Thursday, April 17, 2014


time has seemed to pass by so quickly the past few months, which makes me feel anxious in a sense. i'm coming to understand myself more deeply as the days pass and something that i have learnt is that i am the kind of girl who enjoys a slow, methodical kind of time transpiration. when the hands seem to meander lazily- allowing for stretched out minutes of reflection and submersion into whatever it is i may be doing in that particular moment. with work and life in general, time has passed by without a second glance and i feel awfully tired. 

but, as the sun lingers in the sky later each evening, and the sky turns into that perfect dusty purple, i am reminded of the girl who has been hibernating for what feels like months now. i begin to feel myself emerge once more. i can feel the tickle of happiness spreading itself amongst my blood as the warm breeze lifts my thick hair off my back and into a swirl of chaos. as work begins to simmer on a low rumble, i am reminded of how beautiful it is to have a job where summers are lazy and almost like a gentle regrouping, like a deep sigh after such insanity this past winter.

my hair is getting so long and my body feels entirely satisfied with how i have been treating it lately. some days i wake up before the sun and stretch and then i find my legs restless for a run. so i run. and when i come home from these long days at work, i sprawl out on my yoga mat and i allow my movements and breathing to daze me. i just feel good when i am kind to my body. you know?

now, i can only hope that pretty spring decides to stay for a while... i am itching for days spent outside in my garden. only in New England can one experience all four season within merely a few days. 

cosmos : tumblr.

Sunday, April 13, 2014


i swear last night i could taste the moonlight
like when we shared together the dark
and my thoughts begin to run like wild horses into the night
our secret kept mystic like a fucking ransom note
i still don't know why you went, tell me
why did you leave me behind with nothing
but the faint whisper of your ghost
and i should resent you for no goodbye
but instead, i lay on my back and count the stars
and try to dismiss you from my mind
drawing on orions belt with the tip of my finger
but i can feel you weighing heavily on my heart
and the smell of you still lingers amidst my soul
like a lit cigarette i beg to disperse your memory
but sometimes if i'm too quiet, all i can hear is you
you're like a nuance in my brain 
singing me into wonderland
where we dally on the same moon 
and write poems naked in bed 
drinking coffee at midnight 
sharing cigarettes and our thirst for something more
where hope is entirely irrelevant
because all that matters is the moment we are in
but i'm still seeking that damn rabbit hole
and i still don't know why you went
so i'll just write poems on my own 
and share my secrets with someone else 
and you can pretend i was nothing but a dream. 

photo : tumblr.

Wednesday, April 09, 2014


the thing about living in New England is that i have a genuine love for each season. if i didn't, then residing in this region would be sheer hell because, well, the seasons are expressive as fuck- to say the least. as much as i utterly adore snow, this year, winter was incredibly brutal for me. i felt a suffocating darkness and for the first time in my life had to combat those "winter blues". the perpetual feeling of obtrusion severely affected me. so, this year, spring feels more like a salvation than i can ever recall.
we moved into our house nearly 6 months ago. the thing i love most about it is how, with the onset of a new season, the house itself begins feeling different. moving in at the end of November, it was cold and rainy. i remember making trips back and forth from apartment to house and at the end of the night everything would be drenched in that kind of wet rain that just soaks you to the core. it was stressful but there was something about sitting indian style in the living room eating pizza off of paper plates and laying down that first night- our mattress sprawled on the floor and mismatched blankets keeping us warm; that was a feeling of pure bliss.

what i crave is to be outdoors and to explore our new territory. to decorate and beautify my expansive yard with flowers of every color. spring has always felt hopeful for me and this year it's just bursting at the seams with possibility.

photo : pinterest

Thursday, April 03, 2014

i believe...

...that very little compares to that setting free, that reprieve of emotion that derives from a long, steady run. 

...that spring just feels as if it's bursting with hope this year, don't you think?

...that there's something about letting my hair air dry that makes me feel unusually sexy. 

...that decorating my writing room wall with scattered quotes written by my very favorite authors and poets, makes my heart all kinds of happy. 

...that sometimes it's okay to cancel everything and just have a pure 'me-day' which includes things such as, a bubble bath, a book, painting of nails, and dancing in the kitchen. 

...that laundry is the best chore and dishes are the worst.

