diagnosis is my guess.

Tell me what you guys think! I love hearing your analyses and opinions. ❤ And in the meantime prepare yourself for Monday’s blog post that will stray from writing and head into the topic of…

Am I stressing you out when I keep it to myself? Or is that just annoying?

Wait until Monday to find out!

Katie Kay

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poetry

in the graveyard of one’s heart

in the graveyard of one’s heart
are the skeletons of the past

where only ghosts roam the grounds
part of the world immortal vast

sepulcher upon sepulcher
of dark energy smolders

yet the blood and the body
only grow colder

and in this deep cavity
where my chilled heart lay

a misty path is carved
awaiting the light of day

but no matter where i go
and no matter what i do

my heart controls me
and yours controls you


AN EXPLANATION.

Why am I publishing this guy when it’s not even October yet? I’m not entirely sure. But I just wrote this poem yesterday after I woke up, and I knew it needed to go live on the blog.

Yesterday I had this recurring phrase in my head: In the graveyard of one’s heart. I have no idea where this came from, but I knew this would become part of a poem, much like the tone and material of “My Heart is a Fortress,” which you can read here. (That poem is my take on a person’s heart steeling itself from negative energy. Therefore, the heart becomes a fortress that blockades itself.) Well, “in the graveyard of my heart” can be seen as  continuation of this first poem, and we’re just going to move a little bit away from the fortress and into the… Well, graveyard.

There is no getting around the fact that we as humans have a tendency to harbor past experiences and emotions. We wallow in our grief and keep our skeletons in the closet for centuries, until we’re either rotted dry by our pain or we expose ourselves to the light of day. And even when we do find and give forgiveness, even when we do admit our wrongdoings, we still hold onto traces of the past, whether it’s intentional or not.


QUICK UPDATE.

Thank you again for sticking with me in this blog. I hope you enjoyed this poem, and that you’ll stay around for Friday’s post as well! ❤

Recently I just got back to college in California, and it’s a whirlwind of emotions. I’ve only got one more semester left, which is a weird feeling in general. But I’m ready to get this done and continue flying whenever I can. You will probably be reading a lot of “emotional” posts from me as I navigate this transitional period of my life. But I feel so blessed to be able to be here on this Earth.

❤ ❤ ❤

Until Friday,

-Katie Kay.

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poetry

WRATH (a poem)

is this the surface of the sun,
or the hot boil of my blood?

is this the rupture of my veins,
or the mighty dawn of a hurricane?

is this a clot in my heart,
or am i just falling apart?


IRA

is an intense emotional state. It involves a strong uncomfortable and hostile response to a perceived provocation, hurt or threat. -Wikipedia

Now I know we all have been here at some point or the other: Wrath is a destructive force with the power to tear us down within seconds of its activation. When we are consumed by our anger, bad things happen. We do and say things we don’t mean to the point of potentially harming ourselves or others.

Righteous anger is possible, but we must not let our rage eat away at our hearts for extended periods of time. Forgiveness is a requirement for us to sustain our hearts, and we must be willing to pause, take a breath, and remember our sanity. This is obviously easier stated than done, but it is true.

If you get angry today, take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay. Eventually wrath will dissolve into something that can be used for good.


DAY 5 OF THE SEVEN DAY CHALLENGE.

Only two more days to go! I am super excited to share the final two poems with you in this collection, and then we’re off to more positive imagery with the Seven Heavenly Virtues. After the conclusion of this two-week challenge, I don’t know what I’m going to do!

You guys are the best supporters, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

-K.

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poetry

MY HEART IS A FORTRESS (a poem)

My heart is a fortress
Made of skin and steel;
The drawbridge retreats,
Locking up what I feel.

It is a castle inside my soul,
The stronghold of my bones,
Amidst the cold world
Where only I sit on the throne.

With righteous human blood
My veins bubble and boil,
While the water of my moat
Blackens to oil.

And at the curtain wall
A thousand men may try to enter,
Yet their words are dried out
Like the dead of winter.

Open the guarded door,
Let these emotions seep in;
But this is my fortress that
Protects me from them.


AN EXPLANATION.

For months I have had the phrase “My heart is a fortress / Made of skin and steel” stuck in my head. While I knew this would be part of a poem someday, I wasn’t sure how to follow up with these opening lines. What did “My heart is a fortress” even mean? Well, yesterday I was bored in my environmental politics class, and I started to write more.

Emotions are the propellers of our lives. Without emotion, there would be no purpose to anything. Imagine if there were no such thing as happiness or pain or ecstasy or terror. While we rely on positive feelings, the negative ones are important for our growth and individuality as well.

As human beings we are constantly dragged through ups and downs. Some moments are beautiful, and others are dark gray. We rely on our experiences and our feelings to drive us to where we want to go.

I believe this poem is an attempt at harnessing a well of emotions that have been unleashed upon me for a while. I want to be as strong as I can, but there will be those who want to tear down my walls. Though I am in no way condoning selfishness, I do believe that we must strengthen our hearts in order to protect ourselves from both the known and the unknown that will attempt to wither our beauty.

Maybe this explanation does not make much sense. Maybe this poem can be interpreted many different ways, and that’s the nature of writing. My intention for writing this piece may not be the same intention you receive from reading it.

Thank you guys again for reading, commenting, and sharing this post. ❤ I promise I will write more content soon and try to get back into the swing of publishing twice a week.

Until next time,

-K.

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