You think that you were hurting me,

but I promise I was letting you.


Something feels different now.

Is there a way to find my inner peace,

without completely depleting my fire?

To calm the storm that brews inside me,

without burning out the melancholy that

keeps me writing?

I look into the mirror, and I see an extraterrestrial right now. I can finally admit that I know nothing about the world around me, and although I am frightened I am enlightened. Meditation suddenly makes sense, Yoga no longer seems boring, and the path to happiness is somewhat forming. I see it, in front of me.


I am stubborn while holding on to the unidentified anger that lingers inside of me. It is like an unhealthy co-dependent relationship, not so much like with a lover; more like an abusive parent that you love too much to let go of. Afraid that if they are gone, you will lose a part of your identity. If I am no longer angry, and the happiness never comes…then what happens to me?

I can’t see without my glasses.

They were sitting on my nightstand just like anything else
I’d empty out of my pockets, but they were gone now.
“Where are my glasses?” I questioned. “I can’t see.”
Was I tired? I am hungover, Why aren’t I hungry?
I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.
Me vacillating has become a familiarity, my actions
have created a chain reaction of distraction from my priorities–
in what moment will I discover that I am always losing things?
First my glasses, next my sanity, because I’m sure the next time
I can’t rely on me just being lucky. “Get your shit
together Kymmie, you’re not free if you are a slave to
irresponsibility” is what my conscience is telling me. God,
I know this…I do. I know. But…
Time lied to did just a few years ago when I had my back against the wall.
I was working so hard, but time told me to “Keep going”, said one day
I’d be sending post cards from exotic places, no one would know where I
laid, but would remember my name, because I was the one who escaped
away unscathed, but I am still here staring my past in the face. We are getting
closer, but when? Keep telling me to not give up, but I ask when will
I get to go visit her on Mother’s day? When will he be the one to take ME out, and actually pay?
When? the days are too familiar, so why…am I expected to
stay tamed? To remain the same?
My glasses are still missing, but I suppose I get the message. I guess…I have to keep

Freestyle Poetry- A Lovesong Written By A Demon

I’ve forgotten what lips I’ve kissed,
and where, and why.
I know nothing of their heartbeats,
their intentions, or woes.
I am simply lost in you and its anomaly
what makes of your frame and frame of
mind, I draw an answer of ___________
when you are around.
No amount of excitement is fearless,
I’ve kicked through lives that range from the beginnings of
disconsolate and hollow nights alone, to
days filled with overstuffed emotions and passion that has
flown into rage from the wounded hearts I’ve sacrificed
to comfort my soul
Only remembering what was a vague sense of my
interior self,
I see only my heart possessed by a reformed demon, trying
to experiment in love in hopes to redeem its way
back into a purer place, he sits heavily with positivity in mind,
and as I try to exorcise myself back to life,
he says to quit trying to escape him, that he believes in me.

Writing into the walls of my heart-

It matters not that I’ve forgotten what lips I’ve kissed,
and where, and why.
and that I know nothing of their heartbeats,
their intentions, or woes.

Because now, all I can remember is love.

Heart/Mind- A Divided Partnership

A divided partnership

My mind is this relationships backbone

Putting the abuse into perspective

I love him, my heart broken with actions

but mended with words

Skipping a beat when I hear the beat of your ringtone

You’ve walked on me for the last time

Your fabricated words of love so heavy, trying to crack my hearts shield

But not with those unloving actions administering this experience

Each touch feels like silk, nothing can replace this exciting

anxiety as it hits me in speeds like going through a wind tunnel.

A part of me feels cheated, left with nothing to show but gray hairs

and my thoughts.

My mind is this relationships backbone.

My heart is this relationships cheerleader.

Dancing, bouncing across walls. My picture perfect family

too many blemishes.

My heart, my mind. A divided partnership.

With each thought moving me forward

Each heart beat moving me backward

A twisted dance created by insecurity masked in contentment.


I can’t believe that it has been two months since i’ve posted any type of creative writing onto my blog. Odd, but definitely because I can’t seem to finish anything that I have been starting, a writers nightmare. I am stuck in a state of Nostalgia, the exact thing that I am longing for is a mystery, however. I can’t pinpoint it to be a person, even though I have lost many, many friends in the past year. (That sounds terrible…) But I view it as shedding layers, shedding dead weight. Not all relationships are meant to last, and the ones that i’ve lost were never meant to last. So I am certain it is not that. Perhaps it is stress? lately, I have been dealing with a few health issues…some things that people don’t know about, other things people don’t care about (lol), but either way…I guess it has caused a little bit of stress on my head. So…I am going to try and post some stuff to keep things up to date with my readers.

I feel different.
It’s real this time, and very scary.
The difference consists of finding out how much of a stranger I am, to myself. Impossible for me to be known by outsiders, the truth is that I am in some sort of Pandora’s box of mystery, if it is opened it might take me to a place of no return. It may even destroy me. What is even more frightening is what not knowing what would be left of me when I am gone. What message did I send to everyone else? and what have I taught them through our relationship?….far far too many were left with chapters unread, some left with nothing on the pages, in those instances we had simply walked away mid-story with little desire to keep the creative juices flowing. Would the urge to know the real ending emerge if I were gone? Or will me being gone be the happily ever after in their version of what should be penned? if that were the case then I couldn’t blame them.

Sometimes I look at the things that I write, and I see why I am pegged as a dark writer. I don’t like the word dark to describe it though. When you think of dark, you think of depressed..sad…hurtful. I am none of those things all of the time, no more than any other human. I am no victim, my woes are simply story-starters. I’d rather look at myself as the fluid writer. I want you to see clearly through me, I want you to know exactly where my head was when I sat down to type this. I want you to envision exactly what it would be like to be me. At this time…and I am not 100% there yet, but that is my goal.

Stay with me guys, I have some amazing things to show you…