work in progress, expect disruption to status quo

Just another poetry blog of a Literature student. All writing here is mine unless credited otherwise.

[kitt-andrea]

Mission Statement

My poetry is the practice of expressing the human condition as if one were an alien.

Remarking with curiosity and wonder, like I've never lived before now.

The words never quite fit- or fit too well, unearthing the connective tissue that exists between it all.

I feel most me

When I write poetry

(How twee)

An outsider

Experiencing everything anew

February 2021

[kitt-andrea]

[kitt-andrea]

Let me show you (abridged)

What I mean What this means Let me speak to you In poetry My natural tongue Away from the boxes Of essays grammar boredom

Let me contradict myself Intervene into my own argument Leave spaces in Line breaks Words unsaid Thoughts unfinished Meaning is contingent I trust you to know me yourself Warwick I hope you create beauty From the words I channel to you In a work where I I is not Ky I is more Ky than they have ever been And still I is not Ky

Let me show you what I mean And create something new Like we have a home in these lines Like we trust each other Like we can see each other Without boxes

(...)

I cannot show you what education means Creatively or critically It is a box It is breaking the box It is what lies beneath the box Education defies definition All that is solid melts into air So forget definitions But explore them anyway Nothing matters Everything matters Find joy in the freefall Imagine Sisyphus happy Imagine yourself happy Your education is different to mine I hope you learn to learn Love

I guess I’m not trying to show you More ask Can you feel me Can you touch me Can you see me through the boxes?

For ten weeks I have learned to sense you I hope that you accept my vulnerability My beating heart

[kitt-andrea]

[kitt-andrea]

[kitt-andrea]

[kitt-andrea]

[kitt-andrea]

I don’t really do recordings of poetry (sorry for the really low-tech setup), I much prefer spoken word live but hope this is enjoyable to someone

[kitt-andrea]

A prayer for pockets

Dear you Who lives in this world I have something to share Please hear my

Inside this hellish world Made to break us I have found me I have found mine

When I let myself break And cry aloud Never hidden But publicly When I know I deserve better And so does everyone else Together

I have learned to use my voice Become intimate with its cadence Whispered or projected I have a voice

I can tell you now that I am Ky I am a multitude and I am beautiful Because I write poetry To make art out of an ache Because when I shout University House will shake Because I am joyfully loud When I call and respond with a crowd

Me and mine are fighters They have embraced welcomed educated me in the ways Of survival as struggle And struggle as a promise That things don't have to be like this Because something inside always knows You deserve better We deserve better

As we struggle for better My friendly fighters are beautifully alive Some are soft and bake cookies They nourish us Some write words like a knife But hold you when they speak Some are simply there Always there no matter what Some are angry and tired And show you how to just have fun Some know the unspoken things So to trusted ones in secret rooms they Explain how to report, or get support, or comport Yourself in a sticky situation

There are pockets In which heaven hides Full of love Voices heard Decisions made radically At the root Democratically Unlinked from capital Power made visible and challenged Liberatory for all oppressed people Or at least it’s trying It isn’t perfect But it’s trying We’re trying

You can find heaven If you know what to search for And heaven trusts you To love To love enough to be kind To love enough to build something better To love enough to join the fight

Yes, this is hell But my friends are in it with me Even some of my academics too But we’re making moves Creating spaces, seeking changes For this hell to be a little bit more heavenly Maybe one day we’ll remake the whole place Change every system all the structures I’m sceptical but can hope

I can hope but don't bullshit to me So tell me Tell me we’re not free And you don't know if we'll ever be But we'll try our best Tell me you believe we should be free Tell me we'll fight together to be free And maybe in your actions I can let myself believe you Tell me that we must act as if we are free And maybe oh gods maybe Because of us One day someone can be free

Until then Even in the most hellish of places I promise you My dear you There are pockets Of life Real life Consider me a flare Transient Not the main event But bright and bold enough Calling you home to a heaven

Tell me you've dared to dream We can be free

May 2019

[kitt-andrea]

Ode for the Wakeful

My university is utopia. Look at our facilities, they’re State of the art. Well, at least for everyone but Humanities, But what more do they need? So long as the art kids have the basics, they’re fine. I know better, and study Engineering. I’ve got a job lined up for me At Jaguar Land Rover Because I have studied tirelessly.           I love my degree           And my university is utopia.

