Knightley Poems

I write stuff, and post poems at night usually. I may post other work too... they/them pronouns 🤡🦖

[5p00ka]

Now in spring I know two things

Not seasonal pain

I have a full blossom tree

Not murderous man

Just fears of what I won't be

A new path growing

Blown in then out my anxiety, depression and PTSD

[5p00ka]

Why must my love become an obsession, why can't I be cool and calm just like a breeze.

I want to call it on, summon my strength and humor and excitement and finally call it mine, you and I for all of time.

But it's not mine, and it never really will be, it was and always will be hers, and it feels wrong to change a thing about it and yet if it's for me, it's going to be mine and mine alone to change and to know.

You are mine, and I wish for me that was enough, for you I'm grateful, you're just as you are, for me your perfect- and I wish that was enough.

I want to feel rare and beloved, special and demure, and yet I can not.

Is it all a lie? I love you and yet that is not enough- I want more and yet your all I need and all I have and yet

And yet

I want to feel as beautiful and delicate as snow on a spiderweb, as fluid as sleet on a wild lake, as intense and passionately important as a thunderstorm storm, I want to feel as heavy as a rainstorm in May, I want to change the hope and expectations of what is beautiful-

I want to make time feel foolish for passing and I want to forget or ever feel it's has ever had a chance to pass or exist.

I want the romance of the perfect precious moments I've been promised. I want all the fear and hatred to bend to my will and look away for as long as I can make it, I want a more perfect day than hoping and words can ever understand.

More of all I want today, tomorrow and forever more.

[5p00ka]

I hear echoes of the past in you.

But I've learned not to run to that investigation, my interest too expensive, my heart too betrothed and damned to engage.

I've learned it's not worth it, an uncleanness not worthy, a feeling for my disinterest, discontent and unwarranted, I teach myself this let go of the magic.

I've learned to let it go this way.

I don't lament the past like I used to, I'm not consuming guilt for my amusement, no regrets for ammunition, and my trust and its placement has lost its arbitration, I exist in a different world now.

I live in the present with what I have, what little I was given, that is a bitterness I'm learning to swallow, but I know it's not all I have or all I'll get.

I've learned its better to dread the future for its coming and it's set about its pace, not slow, never steady, and nevermore a rat race.

But I hear echoes from you, the trappings of youth, I settle back in myself back into who.

A face from long ago, a cruel twist of sorrow, a place from where I've been and what I know, but it hollow now like on truly hollow ground and yet what's the point to hearing this out? I don't need this now I don't want it anymore or wait to hear it linger.

Just echo

Adrift

[5p00ka]

I'm healing, I think if you can look passed the pressure of my pretty features and the weight of time I'm scabbed and scarred and bruised, from fear and the past.

Now it doesn't hurt. If I think too hard about it all I'm a stone framed on a stage of head lights. Though if I'm honest The memories remain, the failure and anguish breaking through pierced by fear that breaks me down again and again. I can't stop myself from breaking open.

It's hard to tell myself I'm not a horrid beast inside a human body cause it's hard deep down to believe it and it's hard to smile through as I see the horror and confusion on the faces of others when I engage. I don't understand it anymore like I used to, I'm very detached and adrift in that sense. I see the path that might be a mirage reminding me how I've pulled myself through a minefield and a haunted woods, that much was clear unavoidable. With sheer will and yearning I see a pretty blue path, a strong stream of water, to guide me and carry me on unpolluted and yet my footing has yet to carry me quite to its edge.

I know that must be the hardest part finding those big next steps. But here it's time. Now or never because the damn is forming who knows how long I'll keep this flow before it's ungraciously redirected. One foot in front of the other that's all I can be sure to think or do, yet I'm unprepared. Do I need a cane to get there? Is there an ointment to ease the pain I know I'll still endure? How do I read the map to the next trail head, will I ever reach it at all? Perhaps most simply of all why is this what's so hard? Is it me or was it real?

So I'm healing from pain I didn't want, from a past self I couldn't keep, from trauma years later I still can't quite understand. I could stop. I could let it end here, this hill would be fine to die on. There are so many moments you understand far too late and even then your reality doesn't change, it might have an hour earlier, but here in the now, there's only thing to do.

[5p00ka]

These 8 days I'm sure

Sure and true.

7 following I am slipping.

