mergers and acquisitions

busy, busy, be
as busy as i was
pounding the pavements of
NYC, lost
but raging on in
the concrete jungle i
called home.
now that jungle
is a flurry of green
racing by as i
drive
to my next stop, under
blue (such clear blue
and unadulterated) skies,
riding the clock like
it was a whore in the tenderloin,
just working for the money
when she can.
the days are passing
like post-its
being ripped off
their sticky pad, quickly,
and quietly, and
falling to the floor
with not a sound or
a care
in the world, fluttering
with a lightness
beyond their yellow,
paper trails as fall
sets sail -
here we go again.

~k.

intro to fall

the cracks let the past
in, little slivers
of sunlight crowding the corners
and bathing them in light,
too much, too sharp now
and i want to run like
strippers when the blacklights
are shut off, scuttle back to the
darker parts
like cockroaches in an alleyway.
all this progression
can't possibly be good for
one's soul, can it?
and yet onward we all march,
pretending, laughing
and all the while
the sunlight shivers in...
enough to see the breakups
and beginnings and
babies that might have been yours -
but still light sinks in,
fishnets over skin
marking me all the way to
the next gig.
the cracks let the past
in, little slivers of
sin and good decisions
washing over the corners
of the attic of
my mind.

~k.

take off

walking, tall
beyond the shadow of the doubt
i uselessly instilled inside myself
so long, long ago...
but here i am, still
living, still
breathing and standing, still
and even in the wake of
moving mountains and
waving goodbye to ghosts.
i remind myself daily
"keep going, keep
beating" and
it works but it all
hurts just the same, my
heart low and heavy in
it's cage.
not sad, just low, just
tired... but
this struggle is worth
the pain, it won't
find it's vanity in gilded
promises riding into sunsets -
it is my own,
it is what i own and
even though it cuts to the quick,
sometimes,
my nails always seem
to grow back.
forget the promises.
forget the useless doubt.
keep that beat low,
girl, and
maybe you'll find
the ground was never that
scary to begin with.

~k.

coming up, spring

it's these days that really get to me, lazy and light and "maybe i'll just take a bath" kind of days that last and last and last... it's the dusks that make the spring worth surviving through (cause that little rodent spent too long underground and tried to will spring here but the seasons remain unmovable as frigid hearts and clock hands), i mean it's been a little chilly but the days are growing longer and the nights, warmer - and another spring will pass into summer and i will dip my toes in the water, whatever water that i can find, and i will think of golden sunsets in the park and lightning bolts between our fingers and green, green, green; it's amazing the things you never want to forget fade so fast, like the sound of your grandfathers voice even though it's only been a  little over a year, or the way my bones jutted from my skin (even though i know it's wrong to starve yourself that lightness, like feathers, like femininity), under leotards and tights that only encouraged me... and the things you try to forget, they stick; like superglue, they do, and your brain just won't let them go... so instead of feeling the soft grass on my back and smell that fine clear blue sky above, here i'll be thinking about these memories my body has moved on from, these tiny little ghosts that hang out in the attic of your mind.

that's okay, though, right? isn't wisdom just aged experience?

~k.

silver linings

i've been thinking a lot about my dreams lately, like, when did they disperse like oil in water, and how did the things i once thought were so simple have mutated into a many-armed, many-eyed pms monster? i read things about change and the acceptance of aging and what wisdom is (turns out, it's knowledge that has experienced life, fucking proverbs) and how to avoid bitterness and what really makes us happy... and all of it, every single bit of these snippets of life and love and learning - essentially they all say the same thing.

be patient.

be kind.

be willing.

fuck me, right? here i was, thinking the many years i have spent driving myself towards this goal, the hours i've let wash away taking class, the minutes that wrap themselves around the music in my head... be patient. be kind. be willing.

i am thirty. my patience is waning, as are my hips. i don't have the patience to be kind and willing anymore. am i bitter because i was forced to resign gracefully? betrayed by my own body, frustrated that my mind will forever be a better dancer than my body ever was?

is wisdom the art of resigning willfully? of not allowing your own body to misrepresent what you actually are? do i have to be kind about it so that i can ease my own inhibitions about aging and soften the blow of this graceful resignation - otherwise known to the rest of the world as "giving up"? there is only a letter of difference between "kind" and "king". do i want to be king of my world, or be kind to it?

and is there a possibility for those two to live sympathetically side by side?

~k.

triple falls

these leaves, they've
been turned over and
around, soft
on the ground and
freckle it with pretty yellows
and oranges and
reds, all flipped from
stem to head.
so bright they burned,
lighting the carolina mountains
like stars behind the stars
in the inky night sky,
those massive pinpricks
of searing fire, burning
out with each brilliant
flicker.
fifteen seasons of
watching leaves die,
since looking in your eyes
that balmy morning at
the back door, the
stars and the leaves
curling at the speed of
their own light;
fifteen seasons of praying
for green, for
rebirth of the color
of forgiveness, of promise;
fifteen seasons and
i have moved on,
and you have moved on,
or at least to places
our flames wouldn't
-couldn't-
ignite inside each other.
fifteen seasons later,
and here we are.
bridging the gap
with silence,
with space,
with feigned ignorance
but
we
are
still
here.
leaves turning, burning
out like stars
behind the stars in the
inky night sky.