Even when it’s exam season-- And I haven’t slept properly for days Constantly preparing For a project, or exam, Or when I took my society on a night out And didn’t get back home from Pop Until 4am-- There’s so much to do, I’m still having fun. See the destress pups And street food on the piazza, All here to cheer me up.           I love my degree           And my university is utopia.

I graduated with a First And I know it was all worth it As I stand in my new clothes Beaming to my mum From onstage. We haven’t talked in months, Me and mum, I’ve been so busy But I know she’s proud of me now For pushing through all those sleepless nights And doing everything I need to, no matter how.           I love my degree           And my university is utopia.

My course has finished, I’ve even got a summer internship from it, In fact, I have an inexhaustible list of opportunities. And I   c a n ’ t   s l e e p . By day you’d see a zombie on the job, By night an untiring wanderer Through the halls of my house. My mum worries, bless her heart: What’s wrong? When did this start?           I love my degree           And my university is utopia.

My university is utopia For insomniacs. I paid so much to study I felt guilty for sleeping. Sleep no more I have murdered sleep, Learned to walk While dead Without rest or remorse Always walking-- working? But if you ask me about Warwick The words still spring out Through fatigue, unthinkingly:            I̴̛̳ ̴̗̀l̸̯͑ȍ̴̤v̷͍͊e̸͓̅ ̸͈́m̴̮͂y̵̨̓ ̸̜̃d̶́͜e̴̺̋g̵͔̿r̴̤͛e̶̝͋e̶͓͐           A̷̜̚n̷͎̑d̶͇̈ ̵̗͋ḿ̸̞y̸͖̽ ̵̻̉u̶̦̇ṋ̵̒i̷͉͛v̴̰̾e̴͈͝ṙ̶̹s̶̙̒i̷̬̿t̸̩̂y̵̥͋ ̷͔̐i̴͙͒ș̷͗ ̸̥͌u̵̯̇t̴͈̽o̴̻͌p̶̗̐i̶̭͌a̴̪͆ .̴͚̀

May 2019

[kitt-andrea]

How can I

Learn Be educated Become knowledgeable

Of anything except the pressing screams Of my sisters

The bathrooms warn me Of inevitable betrayal How to deal with a date gone wrong Ask Angela Because we know A date will go wrong It must And we can only rely on staff in student bars Because we cannot trust men And the uni’s systems let us down

          Will next there be a sink for           Blood from young wrists           Installed too?

How am I to show up Sit down And listen to anything

But the testament spoken loud and true            Our university

I am restless for justice and Giroux, hooks, Foucault- can wait a while I don’t know or care if they’d mind

If I miss classes From a fever induced by Mould in a cheap student house And organising harder than I ever have before

Will I fail my degree Would I miss out

Or am I learning

Exactly what this university has to teach me That girls suffer They carry the burden of experience and resistance            And that poor girls            Girls who aren’t really girls            Girls whose skin marks them out            Girls who like girls            Girls whose movement and thought is different Girls will always be there through thick and thin            The girls I know are the most solid of them all            The girls I know are sisters in solidarity

I learn to struggle and survive and fight back            We’re feminists            We’re loud            We make our sisters proud

It turns out I am learning Everyday something new Something I did not think was learning

Do you know my black friends Avoid campus security at night And their breakdowns May warrant cops being called

I learn to ache for my friends Who live a life of colour Vibrant but Marked out Who are tired in ways I cannot imagine Of learning to be apart from themselves Who see only White faces On pale pages           We need liberation           Decolonise our education

So much to fight for And energy too But so much reason for fear I learn           Privilege I can fight the uni Only because I feel safe In the knowledge I can cry And they will see a white woman’s tears           Even if I’m not a woman           I can still pretend           Cause my womanhood, innocence           Is not automatically under threat So I’ll probably be okay But gods I want to be free I want everyone to be free           Freedom is merely privilege extended           Unless enjoyed by one and all