My body a fortress of decay and rot

An echo of a man dull and unfocused

Passing limrrance of effective

A delightful fasad of focused amusement

True Eldritch of fruitless creations

27 days a joke

Hours every day distracting in discomfort

This simmering pot to boil over

But the last day the 28th day-

I'm want and craven

consumed with rage and hatred

Bound to the most ardent and insatiable hunger

Become the beast of myself

Beast that calls in the harsh hours before dawn

Angry creature phased and unwavering

Condemned tired and yet arisen to stay at bay the abomination in my conscious prison

Liven to my curse

Bones and swords for my cause

"Justice" fuel for my fire doused in my own truth

Fool's blood of my blood of my pain and my hatred

All to kill the quickening of an urgent failure

Yet lycanthropic and alive

Tis I

When true-

Ones own heart and eye,

Enslaved to a body of Icarus encumbered by word of sense

Nevermore entangled in polite darkness and distained ignorance

No longer effervescent and romanced with elegance

I am the imperfection, distorted disappointment, the Grotesque failed experiment, condemned to the shame of one ill begotten heir- all is I,

The Werewolf

[5p00ka]

I observed my thoughts the other day they were the most beautiful existential crisis. To be is to live and to think and to die is nothing. The truly unknown horror of it it all. A crushing feeling, the next great blow, then hot cold nothing. Deep black empty. Shifting sands of nothingness.

There'd be no ghosts, no quick revive, no save point to spawn- the deal was made and dealt and struck before I knew an argument to be made.

I'm not doing well to say the least, but I can't afford a therapist 5 times a week, it all feels so bleak, and I, useless and meak. My mind feels on lockdown, bared from within, memory derailed by worry. I can't remember, what I can't forget, and I still can never win, the wars never over and my compass follows wind. I'm surrounded by a sickly feeling quickly seeping in. I want the noise to stop but if it's gone surely I'm dead, and I don't wanna die yet, I'm just not ready yet. I've made so many mistakes and some I've yet to fix and beyond what heart I may, I have many masterpieces still tucked away and so many pretty things of I, I'd hope for display.

All I have right now are words, and those too will away, all I know is I am full and caught in a web of a beast in life I can't slay, in sleep I can't away, and in death I'll never know or certainly not be able to say. I'm very tired and for the first time in a very Very long time I'm afraid. Afraid of all things, but to die.

[5p00ka]

I've never had the kinda friends that let you talk about life or wanted to hear you talk about your life they just wanted to take what you had and I had nothing they wanted. Till I dated a boy everyone said I must have wanted so it must be true, I gave him everything I thought and knew and one day he decided that was that, we were through, I have nothing that he wanted and yeah that must have been true, all the while deep down I think I was everything he hated and he always tried to change me, corral and erase me. He was successful in the end and I never was again.

But as one does I kept going the hands of the clock turned and I was out, I was alone I was somewhere else, and I thought I was home. I met humans full of life and light who delighted me with cander and I realized they were keeping me in, in a box and telling me when I could grow and I let them all the way in. It didn't show but it didn't end. And I met someone new who let me let it all end.

And off we went on our great adventure, timing well spent to fortify tenure and time has flown by and I haven't grown an inch, my roots drenched, and so tender won't seem to sink in. My plans and dreams caught with a pin, and I can't stop thinking about how much I want my life to end- to just wake up from this nightmare. Not persuaded by love to endure, or a brightening future or nothing less, and never more. I want a meteorite to come knocking at my door, or to just stop breathing anymore, hell I'd be happy to liquify in a lump on the floor cause what's even the reason to keep up the motions anymore?

I look out for a friend and all I find is a love I can't meet nowhere anymore, I reach out for a friend and I'm drowning in expanding floor, I reach a point and the nothing is just everywhere and more and more-

I don't want to write this narrative.

I looked for friends and found a lover, and that love is fading and the lover has friends galore. I'm out on this throne I stand at this podium and all I see is odium.

A rift between life, a trench between lovers, there should be a life raft full of others to pull me out of the unders, but

[5p00ka]

What is the time,

When is the final hour?

How do I get away from here-

I love and yet I feel this so severe,

I want to run and to fly,

To be free in the sky to shine in the night.

But I'm here

I play by these rules I live by this water

I swim and I thrash, I cry and rehash, I lay still in the water,

I just want out.