...that hypocrisy is such a terribly ugly trait.

...and that coffee is always, always a good idea. 

Monday, March 31, 2014


am i on your mind when you first close your eyes?
when unraveling the dark no longer includes me
am i there in that place where you begin to fall
lifelessly into that area between awake and asleep?
is it me who lures you into the gray,
rudely intruding your mind from afar?
tell me, where do i stay, where do i dwell?
is it the song on rotation you pretend not to know
it's taylor swift because she's often a poet
and in my dreams i still meet you in warm conversations
when you're lost in your mind am i there too?
when you burn with desire, do i appease you?
or perhaps it's the girl at the store with long chestnut hair
do you misplace your heart for a moment
when you get caught in her alluring green glare?
maybe it's coffee at 3 now naked of me
do i haunt you, like you do to me?
sometimes it's as if i can feel the sear of your eyes
if i turn around, i swear there you'll be
just standing, patiently waiting for me
but it never is you, always your ghost
a thousand miles apart, an ocean of circumstance
you awakened a demon who won't go away
and uncertainty taints me with bewildered dismay
everything i do tastes of you, lingering in veins
but you're gone, where did you go?
you left and now i learn the way of my own.
and i'll be fine without you, i hope you know.

photo : pinterest

Thursday, March 27, 2014


he thinks i'm prettiest in the morning
when the sun slivers through the curtain painting my face gold
but it's his hand between my thighs keeping me warm
his kiss that takes a hold
he says my eyes look like a lightening storm in May
like a green glare in an electrically charged atmosphere
always changing yet eerily familiar 
like ravenous warfare 
he says my lips tastes like freedom 
and my voice like a whisper of wind in a field of wildflower's
rapt with intent; heavy in sass
and delicate like lazy afternoon rain showers
he thinks my body looks like a country song
like it was meant for his hands to graze
on a summer night when his fingers trace more than stars
but my secrets alike, igniting my being ablaze 

photo : pinterest

Wednesday, March 19, 2014


he drinks his coffee black 
his thoughts swirling like the steam
as he plays mindfully with his soul patch
always plotting some kind of scheme
his eyes seem to dance mischievously
igniting fires with his persuasive pierce
but he deserts me to tread in his wake of confusion
i'm always craving him something fierce
i thought i wanted to be his muse
for him to paint me with his words
always wanting to be his poem
to be the music as he writes his chords
he's the one puzzle i can't unriddle
perhaps he was never meant to be solved
him being this elusive love i can never grasp
like a butterfly in July, him and i; forever unresolved

Thursday, March 13, 2014


lets go back to the start
when everything tasted like summer
and you told me i was beautiful
when you admired my young heart
we were so fucking fragile with ardor
every moment hinted in butterflies
all our words painted with meaning
swept away- perpetually requiring more
when you told me you loved me
like a blanket of blue skies
and it never lost it's potency
how you intoxicated me with your poetry
and the way you would say my name
as if you were tasting me for the first time; every time
the way your eyes could undress my soul
and set my rapt for you aflame
how do we get back there?
because now i feel like a chore
some filthy habit you can't quit
staining everything in a melancholic glare
a burden i wasn't supposed to be
what happened to our midnight?
the way our words met in the middle
when our love shook haphazardly
and we were on the same side
you with your wild eyes
a beautiful beacon of something more
together, you and i, Bonnie and Clyde
i miss the once upon a time. 

Tuesday, March 11, 2014


i'll never forget
how the air felt that night
the oxygen sapped from the room
and replaced with spores of magic light
excitement pricked my skin
the moon a milky bath
there weren't enough hours in that midnight
or words to define a path
just humming whispers of want
that night when your poetry came to life
and all that stood between us 
was a blanket of uncharted time 
a soft road echoing like the hands of a clock
when our souls were naked
telling stories of alter lives
when you poured and i faded
a perpetual twilight
for the dark was our secret hiding place
consuming one another raw
feeding each other words; defying space
they hung desperately like droplets of water
just waiting for the inexorable fall
how your fingers sang me to sleep
and just the thought of your eyes could enthrall
when my mind was a slave and you set me free
there's no illumination for you and me
an impervious depth
can you still say the same, too?

