Blue sky
Pink clouds,
Black tie
White gowns,
Love that we thought we had
Nothing but in our own imaginative minds.
The fulfilling yet hollow feeling that drove us mad
Each other was it or ourselves we had to find?
Was it the film The Titanic that made me feel this way?
Or maybe it is because I read Julliet and Romeo?
As Shakespeare said, “Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?”
I answer, “please, no.”
-K. L
All I have to write is a pink blunt pencil
No words or letters to stencil
Real thoughts that become physical and expressed
What many desire
Heard to be heard
Like the rest
Of which that live in the past
Best left to as dust
Is to dust as ashes is to ashes,
Adam and Eve
To please oneself
Eating a fruit from the tree
Exposing the truth one not believed
Previously
Only to be.
-Kitty Leahy
My bones ache. My mind feels like it’s going to explode. I’ve broken down crying three times now. I’ve stressed out so much. It’s an addiction. I have writers block but I am addicted to writing. It has absorbed me like a sponge. I pull out my hair not knowing what to write. Not knowing how to write and I don’t write enough. I need to write more. It’s all I can do yet I procrastinate. All the time. Because of fear. I am afraid that what I will write won’t ever be good enough. I was told to be afraid and to not publish what I write because of someone else’s fear. I absorbed that fear. That’s not my fear. I’ve had enough if it now. I’ve cracked. I’ve cracked to the point where everything has dropped and I feel tranquil with everything and everyone, myself included. And I love it. Who am I trying to impress when I write? no one. I don’t even try to impress myself. I write because I can. Because I love it. I love the tapping sound of the keys on the keyboard. I love the glowing screen in front of my face at 2am in the morning. I love sitting in the middle of nowhere, surrounded but bush. Surrounded by the trees, the fresh, air, the birds, the wind brushing up against my neck. I have my notebook and pen, connecting with everything. Through this I feel free. I release my fears. I release my dreams. I release my thoughts. I release my feelings. I release my soul. I love it. I want to write everyday. After a long day I feel too tired to write. Writing gives me energy yet I am not willing to write everyday. I love writing but I am not committing to what I love to do. Everyday I am drifting further and further from myself because of my laziness. I thought since I loved writing so much it should come so easily to me shouldn’t it? I shouldn’t ever be too tired. If I loved it enough, I would be writing everyday wouldn’t I? I came to see that is not how it works. What I love to do should take up the most of my effort and my commitment. My passion should take up all of my time. I need to keep working on it with everything I have. Or maybe I don’t love writing. Maybe as I write, I discover myself a little bit more through writing and maybe that’s what I love.
-Kitty Leahy
Right now, it is dark.
There is a car infront of me.
A red car.
I see it’s lights shining at me
And I’m following, following this car.
I’m heading in the same direction.
The car is speeding up faster, and faster.
The lights are escaping from my eyes every time I blink and as i turn around the bend,
The lights are gone.
The red car is gone.
I have no proof that there was anything in front of me except for my own two eyes and mind.
Now driving, I am left with only but my own lights shining from my car,
And the leaves of the trees that slightly concave in,
Creating a path helping me, showing me the way home.
-K.L
My Soul 