~k.

old crow

stop.

~k.

another year older

you knew me, some
time forever ago,
with black hair and a
bleeding heart; you
loved me then
for the colors i shared,
the deep reds and blues
I so artfully let
wash over me, let settle.
you knew me when
i didn't want to know
myself, when
i didn't want to know
my layers, too stubborn
to let the walls be broken.
but you broke them.
and i hated you for it,
i still kind of hate you for it.
i wanted that shell, that
protection against people
just
like
you. but
too late, now...
i found someone like you,
just like the song says.
and i don't care that
i've been broken or
infiltrated or
even smashed to bits,
because it's the kind of love
you couldn't give.
so i'll take my pearls and
my weathered leather
jacket and be on
my way, again, through
my swinging doors, not
yours,
and smile to the sunset
that all this
was worth it.

~k.

the bolt

the bus yesterday was crowded, full to the brim. and it was a monday... i guess no one wanted to pay the two grand for a ticket to see madonna at MSG. i was happy to leave, like most of the people on the bus, to go home to my own bed and my own cat and my man; not to say that i was happy to leave my friends, the promise of free studio space, or the fact that anywhere i wanted to go i could walk or take the metro.

movement is a funny thing. it's the only thing in my life i know i'm really, solidly good at. and i have been in such a constant state of motion since graduating from high school, shit, since before that... that i am in no means saying this is not a nice, slow transition into a different, welcomed life.

new york city for a weekend - nicely does it. i should have moved there fresh out of college. i would have had the energy and will to do everything and anything that i heaped on my plate. but at 27, 28... i just couldn't hack it. the movement was killing me, and so i am therefore happy i am out.

things will pick up to a pace i enjoy and can handle in my old age eventually. for right now, the bus back into the city will do.

~k.

asheville

really?
i mean, really?

the irony is killing me.

~k.

carve it out

and in two months, the world was flipped and things are different, now.
things are different in a good and solid way, taking quite a few steps back to get to exactly the position i was in a little while ago but with more experience and a longer resume.
the world is so ironic. to go forward alot of times, we must move back and allow ourselves to be... pummeled.
beaten.
and become a child again.
it works this way in ballet, as well, like cleaning the dust out of a clock so that the gears move swift and slippery against one another, so that it can tell time again. breaks for the bones and joints in ballet is much the same, although i can say a clocks muscles rarely weaken in the absence of movement.
but then again, a clocks muscles are made of metals that are solid and unfibrous.
it makes sense for it not to be weakened.
but the clock will continue it's time telling, as i will continue my dancing, and my growing, and shaping a future i never even knew existed but love more and more every day.
what an interesting life i lead.

~k.

and now i hate flowers

when i was sixteen, i was cast as the lilac fairy in my ballet school's production of the sleeping beauty. the only other role that was more important was the actual sleeping beauty, so all in all i had done pretty well for myself, and considering that at sixteen and still a virgin it was basically the most epic thing that had happened to me thus far.
i lived, breathed, and slept the fucking lilac fairy for five months. i watched videos of famous ballerinas who had danced the role. i meticulously planned my stage makeup specifically for the role, spending hours in the bathroom every night after getting home from class and rehearsal (even though i was kind of failing my math class but, priorities, priorities, right?). i practiced my bows in my bedroom mirror, envisioning the bob carr theatre in downtown orlando equivalent to that of the met, people graciously throwing long-stemmed roses onto the stage while screaming BRAVO, BRAVO and ENCORE for my thirteen curtain calls.
i was the lilac fucking fairy.
so it was at this show, this one time where i knew the planets had aligned and i had withstood bleeding toes and tendinitis and chronic hip problems... this one time i had the storybook all to myself, in the lights and the fog and the glitter and the tutus, all to me. this was me, this was my story of perseverance and dedication and grit. me, drowned in the bright lights that soaked into my eyes and lifted me out of my skin. this. was. me.
and at intermission, my father came backstage with flowers and little gifts and cards and told me that his back was hurting and my little brother was getting fussy and they were going to leave because i had already danced half of the show and that was about it, right?
i smiled.
i hugged him.
i watched him walk out the backstage door.
and i ran to my dressing room, threw myself on the couch, and wept.
i was so shocked, so unbelievably shocked that they weren't staying til the end. that they wouldn't just stick around and see me through. i was shocked and confused and hurt...
but i was mostly just sad.

you can't make people stick around until the end of the show, and moreover, who would want that? all the flowers in the world would never make up for the lack of interest in my passion... and so i had to let it go and concede that some things in this life are not worth that kind of pain. where you have to make people love you and the life you love. i wouldn't want to hold people against their free will just so i feel better, more secure about their love for me. someone else will come along and feel that for me free of charge, just because they do.

which is exactly what happened. thank you to the one who has stayed til the end, with a bottle of perfume in his hand, and genuine excitement in his heart for my dedication and perseverance. i love you for so many things, but this being one of the most dear.

we. always.

