kpk poems

It is terrifying to think that one day you will trust somebody enough to let them see you naked. You will undress and remind them that you’ve stretch marks and birth marks and scars from having chicken pox when you were little and scars from all of the other things now. You will blush thousands of shades of red, painting yourself as a rose losing its petals. And that person - that person will take it all in. And I wonder if they will reassure you. But mostly, I wonder if they will even see anything worth reassuring you about. I hope they see each freckle on your back as if it’s a star and you are the whole universe to them.
—  K.P.K
I want to tell my future kids about you. I want to tell them about the way I would feel your eyes on me in the middle of your favourite movie and the way it made me shift my weight. I want to tell them that love sometimes means being uncomfortable. Sometimes love means stepping out of your comfort zone. I want to tell them about the times I cut your hair and you never cared when I fucked up the back. Or the times we would say “let’s make dinner together” and you would smile over the hot stove while I sat on the counter and watched. I want to tell my future kids about the things you taught me. I want to tell my kids that their first loves might not be their best, that they won’t know their last love is their last love, that they won’t notice when the person they love is settling for them, that moving on sometimes means moving out and changing their number, that seeing the person you love cry feels like being punched in the throat. I want to tell them about the way you loved me so hard, every time you looked at me it felt like an echo that’s still vibrating through my bones today. I want to mention the way it felt to hold you when you cried in my arms. You shook so hard I glanced over your shoulder, out the window, to see if the trees had noticed the earthquake rocking your entire body but they were still as death. I remember wiping your nose and you apologizing, saying you felt bad that I had seen you “ugly cry” and, although your face was red and your eyes were swollen and your jaw was quivering so hard your teeth kept knocking together and you couldn’t look at me, you were the most beautiful thing I had seen in my entire life, because you were mine and mine alone and you being upset just meant I had another reason to tell you I loved you and that everything would be okay because we had each other and having each other meant having everything in the world. I want to tell my future kids about that. I want them to know that love can be pure if they let it. I want to tell my children about you, and then smile and say, “Go wash your hands for dinner. She’ll be home any minute.”


I am lonely as hell. But I would choose being alone forever over being with somebody who can’t make my heart bite my chest when they squeeze my hand. I am impatient as hell. I don’t wait for my water to boil before I use it for my tea. My pants are usually still damp when I put them on because the dryer hasn’t had time to finish. But I swear to God I will wait for that feeling. I am lonely and I am impatient but I am stubborn and I know what I want and I’m still trying to convince myself that it’s worth it to get what I deserve this time. The thought of love does that to a person.
—  February 28th, 2015. (K.P.K)
I don’t know much about love. I know about how my grandmother wrote my mother out of her will the day she married my father and I remember how much she cried when she signed her name on the divorce paper and I wanted to crawl inside of her ear to sit next to her brain to find out if she thought it was worth it. I know love is about worth. I know about how my brother used to help tie this girl’s shoes when they were both six and how he would explain each time how he didn’t like her, but he just wanted to make sure she didn’t trip when they raced because he thought she was faster than all the other boy’s combined but he couldn’t know for sure unless they ran side-by-side every day. He said it wouldn’t be fair if she ended up in the mud instead of at the finish line. I know love is about fairness. I know how you just came over when I told you not to. I said I wanted to be alone. That I was messy. That my hands were not large enough to hold everything I felt. That you didn’t want to deal with me like this. You said “leave the door unlocked” and I did. I know how you held me in your arms like I was a boat and you were the sea and somehow you had to rock me gently against the storm. I know how every time you said you had to leave I would shake my head and say “five minutes” and you wouldn’t move an inch even though you had to be at work in seven hours. Six hours. Five hours. Four and a half. I know the way you rolled your tongue across my teeth like you were trying to paint them a new colour as I swallowed your sigh down my throat. I know the way you looked down at my knees as you laughed, “I can’t get enough of you. What the fuck.” I know the way I felt so small against the dip in your chest and how large I felt against the pulse in your neck and I know how I felt when you kissed me so hard and you covered my nose with your thumb and forefinger and whispered against my lips, “I could kill you, you know” and the way I couldn’t even say, “I’d let you”. I know that you just left my house and I watched your car become a dot of light on the road, a star on my personal horizon, getting smaller and smaller until you were absolutely nothing at all. I know how I pressed my hands to my stomach, wondering if maybe you were still there. I don’t know much about love but I know I just sent you a text saying, “Hey. Thanks for coming over tonight. I think I’m falling for you. I hope you got home safe. Thanks again. Good night.”
You said you were going to make me feel so good I wouldn’t be able to feel my legs. You said you were going to make my body experience things I didn’t even know were possible. You said you wanted me so badly, you could already taste me on your tongue. I thought you were talking about sex. But all you had to do was call me beautiful and, with my smile against your teeth, and I knew that this was what getting fucked really felt like.

January 2nd, 2015 (k.p.k)