Tag Archives: journal

Untitled 2

28 Aug

I am happy for someone,

who necessarily doesn’t care about me.

I am proud of something that doesn’t really pertain to me.

I am befuddled about things-

Expressions; Content; Free


©copyright Kyanna Kitt

My Yearning

26 Aug

My Yearning

I could lie and say I never want to see you again.

I could easily say I would, if given a chance.

For all those times you’ve objectively hurt me-

I a fool to have even fought what my mind and body felt.

I wanted you, from the start, and you did too.

I remember the hotness of my face when you first admitted it.

I slaying temptation with every cell of my body…

Do you honestly think I never wanted to conquer you?

Do you truly believe I would have never made a move?

You were foreign to me in so many ways & this enticed me…

I wanted to taste your lips the moment I saw them-

I wanted to feel myself wrapped around you.

I wanted every ounce of heart-stopping intimacy with you-

I could see you- You knew the whole time…

You were so compelled that you didn’t want to take me-

This killed me inside. My body constantly fighting for what was never mind to begin with-

If you please could give me but an answer as to why…

Copyright Kyanna Kitt


19 Aug



I’ve been having euphoric dreams of bubbly clear ponds an d lush fields of green

and I saw a pretty boy singing with a mandolin-

he was sharing a song with a ripe colorful smuggish grin


when I walked and set foot into the pond I noticed dozens of shimmering fish,

casting light like mother of pearl and so I made a wish


I’d tell you what it was but that would defeat the purpose so…

I’ve locked this dream away in my closet and made a friend of the beau


I’ve made it my home I return to every night

to wash away the burden of my life of black and white


©copyright Kyanna Kitt

The Dream of Aaron

19 Aug

The Dream of Aaron

Last night I dreamt a crazy dream. There were people, a lot of people. Looking around I realized we were in a school… I was walking to go to use the bathroom, conventionally located straight down the hall. When I got there, I noticed when I looked up that there was a sign that read ‘unisex restroom’ which didn’t make sense. Of course next to the text (darn my poor English!) on the left were two blue symbols, one male and of course the other female. As I went to use one I noticed the door was strange- It folded like paper caterpillar. You know, the ones we made in kindergarten? This was strange to me, so I stepped back and immediately a blonde girl brushed past me to rush into the bathroom stall. I of course went to another. Before I reached the stall closest to the back wall, this Indian guy, Dennis popped out of the one next door, in his right hand a vial and in the left was a syringe, He said in some way or another that he was using the drugs, he had obviously shot up.

»Flash to Reality: I am scared of drugs. Especially heroin, crack, cocaine, meth, pills- I’d never do them. I don’t like being around them. I just can not!«

He tried to put the needle in my arm. He tried to taint me. I ran back out the door from which I had came. Running, and running, by now there were what seemed like hundreds of people in the hall, and within a matter of seconds Dennis had quickly caught up to me grabbing me, pulling me by my arm- I slammed his face back crying hysterically.

Help me- Somebody help!,” I pleaded as I continued running trying to open one of locked classroom doors. It was like nobody could hear me. Everyone was talking, and going to wherever they were going all laughs and smiles. By the time I turned around Dennis was right there, he had me cornered.

No!,” I screamed trying to shove him away from me. That’s when magically he appeared- Aaron…red hair and all. He wouldn’t accept this. He stabbed him with the needle and sent the vial crashing into the floor. I immediately taking shelter behind him like a frightened child. His tall slender physique… I felt warm. I felt protected. He felt like home. The one I wish I always had….

When I woke, I broke free from fear…From silence, I broke free from phobia, paranoia, and corruption. I woke with something much worse. A sweet dull aching paint filled me, the same way it did the moment I knew he, in real life, would leave me. I wanted to cry. I just wanted to hate him in that moment, but in all my woman, I knew I could not. Dear Aaron, you hurt me in more ways than you will ever know. I pathetically am here scribbling into my journal… Should he appear before me in this very bed room I know I would never be able to utter not one word in protest.

Painfully Yours,


Another Journal [08/18/2013]

18 Aug

Chello bello!~

Well, I’m in the same place I’ve been finding myself the past few Sundays. In this ridiculously inhabited laundromat. It is both hot and highly occupied, and the rain & humidity are not helping at all. The people mostly appear vexed. The black ones peering amongst each other in the most accusing manner- I myself could not seem to locate this transparent omen…


I’m wearing my hair in a bun again as I always do- Well two buns, one on each side of my head. I’ve been wearing it this way for months… I like it, I feel that it suits me. My clothes, pewter grey pants, and old oil stained tank, and a charcoal grey Hanes sweat shirt that I can’t seem to figure out where I got it from. I came with the intent of writing, poetry, or painting my nails a sweet peachy caramel color, I like the way it looks on my brown skin. I wanted to get away. From the migraine, the dirty clothes that dream I had last night about Aaron, and more importantly people. My displeasure was every where.


To my right a plump tall white man with salt and pepper hair, a bushy mustache- awesome mustache, sat across from his sweet little daughter. She appears to be about 12, her thick brown hair in a pony tail. She’s wearing a tie dye shirt. She was adorable, her attention on the T.V screen, they’re playing Home Alone – His on his iphone….Interesting- Across from me. The same kind, kind man we had met last Sunday. All of a sudden, interestingly enough, everyone started disappearing- Yes, including the black people (shame on you closet racists).


I wallowing in thought, as I always did. Scribbling down every memory strand- Dad not even bothering me. He knows how I get lost, he now encourages me to do so. Yep, I’m a lucky gal to have Papa… Awesome gay dude- or so I so ignorantly presume, wearing low riding skinny jeans, pink underwear and nail polish, and a slit-backed cropped belly shirt. Say as you please I admire his individuality often times I wish more people were like that…






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