~k.

ocean's exhibit

i went to sea world this one time and was in this clear tunnel, see through to sharks swimming (flying, whichever one) overhead and all i could look at was the guy's shirt in front of me, me sitting there pretty in my mother's arms, legs wrapped around her waist.
all i wanted to do was touch it. it was white and mesh and it looked stretchy like crabtraps under the water, i wanted to put my tiny fingertips in between the mesh and pull, pull til there was no space between me and the space between his skin and the shirt, til wewerethisclose and my hand was beyond my ear, and see what it did - see if the shirt would snap from my hands or collapse under the water and the sharks and the imagination of it all...
but my mom slapped my hand away right before it made it there, and i was just a foolish four-year old, in pigtails, thinking the pattern on his skin was the coolest corner of the room i had seen thus far. and in the back of my head, golden curls and all, i knew, i KNEW i wouldn't have known what to do with that fishnet had i the chance to touch it.
application, application.

~k.

indiana

snapshots taken
and, damn
i wish i was there
i wish
i was part of the picture,
because eventhough
i know
she's married, and you,
about to be,
i still wish
it was me.

~k.

somebody i used to know

well that certainly is news, isn't it? i guess things have been going well. i mean, evidently.

my best regards.

~k.

exes

it's amazing what time can do, isn't it? babies are born, funerals to attend, keys get lost, and friends grow old before our eyes... angry lovers past become happy with new skin, tattoos multiply, and family moves away. it's all very exciting, and all very sad.

i guess there's really nothing that can be done about the distribution about life, except to be happy for those who've moved on (whichever fashion they have seen fit to do so) and wish them the best as they tackle the challenges presented.

good luck, all of you. i hope you wish me the same.

~k.

GLAD girl

i feel like you can
see
right through me, my
lies don't stretch as
far as my legs can. and
then i think, well, if
i'm as sheer as pantyhose
(not the ones you buy
at duane reade, the
ones that estate sales purge
for $.50) then what the fuck?
where do i go
from being a pretty girl
who has nice words?
what will you think
of me when you
see
the ugly?
it's 7 am and
i'm still catching my breath, still
clinging to the clock.
i wish you were here, but
i'm glad you are not.
oh, me, the one with
dreams like moon-tides and
a glass wall so thick...
i'll give this up
soon enough.

~k.

better

i wonder what it was like to know you forever ago, before all the cracks started to happen and the unhappiness set into your bones like stale jell-o, before you decided to be so so cool and talk about all things macabre; back when you had normal hair and a blank body. i think to myself, hey, i guess everyone has their own way of validating themselves but i know in the bottom of my ribcage it's all a lie, you're all a lie... it's been too long since we've talked but in a thousand ways not long enough because i know all the terrible things you did to me and then after thinking them you blamed me for not being able to let go even though, that too is a lie, because how can you let go of something that was never even there to begin with, even i know that all you were was an image of who i wanted you to be and you let me think that because again, you thought it was cooler than what you could ever be. i have questions like, have you ever heard that song and couldn't help thinking of me for hours afterwards even though you hate that song now and you hate me even more for being the umbrella in THAT cocktail... but not too many questions because even though it's been hard it hasn't been impossible to regain the little dignity i had when you washed me down the drain, just like that.

now what i like to do is write pretty words about a boy i never really knew, because at least i know something came out of it that people can read and ask themselves why we have to go through bad hallways to get to really nice rooms, why the sky has been grey for two days but the sun's all like, move over bitches, i'm going to show you why you love days that i dominate. maybe someone will be helped and it makes all of everything that you never were to me, better.

my future has never been brighter, and i can't thank you enough for the bullshit you fed me. what an ironic gift.

k.

m&m's

wicked wind, and
little spikes of ice
hitting my face... out
there on broadway and
flushing, under
trains and sirens hurting
the space between my ears.
it was talk, talk, talktalktalk
and, "walk this way" and
"call this doctor" and
geez, so many hallways
with padded footsteps and
squeaks of rubber.
and i held your hands
and told you, no,
you're not blue-paper-gown crazy,
as you cried and cried and cried.
but i still left alone, and
you still are alone, up
there in the third ward
of the fifth floor.
it reminds me we all need
to be fixed, somehow, and
in a way, the safest places
can also be the scariest.

~k.

gracias

i wish i had
a pen at all times.
then i could ink
the city on my books;
my love, my
whiskey and wine
my,
oh, my,
you sing to me
when you don't speak, you
make love to
me
when you don't move...
i could never ask
for more.
and if
you think i have,
i'm lying,
right?

~k.