{i adore you}

Friday, March 07, 2014


lets get high and name the stars
obscuring our vision, the night sky a blanket of oblivion
let's get lost and find each other there
scouring through the void, the emotions abysmally destroyed
let's get into bed and read Poe together
falling into dark romanticism, a playful splay of masochism
let's fuck and forget the world
blurring the lines of our bodies, like colorful bursts of water colored stories
and let's transcend logic and invent an uncharted love affair
invading one another's empty, an ocean of sudden clarity. 

Tuesday, March 04, 2014

i believe...

...that it's perfectly acceptable to eat multiple spoonfuls of almond butter for breakfast. 

...that sowing is like fucking mediation. trust me.

...that i will always be a sucker for Coldplay.

...that a job is just that... a job. it in no way defines you as a person.

...that the second cup of morning coffee is often times more enjoyable than the first. 

...that daffodils are the friendliest flower and also the beacon of spring. 

...and that very little compares to a good hair day.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014


i feel it
when the day awakens the night
like the moon, my heathen lurks in the dark
the beams color my mood salacious 
our breaths just inches apart
i paint my tongue on your neck
and brush my fingers over your flesh 
slipping my hand amid my restless thighs
playing with innocence in my eyes
little moans escape my lips 
your heart dances in temptation
i taste your hunger, a ravenous frustration
at the edge of desire
you and i together we conspire 
your eyes unravel me, delicately
your hands explore me, greedily.
i'm tired of words, i want moans
make me sigh, invade me,
deep and dark and thoroughly
take me until it obscures
undo me entirely; i'm yours

photo : tumblr.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014


Outside the icy air thrashed across my face and woke me from my daze. I caught my breath, it was frigid yet my entire body was made purely of fiery flames, licked with a burning confusion. I replayed our brief encounter at least a dozen times on the walk back to my apartment, internally assessing what had transpired. I caught myself smiling, recalling the deep husk in his voice. 

Once inside, I shred my jacket off, and the bareness of my skin sent an eruption of shivers covering every inch of me, but I wasn't cold. Rather, heated, with a curious desire to know everything there was to know about this boy Charlie. I pulled my hair back and tiptoed quietly into my minuscule kitchen, as to not to wake my slumbering roommate, discarding clothing in my wake. I opened the fridge looking for something, but there weren't any answers in there.

So, I put myself to bed, resolved on figuring out why this person had seared himself into my brain following a modest conversation about books. There was just something about him, something I couldn't identify merely through a string of words... it was something deep and dark and that writhed ferociously inside me. I fell asleep, swiftly, with his name on my lips. 

Next day, I woke placidly. I could hear Larson's blow dryer and discordant voice attempting to sing along with Rihanna. 

"Please stop..." I begged to myself. 

I stretched out of bed and opened my curtain to a coppery colored sun abaft the skyline of my little town. I put my glasses on and sauntered into her room, plopping myself onto her bed and watched as she continued to pretty herself for the day. She stood tall, with the most beautiful bronzed complexion you could imagine. Her eyes, a deep, chocolate brown and a body like a model but with a little more ass. She was drop dead gorgeous but equally as cool. 

"Hey." I said sleepily.

"Good morning beautiful, I made coffee." She smiled under a veil of hair. 

"I know, I just wanted to come say hi." I said coyly.

"Since when do you wanna talk before you consume your coffee, Isla?" 

"Since... I met someone..." Burying my embarrassment in a pillow, awaiting the screech and interrogation.

"What??? Tell me everything you little sneak, I was wondering where you were last night!" 

We were suddenly transported back to high school, circa 2006, sitting Indian style in her room at her parents’ house gossiping about boys. That's what I loved about her. She was my constant. And even at the age of 23, she was still always there to help me with my psychoanalysis of situations. 

I told her a detailed version of our encounter willfully forgetting the part where his eyes seemed to have undressed my soul. 

"So, are you gonna go? What time? What are you going to wear?" She spit out at me with an eager smile. 

"I'm going, but what do you think about Cody?" I asked her. 

Cody was the guy who I had been casually dating. He was tall and curiously handsome. He wore his hair short and a leather jacket. After our brothers had introduced us a couple months prior, we hit it off well and saw each other often. I liked his company and his cooking, he was a chef. Although there was nothing serious about our relationship, I wasn't sure how to approach this thing with Charlie. 

