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Kim
03 May 2009 @ 01:42 am
 
 
Kim
23 September 2008 @ 10:32 pm
how can i ask you to forgive me
when i don't know the definition
of forgiveness-
it all translates to forget,
tuck plans for revenge in
unmailed letters to collect
under the bed,
like the stars on orion's belt.

how can i ask you to forgive me
when forgiveness is not as human
as the fight for it-
tug of war of words;
until one end falls to grip grass,
and the other feels he could
hold both atlas and the world
in his hands.

how can i ask you of something
i don't understand, something i
was never taught.
i slammed doors, listened to its
echo travel through the hallway
like drinks sliding
across a bar to strangers
who want to suck shots back
to forget
not to forgive,
to forget.

how can i ask you to live
for the sun when i tell
the memory of the moon to stay?

how can i ask you of something
i have never felt with my own hands.
my body is a collection of emotional craters
i have learned to avoid stepping in.
 
 
Kim
31 October 2006 @ 11:00 pm
you are the girl with the big scarf,
reeking of routine when the
5pm-click-clack of your heels
echoes past the gaunt, grey windows
to the graves of 9am through 5pm.

a black, woollen coat emphasizes
the sticky stereotype of calling
yourself bohemian, and you wear it
like decorations in your eyes,
pregnant with the pride of

your latest poem,
being dramatically broke,
the thick cigar you keep for
the really bad nights when you
claim it is going to be
your last,

aiming to seal destiny but
alcohol adjusts your senses
just in time, leaving you to
find yourself scattered across
the floor seven hours later,

with pain stretching in your
bones proving your lack of success.

but surely failure falters now,
as the thin heels are shoving
their opinionated shrieks into
the bare concrete;

your posture is perfect and still,
you feel like your backbone was
merely intact, and the anatomy of
a body keeping up clothes while
your inside is crumbling only
startles you

on good days when your mind
nestles somewhere else than
between duties and the theory of
dragging yourself
out of bed
out of the house
out of the bus

and back.

i know that your steps slow down
when you pass my window, and
your scarf slips to expose a glimpse
of the white, white feathers of the doves
you carry underneath your coat,
gone silent with lack of air
lifting their tiny lungs, but
i do know that

underneath, they are still
flapping their wings.