In honor of the good hearted. Those who’ve always thought to do right in a world of yes-men and women. Those whose eyes have opened wide and wider than before. The spirited folk who withhold conjectures and heavily armor their senses with skepticism in a world where simply thinking is believing and mere assumptions are truth.
To the people who make strides in their community. The givers of all and receivers of none. To the fool who believes that civility can win. The persons who move towards a better world through action—the wise individual who knows that it begins with them.
To the child who thinks boldly but not taken seriously—
This is for people who don’t blindly follow the ‘shepherd.’ Embrace your individuality because being unique, truly unique, is blessing.
Some people believe that collateral damage is necessary. I often find myself wondering to what extent. How far should we as a society be willing to go?
When it comes to war, I’m constantly left wondering what the grounds are. Or what the source of the conflict is. I find that many people like to mask every war as a battle for democracy only to find out the conflict has little or nothing to do with us.
When it all comes down to it, I’m not sure that I’m capable of coming up with an excuse to kill innocent people. What are your thoughts? When is right, when is it wrong?
© Kyanna Kitt
I sometimes find myself wondering about true love. I’ve been in a few relationships. None that were worth fighting for. None that made me feel any differently than I do now. It’s kind of funny when you think about it. As a little girl, I read stories about princes. A guy comes along and makes you feel like the most beautiful most important girl in the world. I’ve learned enough about the world to believe with absolute certainty that such story is very far removed from the reality in which I live.
As a woman in her upper 20s, I’ve also learned that no degree of femininity guarantees you fair treatment or a great guy. The truth is every draw is as random as the winning lotto numbers. While I’m not in complete denial that romance and love exist, I’m almost a hundred percent certain that it doesn’t exist for everyone.
What’s a heart for is it’s not for loving? Nobody wants to be alone in life but I think more than anything, nobody wants to feel like they aren’t loved. To feel such a way is truly awful but what if that person does come along? What if they’re right under your nose and still all those negative things are still up at your neck? What would it take to make you move?
Just like that old Smokey Robinson song, “something has to make you run.”
© Kyanna K.
I wonder whether birds fly objectively. When they flap their wings, and charge their path, if they’re moving knowingly. Even when the wind is rough and sun won’t shine and still they fly and fly and fly.
When they glide through and through relentless squalls and still—I’ve become curious about their sweet candor. Daunted by forces beyond their will and still they fly. And they fly like they flew and have flown and always will.
© Kyanna Kitt
You bother me like a person who simply can’t understand. I break my ideas down to child speak and still there is no clear semblance. When you see me in the morning, in presence of other you seem different. Have I not nurtured you? Did I not give you when I had nothing? Did I not dance with you even when you turned and looked away?
I wonder how many clever ways I can explain or express what I feel—or at least what I felt. When you selectively endear me and somehow on most fundamental of bases feed my erasure, how do you explain that you care about me? How can you claim friendship even platonically? I’ve shielded the bitter cold from reaching your sweet skin. I’ve held you when you had nothing left. Not to protect your pride but to protect you.
I forsook myself to make you whole and still—that look. Those eyes.
I wasn’t obliged, I didn’t feel inclined to stop. I loved the flavor of tobacco, the smoke rolling over my tongue the smell of burning chemicals. When I started, it was a matter of relieving stress when yoga and exercising didn’t work. I’d walk to the park and sit under the tree on the far side of the lake and look in the water.
What made me feel numb in this time where I struggled with what the good Lord was giving me, was doing anything to get away. If I could just focus on something else for a moment when all the writing and guitar playing wouldn’t save me. How ironic is it that I’d choose such harmful outlet?
In between smoking and not eating I spent time working. And when I wasn’t working I was madly scribbling away in my journal. I swore there was something wrong with me. Why do I like hurting myself when I don’t know how to regain control?
I guess part of the answer to the question is that I wasn’t built for the kinds of things being thrown my way. At least, I didn’t think I was and I’ve never been one to cope well with large emotional burden. I didn’t like not being able to manage on my own—it made me feel weak and vulnerable so I stopped. I stopped forcing myself to be perfect, I stopped worrying about the things I couldn’t change and I learned that if something was out of my control it was just that. I guess sometimes the hardest thing to learn to do is to let go.
© Kyanna K.