"It’s coffee... at the bookstore... innocence." She said with a wink. 

"You're right... just coffee..." I trailed off.

"Islaaaaaa." She started to whine.

"Help me with my hair?" I asked distracting her... she loved doing my hair. 


Saturdays were most usually spent perusing the whimsical streets of our downtown. However, this day the walks were inches thick of ice, so we perched ourselves at one of the corner sandwich shops, sitting near a window. I liked watching the people walk about. We ate our lunch, savoring the rhythm.

"So, when are you going?" she eyed me suspiciously. 

"Soon." I answered, my stomach beginning to tangle in angst. I let my eyes wander out the window, allowed my thoughts to float freely like the clouds spotting the sky. It was late afternoon now. I wondered if he would be there and if I looked pretty? Larson had used a thick curler to construct loose tendrils that hung down the length of my back. 

We paid the waitress with big, blond hair and I stood, collecting my belongings and my nerves. 

"It’s just coffee... calm down." I recited to myself 

Larson gave me a quick squeeze and whispered "love you" into my ear and then strolled the opposite direction of me. I stood there, stuck, for a moment watching her walk away. I wanted to run after her and forget about Charlie but suddenly the thought of not seeing his face again was agonizing. 

So, I turned, and walked quietly, clinging to my cognizance. I smiled to myself as I thought of how silly I was acting and how these nerves were entirely unwarranted. I inhaled deeply and regained my customary composure before reaching the cafe. Once inside my eyes gently skimmed the patrons, curious if he was there. I walked gracefully to the counter where a girl in a dark purple apron greeted me with a familiar smile. Her name was Eve. She and I had become friendly since she worked the same times I came to visit. She handed me my cup of coffee and I added a splash of cream and a shake of sugar before turning to find a place to sit.

Instantly, I spotted him. He sat at a corner table, shaded. His head propped on one of his hands, misplaced between the pages of his book. My heart frisked as I found my legs walking me over to him.

He looked up; those eyes swallowing me entirely. 

"Hello Isla."

Friday, February 14, 2014


when i ask, will you come?
will you sit across from me
our feet just whispers apart
like static electricity
you jolt right through me
our hands like magnets
i can feel the fever in your eyes
as they crash into mine
fingers tracing every outline
fill in the empty
feed me your poetry
and your heart
will it beat wildly?
like the dance of a flame
i'll strum on the strings
as your words play in my ear
what will you hum?
pour your ghosts into me
i want you thoroughly
will you give me your time
after i've taken so much?
if you listen to my eyes
tell me
is this love enough?

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

spilled ink

writing is exorcising demons. the foul ones, and the friendly ones as well. writing is abolishing your soul of whatever filth or joy may be swirling around inside of it. writing is catharsis, an unfathomable connection to something, a method of expression; both limited and limitless.

i read somewhere recently that inside your head it's difficult to scrutinize what's going on, but something about ink and paper bares the truth. i find this to be profoundly true. you cannot grant yourself a lie when you dictate your own thoughts, and if you do- it's agonizing, it's painful, it feels wrong. it's not catharsis anymore but forgery and feels more like work than passion.

one could argue that fiction is fabrication but i don't believe so. i think writers write to figure out how they feel about something, factual or imaginary, and i also think every character has a piece of the author within them.

all i want to do is write. and read. and create. and absorb this life. i want to discover myself, fully. it's a terrifying conviction while in my 27 years of existence, i am just now beginning to unearth the real Kayla. how have i walked this life without understanding myself all this time? how have i denied myself over and over again? my own mind frightens me, for i have no firm grasp on it. i yearn for understanding. and something that i do understand is i have a ravenous need for writing. so i write. i write to satiate, i write to heal, i write to extract. all i want to do is write. 

