Breaking free – New Story?? Never know


Sweating the hammer slips through my hand again. Breathing heavily I look at the small hole that I have made. 12 years… I can’t believe it, finally I have been able to chip one small pea size hole in of this cold brick wall. Closing my eyes taking a deep breath near the hole. Just like I remembered, a scent of fresh wild flowers that I hope to lay on soon..

Hearing the cackle inside this box tears stream down my face. Please, someone help me. I am trying but 12 years I only have this pea size hole to show for it. I won’t give up, I CAN’T. I need to break free and tell it all….

I rub my hands on the worn pants that are paper thin, pick up the hammer raise it over my head and swing towards the pea size hole again. This time when it strikes, I hope I get it to collapse…

Until Next Time,
LK

Anger


Anger makes you blind
Anger makes you hate
But anger doesn’t make you think

It’s something overwhelming
that you can’t ressist
It’s something hateful
that makes you fume
You hit
You kick
But you don’t forgive

Everyone has anger
some control it
some won’t or can’t

But it only comes out
when something you love gets destroyed
And you want whats called
Revenge

My “Bad”


I have been uploading a lot of past poetry.. Of course on my files I did not think of… hey if you loaded up on WordPress you should mark it some how..

Well I might have uploaded a few that I posted previously.. If I did then please forgive me it was honest mistake. I am making sure that any that I post from now on I have them marked from now on.

In saying this, some of my previous post if they are doubled might have slight changes… If you notice it thats great (or bad, your view not mind). If you don’t thats okay too.

So basically nice short post here letting you guys know…. I MESSED UP!! lol

I hope you are all enjoying them as much as I am when I post them up.

Until Next Time,
LK

Achy Breaky Heart – 1996


Achy breaky heart
what do you have for me?
Love for this family
and friends for this
little space

Achy Breaky Heart
What You have given me
An object for you
to toy with
An object for you
To give so much love

Achy breaky Heart
What do I give to thee
Pain to which you crumple
Pain to which you
start to ache

My little
Achy breaky Heart
how slowly I squeeze
that love out
oozing into my hands

Achy breaky heart

I’d Rather be..- 1995


A little love
A little hate
A black cat

Panther or puma
with those betraying yellow eyes
for being sensual
being mystical
and to be mysterious
for all the doubts
and mis-conception

A little love
A little hate
A black cat

Panther or puma
Or a little
House cat

They are intertwine
They are same
Mysterious
Sensual
Mystical

Those amazing betraying yellow eyes

Is what I’d rather be

A Friend – 1995 (written as Twenty)


I have a friend
That was a friend
for a long time

She’s kind
She’s blind
to what she does

I tell her no
but she says yes
I try and take her “friends”away
but she’s stubborn like me
I guess that’s why we are
friends

She’s nice
She’s blind
but all I could do
Is help her make her world
Fresh and start
Again

A Cry – 1996


I hear a cry in the night
That gives me fright
I stare at the night and hear the cry
so high
That makes me want to fly high

I hear a cry, in the night
So close
So close
Its in my head
I wake up
and stare with the night
Just to hear that awlful cry

I shut my eyes and try to close my ears
But no matter how hard I try
I still hear that cry in the night

This Blank Page, What Will it Say…


I stare at this blank page and I wonder. When I write do my words mean anything? Am I truly connecting with someone or are my words meaningless and a waste of internet space?

I don’t know if my thoughts are “intellectual” or have an “impact” on the world. I don’t know if and when you read my words you laugh and shake your head saying, “What is she doing?! She should stop while she is still ahead! She isn’t a writer, she is a joke!”

Maybe my self doubt makes me a bad writer. Maybe my low self-esteem helps me hide behind these encrypted letters. Maybe I become the person I want to be when I write.

This page is blank and I sit and stare at it. Waiting for that moment, that urge. The fingers start to move, to create. The letters become words and the words become a sentence.

What do they mean, why were they created. Was it really me or that small voice taking over. I see the shape sometimes but I am to afraid to walk towards it. I’m afraid to find out that the shape the voice is me!

Who is the writer, who is the creator of these post. Why does the feeling of satisfaction take ahold of me when I finally push that “Publish” button. Why do I never remember the words I wrote unless I re-read them.

I stare at this blank page and I forget. I forget my world, I forget my chores, I forget myself. I forget that if I look up from this screen I will see that it is an amazing sunny day outside. That I should go and bath in the sunlight…. I don’t, I’d rather sit here in front of this blank page and create words into sentences for others to read and criticize.

This blank page is my template of worlds that only I can create. If anyone else love’s them, gets inspired by them or laughs at them then I am proud to have publish it. This blank page is my outlet that no one can and will never understand; even if they are writers themselves. Each one of us have a unique voice, a unique print.

This blank page is mine, to express and imagine to my hearts content.

Until Next Time,
LK