26 black female professors in the UK There are only 26 black women employed as professors in this country

          But           What is queer life without           Throwing bricks           What is feminism without           Intersectional justice           What is the world without           The subaltern speaking

What can I say for an education If it has been bleached to death

Learn unlearn Unpick unpack Undo Undermine Privilege

This uni cannot educate me To become Power’s enemy within Something more than ally           I must learn so one day           I can be called           Co-conspirator When it only cares about rewards Cookies for diversity When it is still violent

Because the violence never ends In the library I learn too I learn they will never listen

Men and Women's Toilets I splutter The task force queer students fought with For more years than I can count Queer students have fought And they couldn't even get the signage right

I learn I cannot even pee Without being political There is no rest for the freaks           Monster-gender           Pronouns ‘it’ and ‘spit’ Who they’d rather stay at home Or better yet Didn’t inconvenience them With such awkward existence Just disappear Never have been there Vanish without a trace           But we’re here           We’re queer           Nothing can make us           Disappear

Well then dear Warwick In the words of a dear friend I will piss all over this uni

The ground is fertile for Genderqueer rebellion Feminist insurrection Anti-racist uprising Disabled revolt Mad riot           They tried to bury us           They didn’t know we were seeds

I want to learn Collaboration As I become so much more than myself           No one is free           Until everyone is free More than me Past the limits of self           There’s a brave new world           That’s raging inside of me

I have learned to swallow this uni And spit it back out Fuck it

May 2019

[kitt-andrea]

The flow of capital

I weave between their bodies Rushing Here there Away towards Always busy never stopping To notice the stream they wade through The stream ever flowing Which has created everything

          Cities are built on rivers

 This is my home My ideal I am unchallenged Unchallengeable

Sitting in too-small rooms Mouths open And water rushes out Every action here is watery And speech that is not In the language of the flow Is a curse An incentive To drown the heretic The one born of earth

I must Convert Seep past their skin Into their flesh Through organ and bone To become the blood of their veins Life force This flow is life Resistance is Deathly

          But possible           But secret

I am always Making remaking reifying myself Until all here are aquatic Countless bodies of water With no land in sight Covering the ground

Most do not see Me Because they have already seen me Everywhere else in their lives Half aquatic How would they see the water When it is what they Breathe

          They drown           Water is not meant for human lungs

But the ones The ones not constantly surrounded by A flow Notice the water at their ankles Rising Quickly

          Would they resist

I am the melted ice bergs Their tears nourish me I am plentiful I am their pain I will flood all of earth

My name is Capital, Terror of the World

May 2019

[kitt-andrea]

No more/ Flowers (IV)

I told you that you were the sea, A wave of water forever crashing over/into me, And that I was the land, The earth, solid, ever-present, And that you could nourish me.

But my love You Have been absent, And when you were here it was So fleeting that I have Cried over you more days Than I care to describe. But

All the tears I have shed Are watering flowers I have found them Growing in my heart

Flowers That only I can See and smell and touch And maybe taste Even hear

Flowers I have been Watering for years Flowers without thorns Flowers for my love Flowers for me

You weren't the sea, You were just a person; A person I loved Of flesh and bone- And oh so full of flaws.

It's true I am too But in me I have found Wonders  Unimaginable

I am the land and the sea And the river and grass And everything in between I am maybe even the heavens too

I make myself happy 

December 2018

[kitt-andrea]

And so on, the sea (III)

Let me let me let me listen to your ebb and flow, I'll not complain that stepping into your great expanse still makes some wounds itch Because they're long healed and no longer at risk- And I've forgiven you, so I'll dip into your deep pool. I don't need to be with you all the time, In fact time away makes you all the more pleasant to my mind, But I can't deny that I loved that proximity, When you were never too far, and I could run into you When life got too hot to bear. And dear watery mass, this summer has scorched my body of flesh and land, Return to me again, flood the plains and thunder down and crash over/ into me. The desert needs its rain, And the rain should always return: I know you'll always come back- Unless our world is dying- In which case please return For one final storm Before earth gets too warm. You may go but I I will always be, And I'll miss you.

