Tomorrow, I move back to college. As life shifts again, I welcome it with excitement. What it means for my poetry and my blog is that I'm actually taking a poetry class this semester! I can't wait to have new poems put up in all different styles and revisions. I know things have gotten quiet here recently, partly due to a busy summer. This new school year brings lots of promise. So thanks for following!
Kaitlyn
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sometimes I Feel Pretty
Sometimes, I still stare up at the sky
and bring myself back to that place on the swings,
where I believed magic could happen.
Those stars gazed down at me,
left me alone when they hid behind the clouds,
but I knew, deep inside, that they were always there.
Sometimes, I know I'm happy,
knowing that the sun basks me with its warmth,
keeps me safe
and blankets me with golden fleece.
It lightens up my room with those rays,
adding a seed of wonder in my mornings.
Sometimes, I feel pretty
with no makeup and hair crazy.
Because I know it's me and
no one else.
I'm not pretending.
I wouldn't trade myself
for anyone in the world.
Sometimes, I look at the world,
seeing the smallest joys and the biggest blunders,
but at the end of the day,
it's all just the same.
and bring myself back to that place on the swings,
where I believed magic could happen.
Those stars gazed down at me,
left me alone when they hid behind the clouds,
but I knew, deep inside, that they were always there.
Sometimes, I know I'm happy,
knowing that the sun basks me with its warmth,
keeps me safe
and blankets me with golden fleece.
It lightens up my room with those rays,
adding a seed of wonder in my mornings.
Sometimes, I feel pretty
with no makeup and hair crazy.
Because I know it's me and
no one else.
I'm not pretending.
I wouldn't trade myself
for anyone in the world.
Sometimes, I look at the world,
seeing the smallest joys and the biggest blunders,
but at the end of the day,
it's all just the same.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Some Reflections on Quilting
As I started finishing two quilts, something hit me. I realized how much of my heart has gone into each stitch. Every bit of fabric and thread has a piece of me woven into it. Its colors come alive. The batting seems softer and more welcoming. Quilts are personal for me. As I finished hand stitching my best friend's quilt yesterday and packaging it up to be delivered tomorrow to a girl who is more than deserving, it brings a smile to my face. I know it will be cared for and loved, just how each stitch was put together is coated in loving drops of sweat and blood.
Every battle with the sewing machine and every "Ow!" I've yelled out from the crazy pins pricking me is worth it. It's worth seeing her smile when she opens it up and wraps herself in it for the first time. The security and love that comes in a homemade quilt cannot be duplicated. A bed without a quilt is like the sky without the stars. I know that every time she picks it up and feels the folds of fabrics and the warmth from it, she will think of me. My quilts come with a warranty. A warranty of love. A warranty that when I picked out the fabric, when I saw that pattern, when I was cutting fabric (while cursing the rotary cutter), while I was measuring out and stitching together, pining and tugging, ironing and smoothing, and finally hand stitching, I love you. I love the person I'm making it for. I love the fabric I'm holding.
It's more than just fabric. It's pure love. :D
Every battle with the sewing machine and every "Ow!" I've yelled out from the crazy pins pricking me is worth it. It's worth seeing her smile when she opens it up and wraps herself in it for the first time. The security and love that comes in a homemade quilt cannot be duplicated. A bed without a quilt is like the sky without the stars. I know that every time she picks it up and feels the folds of fabrics and the warmth from it, she will think of me. My quilts come with a warranty. A warranty of love. A warranty that when I picked out the fabric, when I saw that pattern, when I was cutting fabric (while cursing the rotary cutter), while I was measuring out and stitching together, pining and tugging, ironing and smoothing, and finally hand stitching, I love you. I love the person I'm making it for. I love the fabric I'm holding.
It's more than just fabric. It's pure love. :D
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Snapped Branch
The day the storm came, the animals took cover.
The flowers wilted and the sun hid.
Windows shattered closed and locked.
The storm meant no harm, it was just being itself
as it ripped the town to shreds,
as it broke the trees and toppled the houses,
flooded the ponds and turned the leaves
into swirling whirlwinds.
It showed its might,
than retreated into the sky,
gone just as quickly as it had come.
Silence rang out throughout the city.
The animals crawled back out.
But everyone, everything,
wondered when the storm would be back.
The flowers wilted and the sun hid.
Windows shattered closed and locked.
The storm meant no harm, it was just being itself
as it ripped the town to shreds,
as it broke the trees and toppled the houses,
flooded the ponds and turned the leaves
into swirling whirlwinds.
It showed its might,
than retreated into the sky,
gone just as quickly as it had come.
Silence rang out throughout the city.
The animals crawled back out.
But everyone, everything,
wondered when the storm would be back.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Drained, Stressed and Fed Up
I always have to wonder, what's going on in that head.
Why things work out the way they do.
The summer that seemed so promising,
is ending so dark.
That job that was supposed to carry on,
ended with a bang.
and not the good kind.
guess I learned never to work for a corp.
That heart of mine,
that I tried not to mess with,
that I tried to let free in the shores of the beach,
shackled itself and tore me down.
The only promise that still holds true,
is the soft murmuring of the sewing machine,
going back and forth and around
the gentle folds of cotton.
maybe I'll learn.
maybe I'll change,
but I doubt it.
The summer that was supposed to be.
Is ending with a crash.
Why things work out the way they do.
The summer that seemed so promising,
is ending so dark.
That job that was supposed to carry on,
ended with a bang.
and not the good kind.
guess I learned never to work for a corp.
That heart of mine,
that I tried not to mess with,
that I tried to let free in the shores of the beach,
shackled itself and tore me down.
The only promise that still holds true,
is the soft murmuring of the sewing machine,
going back and forth and around
the gentle folds of cotton.
maybe I'll learn.
maybe I'll change,
but I doubt it.
The summer that was supposed to be.
Is ending with a crash.
Monday, August 1, 2011
New You
The patter of a heart beating.
At first, tears dripping down a cheek,
tousled hair,
sleepless nights.
A slow smile curling the lips,
washing off all the loneliness,
filling in the cracks.
Fixed hair,
mascara lit eyes,
softened skin,
a new do, a new look,
a new you.
Slipping into the stilettos,
teaching the world who you are,
striding to success,
power. beauty.
you.
At first, tears dripping down a cheek,
tousled hair,
sleepless nights.
A slow smile curling the lips,
washing off all the loneliness,
filling in the cracks.
Fixed hair,
mascara lit eyes,
softened skin,
a new do, a new look,
a new you.
Slipping into the stilettos,
teaching the world who you are,
striding to success,
power. beauty.
you.
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