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.
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’ve always been a lucid dreamer and my dreams never cease to excite me. Just last night I took a journey to an alternate place where the world had been overran by zombies but humans were not entirely wiped out. We lived amongst each other and the only time they took interest in us was when we were obnoxiously loud. When I was little girl, I’d think that maybe if I held onto something tight enough I could bring it from my dream to show everyone.
Sometimes, when I would dream I’d do things that I’d never have the guts to do in real life. Sing a song—perform with the Spice Girls (I love them unapologetically—you tried it). I would live in a place that wasn’t perfect but felt safe. In my dreams, I have time for everything and everyone I love. I hold on super tight and try to manifest that into my real life as well.
When I fall asleep I’m still back at high school—and I’m always late for literature class. The bell rings and I miss the bus home. When night falls, bad things happen. I’m chased or vampires and monsters begin to appear. It’s crazy how our perception of life can follow us even into the depths of slumber. What amazes me is that I’m constantly on the run from something in my dreams—the monsters are kind of a representation of what I perceive to be my problems.
© Kyanna Kitt
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.
I carefully searched for myself in the nightly place. Picking apart metaphors in search for relevancy. Purposefully choosing the innate truth over nature and what I deserve. Beneath the noise, under the bumbling of the voices—the thoughts and unspoken words. I listened to your reflection. The imagery. Gorgeous, bright oxygen. If it weren’t for you, your likeness, I wouldn’t be.
© Kyanna Kitt
I’m an American. Our society is based heavily on the idea of meritocracy or a system in which people are awarded for what they are capable of not who they are and how much money they have—at least this is what we’re told. Keep your head down and work hard and you can achieve anything. But you know what? I must be honest. I don’t see that this is the truth.
You see, back when I was a little girl I loved the idea that if I had good work ethic and was a good law abiding citizen that I would be given a better life and opportunity. I thought that if I was respectful, skilled and kindhearted that I would be able to advance. Nothing could be further from the truth.
As a child and throughout my teenage years, I always had a diverse group of friends. Many of them were from wealthy families, some were on very hard times and spent more time at work than they did in class. My family, was somewhere in the middle. My dad served in the Navy for as far back as I could remember at the time. We lived well. We didn’t have it all but we were happy. My dad taught us discipline and respect. On some Saturday’s we would get up and do chores and we weren’t allowed outside to play until our chores were complete. This was upsetting to child me for obvious reasons but I’m thankful for the lesson it taught me.
When you’re friends with the rich kids you learn a thing or two about life. Money enables people to be carefree and feel secure. These are the people who get started straight out of high school making $65,000 a year thanks to who they are whereas you’re so obliged to throw on a uniform and work the drive through for $12,000 a year and hope to make it through college because of what you don’t have. Maybe some of you can relate, maybe there’s more to be said about this subject than just my personal experience.
Money is a big determining factor in what you can and can’t do. Money can be the difference between having a job and being unemployed. Money can give you shelter or ensure that you’re homeless. What is to be said of a world that doesn’t consider ability, work-ethic or proficiency when considering a person’s merit? Bank accounts are quickly replacing capability, skill and expertise. Just look at what happened last November–money can make you the president of the United States.