October 2018

[kitt-andrea]

Nobody can heal you but you (II)

Oh we had the most wonderful night together but now they won't reply. Sound familiar? Of course it does, you know the story- you've been the story. What's wrong? What went wrong? What did I do wrong? Why am I wrong?

We shift the blame onto ourselves because the idea that their attempt to heal us, broke us? It's too much.

But would you believe we didn't have sex?  Would you believe our clothes were firmly on and  Our lips didn't touch and there was no spark of lust and  We didn't go to anyone's room and  All night we addressed each other strictly platonically?  Would you believe that if we had had sex, that night would have  Hurt me less-  Would have meant less?

Because I've had a love for them for Oh so many months and I don't know what to do about it. I've picked at my skin to try and reveal The goodness inside me, to show that my inner qualities Are desirable, but all you saw was Blood rising from my arm. I've stitched myself back up and promised that My insides deserve to be protected from The likes of you, but every time I Looked at you and you smiled, my stitches came undone. And when we laughed together, well I think they Flew apart entirely, leaving me with just my Open wound and puncture marks. But I would always sew myself together again because That's what is to be done. And it hurt but it was done. Again and again, and it was done.

Then one night, I think you thought you would heal me. You told me "I love you pal" and we stayed together for hours: Your hands were along my back, around my shoulders, in my hair, on my neck- And running beside my wounds. I think you thought you had healed me- I think I thought so too.

But instead, like water to an open wound, You made me bleed again. All my Hidden traits flooded out, dying to meet your touch After so long wanting, aching to be with you. But when the water stops, and the soothing Flow of your presence left, your handiwork was exposed- I had been rubbed raw, every wound leaking of 'me', And this time I did not want to put myself together again. After this I wanted you more, to show you more of What I had to offer, to bleed myself dry and offer up what I had to give. But you weren't a vampire, and I think you didn't know what to do Now that you found hadn't healed me. I forgive you.

Nobody can heal me but me. I am My own disinfectant, healing cream, needle and thread. You were a wave of water, Soothing but never meant to be permanent, A hazard from continuous exposure, A force of nature that only cast me astray, but I wanted to drown in you. I forgive me.

Nobody can heal you but you and that's okay. This isn't some bullshit like No one can love you until you love yourself- I know that's false because I love you and I don't think You love yourself. This isn't a claim that you don't deserve help, Because darling you do deserve help and support and friendship and aid.

This is me saying that you should pick up your disinfectant, For it will sting but will make sure the wound is clean. You should take your healing cream, and cover over That which pains you most. You should hold onto your needle, sometimes the way to heal yourself Is to hurt yourself again. You should find your thread, and close up That which was open. This is me knowing that you didn't mean to hurt me, This is me knowing I will hurt myself again, This is me taking up my healing tools and setting to work.

August 2017

[kitt-andrea]

Fluid/ Desire (I)

I rushed along a body of rock, And gushed over a break from norm. I've dripped over the edges and become One with the land We used to know. Filling up crevices and Making landscapes lush. A hush falls and I am still, But only to your displeasure; Make me move. Passion ebbs and flows, But you are solid, and Taught me balance. Hold onto me, But not so tight I slip away.

September 2015

[kitt-andrea]

What is Queer?

Gay 1 told me to ‘settle down, our lot can get married now so (I) should Stop complaining- and while (I’m) at it, get a job and stop dyeing (my) hair weird colours.’ I gulp down my imperative to scream at his condescending tone, and walk away. To be Queer is to be looked down upon, but to know one’s value and try to be better.

And the teacher stuck in the 70s hasn’t realised yes, I can study Queer Theory at university -And even as a word itself, it is one I treasure: Can he not tell I’m not slurring it across a room like his other student did just last week?

Just as the grassroots informed the naming of our theory of life, The tensions of which branch of non-normative identity one takes up Is present in its constituents too. But Gay 1 runs our Gay Straight Alliance, And important politics are formed in the process of making a capital-a Ally so I play nice.

