kpk poet

I remember us standing in front of each other that night, in an exclusive corner, just talking. Music was blasting in the air while we were enjoying each other’s company. There were hundreds of people around us but your eyes stayed glue on mines. And I was too captivated by yours to even pay attention to anything else.

It was like the whole room blurred away. Your friends walked past and teased you and my friends gushed over how lucky I was. I don’t remember what but something stole us away from each other. Still I was smiling from ear to ear because of the way you held me.

It was late and I was sad that I had to bid this amazing night goodbye. I remember passing you on the way out and you were standing there looking so handsome laughing with your friends.

Your eyes caught mine and I smiled. You pushed your friends out of the way and caught up to me. You grabbed me by my hand and you pulled me into you, engulfing me in the most passionate collision I have ever felt in my entire life. Time slowed down, the noise ceased to exist, and everyone else disappeared. Only us amidst a sea of people.

When you pulled away, I was met with an unwavering glance. I’m not sure how long we stood there just looking at each other but me and you both knew that this was the moment that changed everything. You held your gaze on my eyes and I felt fire in every inch of my body. And from that moment on, you made me feel alive.

—  How I feel in love with you
I am always terrified that nobody is feeling the way I am at any specific moment. There are weeks I am so exhausted to my core no matter how long I spend hiding inside of my bedroom; the weeks where I feel my body telling me to do something, anything, to stop feeling like this and I answer myself, “maybe tomorrow it will be better” and I can’t help but feel like I am pushing the truth. The problem with having an illness that nobody can see is that when somebody asked what hurts, you want to ask if they know how to bandage a beating heart. I used to be in love with somebody who would brush my hair for me when things got really bad, and he would come sit with me on the bathroom floor while “You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are” by Keaton Henson would be playing and for a few minutes I would be safe and there would be nothing in the world except the feeling that maybe this is what making progress feels like; that each knot pulled from my head means that finally I won’t be coming undone. But this isn’t the movies, this isn’t a book; you don’t magically get fixed because somebody is holding you together. Their arms will get tired. They won’t understand why it seems like nothing they do makes any difference. It is not their fault, and it is not your own either, but what is messy once will be messy again. I think about love so much I’m worried that one day it will consume me entirely, and that there is something so inherently unloveable about me that I can’t seem to scrub off no matter how many times I shower in a day. There are days where the dirt seems to live under your skin and you can stand under the hot water for hours but pieces of people that used to be a part of your life get stuck under your fingernails and you carry them with you wherever you go. Each time somebody gets close to me, I wonder what the tipping point for them will be. If they will be frustrated with me when I need the directions explained over and over again, because the thought of being lost is so much more than just not knowing with way to turn. If they will get angry when I can’t find it in me to take the few steps forward; because I have tried crossing oceans that look like puddles for some people and it seems that all they see is that both of our feet get wet. I wonder why people fall out of love, and if it’s always because there is that breaking point, that one extra knot you needed pulled from your hair that they just could not reach anymore. I see people kissing on the street corner and I wonder if she remembers what his favourite movie is, or who she aspired to be when she was young, or if he listens to each song that he gets sent, from beginning right until the very end. In the end, I think everything comes down to love. Because I see it in each businessman that empties his wallet into a barista’s tip jar, in each mother that’s ever sat through their daughters excruciatingly long ballet recitals, in each father that’s ever edited his sons essays and wrapped an arm around their shoulders as they sit beside each other, in each child that kisses each other messily on their cheeks, in the newly weds that just married their best friends and can’t stop feeling the weight on their ring finger, in the 90 year olds that still hold hands while they walk through the grocery stores, in the college girls who apply each other’s lipsticks in the bars and tell everybody in the washroom that they look beautiful, and in myself, when I brushed my own hair this morning, and told myself that maybe tomorrow will be easier than this.
—  NOVEMBER 13TH, 2016 (k.p.k)
the night is young, the music’s begun, and i am dancing despite all the pain. this coke tastes like rum, these words aren’t getting sung, and the room is circling my brain. i am beautifully wistful, i am heartbreakingly blissful, i am realistically full of disdain. my lip’s swollen red, my hand’s around my head, and i am forgetting your name.
—  a night for us (k.p.k)
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)
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)

I am a mess in your arms as I stare at your face. I try to memorize the way your bones cut into your cheeks like they’re trying to make a point and I wonder if that gap in your chest ever makes it hard to breathe. You are so pretty. You are pretty in the way that blood can sometimes be the perfect shade of red. You are beautiful in the same way that my bed feels perfect for my body when I am too sad to move for four days straight. I try to count the colours in your eyes, all green and gold and grass and sun, fighting each other for first place next to your pupil, and I wonder if you ever think of me like I think of you, and before that thought even finishes,  I know the answer is no. But I smile at you anyway as you lean in to kiss me. Because I think your heart is very tender, even if it isn’t mine.
—  January 29th, 2015 (K.P.K)