I don't wanna be here.

This fun isn't fun anymore,

My heart isn't one anymore,

But I can't bring myself to walk out the door-

So I stay here not me anymore-

I can't think I can't breathe anymore-

And I just can't leave anymore.

[5p00ka]

You can't plant bulbs in the winter. They don't bloom in the spring cause they are too cold. Bulbs hate to be buried, they kick and push and silently scream their way out. Some grow strong, some grow in at the wrong angles, some lose their leaves or petals on their way out to curious children and beautiful animals. They grow and they grow and they finally bloom, and they're snatched away and taken off to be gifts, offerings of love, sexy ornaments others get to watch die.

I feel like faded green, like the pebbles that sit below the orchid, I'm an old dandelion between cracks in the concrete. My pain feels like screaming and it gets louder when I try to ignore it, it moves, it's cold it's surrounded.

I'm like a bulb, I was planted in winter, I'm growing, budding, freezing, I feel my roots reaching searching fighting and silently screaming, I'm losing at least it feels that way, not all the time, but lately. It could all be in my head, in my head I, I used to be a bulb planted in winter and I'm waiting to bloom. Waiting to die. Waiting for rot and decay. But all I have is winter cold. All I have is winter pain.

[5p00ka]

The more I go, the further into myself I sink.

I want to vomit

To scream

The more I speak the more I drown in my regrets

Not him though. He has been good. He has been kind. He has been trust. He is home. He is safety.

My eyes burn

Endless

Crinkles of snow singing and tingling

I'm walking in and out of time, everything is lost everything is falling - it's garbage. This is garbage.

It hurts

To forget and to remember

I wasn't enough

I'm not enough and I don't know what to do next

I'm speaking of potential, I'm spread too thin

I just need time.

We just need time.

More of what we don't have.

[5p00ka]

I think about the city.

Through the streets and the hood

I miss the lights from the buildings

I think of the liars and the cheats

I think about the city.

I think about the bandaids

I remember the feeling of a well trimmed garden

I remember being hidden and beaten and threatened

I remember having enough.

I think about this city.

There is so much and yet I am empty not myself not enough

I remember this city so full of promise so full of love.

And yet.. I wanna give up.

[5p00ka]

I wanted to share with you a little about the longer piece I'm working on, it's evolved quite a bit since I originally set out to write it.

It's gonna be called Lavender Bergamot and Wet Dog very loosely based on my experience working at a movie theater from being nonbinary and mixed race- to shitty coworkers and disgusting trash that smells like lavender bergamot and wet dog.

The big themes I wanna express in this piece are gonna be, 1) we're all a product of our environment for better or for worse. 2) the truth is freeing, romanticize the shit out of that shit. 3) your "worst day ever" can be a blessing besides the beauty in life comes from a lot of ugly shit.

The focal point is gonna be our main character Iggy. I wanted to create a character who has an over active imagination, I feel more than anything this job has supplied me with a lot of creative material and that more than anything is what I wanna cultivate. They're highly sensitive and immensely disinterested in showings it, but their mind has a way of spilling out into reality. This is not a coming of age story rather a coming of rage story.

[5p00ka]

It's not butterflies in my stomach anymore as much as it's the pressure of the ocean in my chest.

The reds infecting the green look like gray. Time is running past, that beautiful cautious ocean is spreading to my forearm, you'd think artistically it be even but it's just burning through the left.

My palms are heavy and empty and I'm hopping though the door. There's no denying the cement oozing from my knees it's only a matter of time before they swallow me whole. I'm wading through the ocean not tepid yet wild ready to steal the sand beneath my feet.

The ocean is spreading through my mind every step, every nosie mixing and swirling into the fluid of the mondaine and unpredictable.

[5p00ka]

I moved.

I wanted people to wonder.

Truth is it's nothing abnormal.

I'm just their sun fish.

A beautiful and temporary installation.

Bay to Bay, for a season of no true explanation.

No where next.

Evasion.

[5p00ka]

I guess I used to write love out of songs like a mixed tape now I'm trapped in castles made of cardboard and Scott tape. There's hubris in my heartaches, fuck wits in my fountain ink, all just angst ridden failure. I'm a collector of sweet neglect and poor choices.