It seems the Allies want to join the acronym too now, And the Lesbians and Gays are in pieces over how respectable they should be today. Being an Ally isn’t Queer, sorry, we say, but they never wanted to be Queer anyway.

Being Queer means knowing that co-operating is sometimes useful to the movement, But that ultimately your aims are totally disparate, and it is more useful to Find a group on the margins too for totally different reasons And find where the struggle does overlap- and in the space it doesn’t create mutual aid.

Grinding my teeth in the fifth meeting this week- with staff, or my own constituent students That tell me, maybe I’m too militant for liberation and should focus on Going to the raising of the flag at University House instead.

Queers look to total liberation, that is tied up in the liberation of everyone else too So we will demonstrate: against racism, to end the thinly veiled neo-colonialist war- For any cause that drives humanity towards a utopia, no matter how useless Such an endeavour feels. To be Queer is to actively oppose harmful structures.

No, this does still not make Allies Queer. Show me their action extending past A GSA meeting, into the streets for us and others, or to their homes- their bedrooms. Point to how they Queer their movement through the world.

Could a Heterosexual person be Queer? Queer 2 replies, ‘maybe if they are Trans.’ While I do agree, being Transgender is as much a way into Queerness as being Attracted to multiple genders, the implied definition for Queer (as told by Queer 3) Is simply non-normative gender and orientation, nothing more and nothing less.

We are a politics against purity, but did you see the same logic of LGBTQUIAP+ (and endless formations even less useful than that) Shining through? This is not who we are meant to be, damn it!

Let’s Queer the pitch and challenge these outdated lines of gatekeeping. What of the Ethically non-monogamous? What of those who practice kink and have Non-normative sex? What makes their variety of relationships not Queer? What even is Queer? It has dead bodies in itself, but birth and celebration too.

And I know that the cisgender heterosexuals in those communities Are still prone to shouting abuse or laughing at us or denying us access: I am adamant. Those ones Queer nothing. But some still do.

Consider the limited parental rights of those categories, or the working opportunities. Sexual violence is laughed at when other pain is consensual. There are powers at play When a BDSM scene creates a culture of consent stronger than its vanilla counterparts And when non-monogamy undermines the premises of an efficient nuclear family.

At my first social, I am told to use a fake name, and call the one I am under protection of ‘Amy’. The name stumbles across my lips but it is for our protection, no one can know she Studies … No one can know I’d teach if I could one day.

Is anything solidly Queer? Queer is a verb, I am Queer because of how I choose to Act in my life. I am Queer when my sex(uality)/ relationships/ gender undermine That which is the norm. When I struggle in solidarity and revolt against the logic of this world. Gay 1, or Lesbian 4 are not Queer because they uphold this Straight hegemony.

Queer is anti-capitalist, so join me on the streets in the march to Grenfell, Or smash your way to the top of Millbank Or mask up for when Mark Duggan…

The Queer cannot beg to be ‘like everyone else’, with a normal family and marriage, Or ask to join the army and kill some brown (queer) people for their country. We are a set of demands alight in a Molotov Cocktail- and if our flame makes the sparkliest rainbow, Then so be it. Queer is a potential found across gender and orientations, embrace it.

In a room full of the closest friends, she admits that maybe she too is a bit Queer, a bit genderqueer, that these norms do not fit her either, but she is afraid To come out- to family yes, but to the community of letters who should judge her not enough.

I am not a subcategory of anything or anyone, not even the Gay and Lesbian group. Queer means so much more than a simple identity, it is a statement of intent, A set of demands and constant striving to have made oneself who we needed as children.

We are the eternal collective of Dykes, Fags, Trannies- and above all else- filthy Queers. And we are here, we will eternally fuck this shit up in the name of glorious revolution-

My beautiful body that pleasingly straddles binary gender and sex is its own small Revolution. It is yet more beautiful when the binaries dissolve under the weight of A gender pluralism that recognises gender’s present importance but eventual death.

To kill gender and sexuality and leave only pleasure and people is our aim, for now we fight-

February 2018