More poetry slam Journal entries


Kila and Goliath (2008)

I’m in the head sick and, I’m sick of this affliction. So excuse my lack of diction, but it is my predeliction, to mumble when I’m scared. Always so Illprepared. It always creeps up unannounced and… Then it pounces. And I’m just as shocked as the next one. In my face, here’s a panic shock, and legs locked, I stand stock-Still until the pill will. Disolve, and solve it all. But I don’t swallow them anymore. So what do I do in replacement? What’ll be my fear time call erasement? Kill the demon in the basment? That whispers up at night. Aimless worries in my head, floating low over my bed and tilting my reality, til I can no longer see… That they’re baseless, faceless, foundless, out of bounds and groundless. So I guess I’ll go a-demon huntin, A-hunting I will go… I’ll take my razor wit, viper’s tongue, and who knows, I might bag a giant giant along the way… So watch out Goliath, Kila’s on her way…

A stitch in mind (2008)

Beautiful grace, spinning time and place, falling headlong into space. Dangerous in self-definition, so much more secure in practice. What kind of oxy-moron is this? Light in my darkness? Safe in danger? Familliar stranger? (Disorganized re-arranger) Confused, befuddled, and intrigued, I am. Am I. Afraid of heights, in this I fly. Scared shitless, spent and witless, once shapeless, shiftless, I am the witness. To this transformation through which I’m going… My butterfly is showing, and in this crysalis I’m growing. My smile is cracking through the stone. The facade i once called home. Break the walls down, one by one. Step into the light of day, I will not fade away. No longer transparant, worn thin and weak like watered whiskey and bad tea. It does not intoxicate me. But frees, it liberates me. Strength in arm, I mean no harm. I just need, to no longer bleed, and be redeemed. I need to silence, the voice of fear, ringing in cacophonous in my ear, drowning out so I can’t hear, you softly whisper. The words of encouragement you’ve always murmured. So soft, sometimes I’m not sure what I’ve heard. But you never shout. Not at me. So what I see, hear, and feel, are, in reality. Always exactly, what you promised me. I’m such a stupid girl sometimes. Even knowing what kind (of mess I’d make) I changed my mind (and made it break) and now I’m stitching time, and reality, back inside of me. Sewing stitches into the holes in my mind, so I’ll never again find, that I’ve let you… Fall through.





About Keats

Oh I'm sassy and I'm sexy, So silly sweet-and-sour Delightfully disastrous And deliciously dour I'm flippantly foolish, Filled I am with fear Can't concentrate completely, and my conduct isn't clear But to bravely be my best I Bring bravado back, BEHOLD!

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