A man. One man. That's all it took. I thought I loved one man I just didn't really matter that much to, or so he says. What everyone says now even if they don't mean it. I gave up my life every time every chance hoping fate would be kind see my sacrifice and send a heart back to me to explain things, everything really, set it right. I made myself a dumb bitch in danger begging for a savor and suddenly I woke up. I'm the hero and the villain of this story, the grand foolish loriet.

I've lied myself into believing I'm some sacred slut oppressed by the masses. Truth is I'm meek, for the hunting, tagged up for sport, selfish and stupidly lost in the subtext. I'll be buried a lie I tell myself overwhelmed in a mirror I hide in a closet I live in. He loved me. He loves me.

No babies. No ring. I've lived through this prophecy. Life won't indulge me, too undeserving. Creations won't learn me, no accolades for my scribbles to marry my desires. Kiss me a cherry tasting sweet thing, like passion or needing, I've read this so neatly like sex in the movies.

I'm breathing the bitterest bullshit believable like bile and I can't be free of it. Every instance a frustration, a scream lacking determination, my bitchy placating. Another half truth who's writing has been on the wall, but truthfully there's nothing. Nothing save time, so much fucking time. And why, can't I just love, couldn't I just stay, I want to be happy.

I've ruined the moment. No joy just frustration. Asexual and a lack of ambition, several other useless affections, all just lacking fondness of conviction. I'm a slug in regular circulation, can I please just get my accommodations, no more mental isolation. I'm struggling with the navigation of these social situations. Escape doesn't help shit. Invisible and hesitation are my calibration.

[5p00ka]

I'm observing about myself that I have a lot to say and yet I surround myself with people who don't have the space to hear or listen a lot of the time which I tell myself is because I don't like to talk or because I want to make space for everyone else who is so smart but i think I'm just afraid if i don't always occupy some type of space in the worlds of who I'm interacting with I'll be nowhere at all. Which is technically the case anyway but only cause i make it so. Like I'm so smart and yet so stupid I've created my own social island where I can't trust the truth of anyone more can I assert my own. So i cling to quirks to make myself feel dynamic but if i step back those aren't things I'm passionate about or interested in. Like i love hiking? And kayaking, and rock climbing. Things i could put a time limit on but my enjoyment comes from the meditative slow going of them- and i had no idea that how i felt cause I've been so invested in the words of life. I wanna play guitar not as an expression of my artistic abilities but as a way to fill the space in the world. I want to write something craft a story to have competition and fulfillment.

Or I thought i wanted a master piece. Now I'm realizing, there will never be a good enough piece i can make.

I don't think i particularly like creating things, I'm not sure I ever have I've just had a lot to say and no one to really talk to who could match my energy. Maybe i did once but it was a phase masking what i really wanted to do which was experiment and creating something out of my own scope of what i know. I'm not sure I've ever known a whole lot. It would have been the proof that i was infact the smartest, the most impressive, the most interesting and the most deserving. It would have been a lie. All my life would have gone to building a world or a life that read really well in a biography. There was the traffic beginning, the tragedy filled up bringing, the turnaround and finally I'd find my diamond, I'd bottle stardom, I'd break the fucking world. I'd have nothing interesting left to do but cling to my guitar, snort cocaine with rockstars, spelunk into deeper parts of my soul than reality would allow.

But I've glimpsed the end, it's the same as the middle and the beginning, there is no true end the would turns and moves onward. I cling to things like the innocence of love and belong, the simplicity of governing trauma, the grandeur of moral hierarchy and social and political correctness within intersectionality. It's all always meant nothing. End yet I've found yet nothing else.

It all falls back to the question to the big wonder to the word truly most undefined, Love, is it something I've even ever felt or that I ever will? I like to think I have but then why doesn't it feel better? Why do I feel like a young branch in the wind flapping and snapping around. Why do I feel he needs me and yet he's never needed me and he's not going to need me. Why do I feel like a convenience rather than a desire? I can't make sense of it. And it's not meant for me to know, it's not mine and yet it is.

[5p00ka]

$2.64

That's all the money i have right now.

I should ask for help

I should be okay to ask her

But she can't hear me anymore

All he can hear is her, i wonder if I'm real to them.

I'm a ghost

I can't afford to make him happy with $2.64 i can't keep him alive either

I don't know what to do

I have no way to change my fate for the better i have no good fortune on the financial horizon i have no idea what to do.