Sunday, 15 December 2013

"The mind is a beautiful paradox, because it uses itself to understand itself."
Every day

Thursday, 12 December 2013


when you ran your fingers over those dainty dots
slowly, thoughtfully, breath-stopping
mouth speaking nothing, eyes speaking everything
circuits blew

Wednesday, 11 December 2013

late night rolling realizations in a sweaty studio

it's time to take those memories
once stubbornly attached to you
and take them on, as my own

that tattoo

Monday, 9 December 2013

presently, i'd like to think of myself as 
more capable, 
more accepting,
more self sufficient, 
more challenged, 
more flawed, 
more tongue-tied,
more excited, 
more reckless,
more inspired,
more vulnerable,
more confident,
more motivated,
more simplistic,
more unpredictable,
more understanding,
more insightful,
more holistic,
more uncertain,
of a woman than i used to be
"Stream of consciousness” 
a term still used because it so beautifully describes the way thoughts flow like a river, tumbling over each other in waves, sometimes placid, sometimes turbulent. 


what's going on in that beautiful mind?
fuck you
she deserved so much better than you,
all your whores
and your shitty cocaine 

Saturday, 7 December 2013

Friday, 6 December 2013

Thursday, 5 December 2013

"Almost. It’s a big word for me. I feel it everywhere. Almost home. Almost happy. Almost changed. Almost, but not quite. Not yet. Soon, maybe."

Joan Bauer, Almost Home
sometimes if it isn't easy, 
it isn't worth it

Wednesday, 4 December 2013

one of the best things a heart could witness, is the candid laughter of strangers

Monday, 2 December 2013

how old are we again?

Once upon a time too much gin was drank
Inhibitions went out the window
Dramatic happenings were documented
The end

Can we please move along?

Sunday, 24 November 2013

Darling, I don’t want you; I’ve got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don’t want the whole of anyone…. What you want is the whole of me-isn’t it, isn’t it?-and the whole of me isn’t there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don’t exist.
— Elizabeth Bowen, The Death of the Heart

Friday, 22 November 2013

childhood flashback

sometimes the close connection between the mind, and reality bewilders any and all words 

Wednesday, 20 November 2013


They flow often
Thank you for aiding
Each and every one of you

please move // back here

The heavy breathing is gone
I'm content once again
And that's what matters most
Thank you for reminding me
Once again distance does not prevail
Our kindred spirits

Saturday, 9 November 2013

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

"Women like me do not fall gracefully, 
we stumble over our spines, trip over
our vowels, and collapse into your arms.
Our hearts are open books,
Russian novels containing fifty pages
on the way your voice drifts across
the telephone wires each night.
Our hearts are first drafts,
unedited verses about each and every
person we have ever loved: the stranger
on the subway, the girl who gave us a balloon,
the boy who stole our virginity
but not our heart.
Women like me will love you from a distance
of a thousand syllables while laying in your bed,
we will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,
and when we leave you will finally understand
why storms are named after people."

Katrina, M.K.

Tuesday, 29 October 2013


Not good

Not good: at hiding when human contact is craved; needed.


that smokey, musk-filled breath that lingers in the folds of clothing, 
in the strands of hair
traces on the neck
it's addicting

living proof

playing through each hallway
down and up every stair flight
on repeat

Sunday, 27 October 2013

kindred spirits

my right prefrontal region is recommending withdrawl

fight vs flight

flight is by far the safest, most secure and natural inclination chosen

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

my day brightened, in just four quotes: Caitlin Moran

"The patriarchy can get OFF my face and tits."
"No-I'm talking about the common attitudinal habit in women that we're kind of....failing if we're not a bit neurotic. That we're somehow boorish, complacent and unfeminine if we're content."
"Along with underwear, love is a woman's work. Women are to be fallen in love with. When we discuss the great tragedies that possibly befall a woman, once we have discounted war and injury, it is the idea of being unloved, and therefore unwanted, that we wince over the most. So given the importance women know is attached to them being attached, it is little wonder that women are obsessed with the idea of love and relationships. We think about them all the time. Sometimes when I tell men about the way women think about potential relationships, they start to look very very alarmed.
"Of course, while having children is hard work - a minimum 18-year commitment at full throttle, followed by another 40 years of part-time fretting, money lending and getting on their nerves when you keep cutting their toast into toy soldiers, even though they're 38 and a neurosurgeon now - in many ways it's the easy option for a woman. 
Because if you have children, at least people won't keep asking you when you're going to have children.
Women are always being asked when they're going to have children. It's a question they're asked even more often than "Can I help you, madam?" when they've just come in to a shop to make a call somewhere quiet. For some reason, the world really wants to know when women are having children. It likes them to have planned this shit early. It wants them to be very clear and up front about it -"Oh I'd like a glass of Merlot, the clams, the steak-and a baby when I'm 32 please. It is oddly panicked by women who are a bit relaxed and "whatever" about it all : "But your body clock!!" They are apt to shout. 

