kpk poet

I want you to fall in love with me more than once. I want you to wake up next to me in twenty years and still be surprised by how pretty my eyes look when the sun comes up. I want you to see me walking across the street and have your heart skip a beat even though you know you’re coming home to me and we’ve been living together for the past thirty-five years. I want the excitement, the rush, the purity of falling in love and getting sweaty palms when you reach to touch my fingertips with yours. I want you to hear your heart beat a little bit louder for me every day that we’re together.
—  Just One More Time (k.p.k)
Love is sappy and gross and messy. Sometimes it’s waiting in a gas station parking lot at 12:44am because they need to be picked up from a party that they got too drunk at, but love means you don’t mind feeding them fries on the car ride home because you’re just happy you will get to sleep next to them. Love is bumpy and dirty and silly. It’s blowing raspberries on their belly while you watch a movie together and it’s not letting you lose too badly at mini golf because they know you like to win. Love is being thrown in the water from the docks and love is being tucked in at night and love is helping them pick out their outfits in the morning and getting them into their pyjamas when they’re too tired to do it themselves and love is showing up at their house with frozen yogurt when you know they’re too sad to move and feeding it to them spoonful by spoonful on the floor and love is brushing their hair for them when they’re in a bad mood and love is you, love is you, love is you.
—  Aiden  (k.p.k)
It’s okay that you’re not in love with me. I know I’m a lot of work. I know I’m a handful. I know I need more than you want to give. One day, it’s not going to seem like a twelve-hour shift. One day, your hands are never going to be full. One day, you will keep digging down inside yourself to give more, and more, and more. It’s okay if it won’t be with me. Because you will be so happy.
—  Goodbye (k.p.k)
People say I’m too picky, too choosey. That I have too much of a say in who I let bruise me. That my guard is up so high I can’t see anything but it. That if I stepped off the edge of my walls, I’d plummet. I say I am like a shirt buttoned-up incorrectly. That I am a moment that lasts indefinitely. The problem with me is that I will love until I don’t. That I will always stay until I won’t. I am through trying to move into a person like they’re a home. Every time I pack my bags, I know I am better off alone. People say I need to open up and let people in. But what if they’re a tsunami and I don’t know how to swim?
—  Valentine’s Day (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)