spongelove

wanting without end reminds me that i am alive. every last bit of me is alive and my soul is constantly absorbing every little longing like a sponge and making room for one self inflicted heartbreak after another. every last fiber soaks until the sponge is drenched and has no other option but to be rung out. what then? i dread the day when all that's left of me is a dry and tired sponge with no heart and no energy left to want again. or perhaps i dread the day when the sponge decides to never let go and carries on, heavy and drenched with the weight of wasted love. or perhaps the cure is a little bit of sunshine and summer heat to dry out the sponge? force myself to let go of self pity for the time being and try to understand why i am so broken...broken like the bucket we kick around for years or maybe lifetimes, because none of this is new to the human heart...none of it.

-kayla

eternal pose

"don't change" he said
"don't ever change..."
he kept repeating
over and over,
but not with his mouth,
with his eyes.
a message sent in
a desperate stare
almost on the verge
of tears because
he would be so lost
without her
the way she is.
just like a rock
or a stone,
she remains the same
in his mind
until they're
gray and old.
but little does he know,
she will soon grow tired
of holding that
eternal pose
but today she just
smiled and did as
she was told
when he said,
"don't change,
"don't ever change."
and then left her
on the porch
on a summer night
in the cold.

-kayla

again

dear reader,
no....
dear writer,
why all the ink and paper
for silly rhymes you make
up now
and then forget about later?
why all the late nights
that deny you of sleep
but leave you wide-eyed
and eager write?
and why does the truth
feel safe inside this notebook
unlike the truth inside
your heart you so easily
overlook?
your hand writes
and your head spins
while thoughts
stuck on a ferris wheel
go round and round
until they come back again
so dear reader...dear friend,
forgive me if i write
about the same things
twice when there is
so much to be said...

-kayla

fever

fever comes again
when the motion stops
and the wind dies,
so we keep moving
because
we have all summer
to try.
tonight, in between sixteen
hours of daylight,
i remember to
ask myself "why
did we ever build our house
on the track
when we knew the train
would roll by?"
and now,
there is nowhere
to hang our clothes,
or measure how tall
we've grown
on the kitchen wall
by the phone.
no place to lay still and rest
our tired, broken eyes...
eyes broken like bones.
(did you happen to see
where we built our home?)
oh, but we knew exactly
what would happen
when we set
the first stone...
and we found
relaxation in
the anticipation
of the destruction
of our relation-
ship
like nervous war-
ships floating
so close to foreign
shores every night
ready to fight,
just like our bodies
ready to battle a fever
that never stops
and never dies

-kayla

Jayden!

my youngest drum student, Jayden. He's 3 years old!!!
:)sincerely,
Kayla

wait for the seed

slowly,
i become more patient
as the world spins
and the day ends.
patient enough to
plant our love
from the smallest of seeds
while
desperately wanting to
lie in the shade of a mature tree
or swing high
from the branches of
a sturdy elm, tall and green.
but in the end i'll know
that that tree isn't my own
...so i'll wait for the seed.

quietly,
i fill up the bucket with rain
to water the roots below the ground
that grow without a sound.
meanwhile, i frantically search
to find light in every day
even when i have to
pretend and put on
my hopeful face
or convince myself
not to walk away.
i patiently watch it grow
because one day this tree will be home
i will stay
i will stay
i will stay

-kayla