poetry

regret (a poem)

wallow in your grief,
swallow your regret.
dig your nails into my skin,
your words claws in my ribs.
i didn’t ask for this, the answer
a gunshot through my head.

yet you haunt me at night, dear Regret;
you smile at me with scarlet eyes,
your lips pale and pink, teeth starched
white and oily, waiting for me.
you wait to pull the skin from my bones,
and the merriment from my blood.

i didn’t ask for you; i never wanted you.
but instead of sweet wishes and dreams,
curlicues and unicorns and glitter,
you came to my doorstep, holding
a letter, addressed to me from you:
Katie, I got you, when nobody else does.


AN EXPLANATION.

Oh, my dear readers, just know you are not a regret I have!

We all have certain things we regret, whether that be a choice, relationship, you name it. Though I’d like to pretend regrets don’t bother me, deep down they do. So I have a feeling they probably affect you too.

So while it’s fun to write poems about them, it’s not very fun to admit that you do have regrets. But that is why I encourage you (and me too, to be honest) that we cannot change the past, and that we have the beauty to change our trajectory in the present moment. We can do what we need to do to shape the world the way we want, and that’s the power of our choice. Of course, we may not be able to get exactly what we want, but sometimes it’s more about the attempt than the result.


THANK YOU, MY DEAR READERS!

Thank you guys for joining me today. I know I have not published anything in a while, so I just wanted to thank you guys for coming back to this blog after a few weeks of inactivity. This blog is definitely not one of my regrets. ❤

That’s all from me for now. It’s good to be back!

Until next time,

-Katie Kay.

IMG_9108
Sunset over Goleta, California. 

 

poetry

ULCER (a poem)

the stabbing pain
in my gut stems
from the sins i’ve
swallowed lately.

at first it was
a slight discomfort,
then it became a fist
lodged inside me,

and now the chemicals
burn and degrade
my choices down
into sparks.

but the truth
remains: the pain
i’ve got is here,
rotting my core,

and i need medicine,
but sometimes
medicine isn’t
the only cure.

poetry

QUESTION (a poem)

does every question have an answer?

life is full of questions
and not so many answers:

and for every question i ask
ten more spring into being

but the answers remain in place
waiting to see the light of day

yet the light of day only reveals
itself to those who listen closely

to the questions that haunt us
and drag us deeper into madness