health and science

today my eyes began looking for you again

Sunday, 20 October 2013

good Good good

Here is the skin that you said you loved 
draped over the back of the chair in the kitchen. 
Here are the teeth. Here is the sternum, the 
clavicle, the fibula. Here are the angel bones 
laid out on top of the dresser like antique 
jewelry. Here are the earlobes, the knobbly 
elbows, the beauty mark near my temple 
that always got a moan out of you. Here are 
my thighs, my femur. All ten toes, all ten 
fingers. My pubic bone, preserved and 
wrapped in a velvet bag. Your name on the 
tag. Your name on everything. Here is 
the body that loved you. Here is the 
heart, bloodied and wanting. Here are
those drunk voice mails, the sober texts.
Here is your promise of staying. Here 
is the lonely hum in my brain where your
name used to be. Here is my spine. Here
is all the hollow. Here is all the longing. Here
is the heavy tongue, the scratchy vocal
chords. Here are all of the I love you's.
Here is the shocking wreck of it all. Here is 
how you were closer to me than my bones, 
my skin. Here is the quiet city, your empty 
side of the bed. Here is the empty. Here is not 
knowing whether you loved me or not. Here is 
the poem that can’t save us. Here.

-Kristina. H

Getting it;

After six years, you're finally getting it.
Finally understanding, all i've ever needed
All i've ever wanted, is to be welcomed home
An open door, a listening ear, a plate of food
To be greeted with soft eyes, a genuine hug
A "are you happy? are you liking living on your own?"
To express the desire and goal of a united family
To flip through those old pictures
To watch those old videos 
To laugh, to reminisce
To care
You're finally getting it
It's like truly coming home for once

Saturday, 19 October 2013

good read // waiting for you to come to terms with my human ways

"Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning, locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale” 
with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide. These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10, cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank, took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live. I didn't salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom, did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day."
- Kait Rokowski


each day is an opportunity to better discover yourself.


these dreams have begun,
the boy

Friday, 18 October 2013

you're my Emma

"Emma is not a person. Emma is a place that you get stuck in. Emma is a pain that you cannot erase." - Justin Vernon

running, running trends

so it's not just you; it's me.
it's how i tick.
it's how i am so willing
it's how i rush to his side,
it's how i relieve his tension
it's not because of you, it's me


nothing, distinctive
at all

Thursday, 17 October 2013

"I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people, to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole."
-Lauren Oliver

Tuesday, 8 October 2013


She deserves better, you say. I say: You’re a goddamn coward. What she deserves is an actual person she can connect with. She deserves you, or me or the entire world; she deserves someone achingly real and honest. She deserves a human being equally raw to pursue her and love her and, perhaps, destroy her emotionally, but she deserves all that as well. She doesn't deserve anyone’s sugary fairy tale. She deserves to float freely, with you, or me, or the world, into the very depths of her own psychosynthesis. She deserves to explore the meaning of the word "intimacy", with someone beside her that will care regardless. She fucking deserves all of it. So, pluck up the courage and be with her or leave her in peace but don’t you dare "sell" her your own "inadequacy" as a lie so that, again, you manage to comfort your conscience and eventually come to feel that you love her exactly because you’re letting her go. Because, darling, that’s bullshit. That’s only you own little self-created lie laying behind a much bigger lie; it’s not even properly concealed within itself, you fucking idiot.
piles of mumbo-jumbo

Monday, 7 October 2013

circuit breathing

it's teaching me what i already thought i knew,
something that comes naturally at infancy
but often forgotten when caught in crowds,
next to strangers in their bare feet,
spot a familiar gait in my peripherals
i'm aware of how little i breathe when i'm not alone
it's time to get back to it

my hair behaves about as much as my inclinations
but you love, who you love, who you love
of that, i am resolute