Friday, February 07, 2014

star-crossed lovers

do you remember when you asked "be my best friend?"
before we drowned in the immersion
when we were simple yet significant
how you fell in love with my giggle
and i with your wisdom
those days, they were light and heavy in substance
our tummies brimming in butterflies
our hearts leaping from one train to the next
when i was fire and you were  gas
how long can it last? 
we were infinite then
and suddenly winter melted into spring
and us into each other
numbing and awakening all at once
a beautiful anomaly
spending nights under the sky dripping in stars
tasting each others secrets
flowing into one another's veins 
i can still smell the smoke swirling through my head
and feel the heat on my skin having little to do with the summer air
when words held the weight of the distance
and now
it's a memory; fragmented consciousness
just dust collecting on our souls
now we swallow our thoughts 
lonely hearts
 pulsing at night wandering amid same dreams
when you wake...
do you remember?
i'm scared you'll forget about me

photo : my tumblr.

Wednesday, February 05, 2014

i believe...

...that we have the choice to be happy. so, fuck it. let's be happy.

...that facebook is for the self-aggrandizing. and that upon deletion, you will feel like an entirely new person. (trust me).

...that Melissa and Shawna rock my world.

...that wallowing should have an expiration date. take a hot shower, pour yourself a drink and pull yourself together.

...that being pale is totally cool.

...that there's something curative about new lingerie, no matter how much you already own.

…and that sometimes you just need to give yourself a damn break. being human is hard, yo.

photo : my tumblr.

Sunday, February 02, 2014

The Encounter

The night seemed to melt away lazily like a long New England winter, I didn’t mind.  I enjoyed the ambiance, with fellow bookworms waltzing through the aisles picking their poison. The sound of stifled laughter and clanking of coffee cups and pages being absorbed, stories altering people’s lives; I just adored it. I picked up my mug and took a sip. Just as I was savoring the way the warmness seemed to seep into my soul, I looked up and saw him. He stood at an average height, and he wore a winter kind of hat in black. His eyes were a piercing blue, cold yet somehow welcoming. I found myself gazing into them, inadvertently. And as if he knew, his eyes smiled at me. Suddenly I was pulled out of his trance and felt as the rush of blood stained my face in crimson embarrassment.

“Excuse me, Miss, but do you mind if I sit here?” He asked quite politely but with a devilish grin.

I was flustered. I didn’t want company but how could I refuse this beautiful creature?

“Uhh, yeah, no problem.” I answered

My eyes leapt around the cafĂ© as  I noticed it was one of the few empty seats available. I shuffled my belongings to my side of the table to make room for him. He set down his book, Walden, and a cup of black coffee next to it. Then, his face was merely inches from mine; his eyes bluer than a cloudless sky in July. He smiled and my heart went off like a runaway train.

“I’m Charlie.” He said offering me his hand.

“Isla.” I whispered coyly as my fingers met his. He was unusually warm and I didn’t want him to let go.

“Isla, that is an uncommon name, I like it.” he said sincerely.

“Thanks, it’s my Grandmother’s. Everyone says we are indubitably alike. Although, she passed when I was 12, I wish I could have got to know her better, but you know...” I began rambling to this complete stranger and it was so very out of the ordinary. His smile was friendly though and I could tell I wasn’t bugging him.

“Indubitably” he said... “Good word.”

I just about fell in love with him.

“Did you get those eyes from your Grandmother, as well?” he added.

“Well, yes, I think I must have because both of my parents have blue eyes. But not like your blue eyes, theirs are dull, cloudy almost.” I spit out the words hardly recognizing my own voice. I'm uncertain why I was divulging this information to him or even talking to him for that matter.

“What do you mean ‘my blue eyes’?” he inquired, curiously.

I was not expecting this question and momentarily lost my words. “Well” I stuttered...“I simply meant, your eyes, they’re wicked blue...” I trailed off, staring at my coffee instead of him.

“Wicked, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment?”

I looked up abruptly, frightened I had offended him. “Yes, of course, I meant that flatteringly.” I was stumbling over every word as his eyes pulled me in once again.

It was a strange sensation; his eyes glaring into me. It felt as if he was penetrating my soul and it wasn’t uncomfortable. Contrarily, it was utterly enjoyable. I couldn’t tell you how long we sat there gazing at one another but it wasn’t until we were interrupted by a passerby who knocked my book to the floor, that our peering faltered.

Charlie bent down and retrieved it, calling the boy who knocked it off a name under his breath. He regarded the cover before setting it back on the table.

“Never been one to read love stories. How is it?”

“But no, you have it all wrong. It’s about jealousy and revenge. Of course there is romanticism written within these pages, but it is much more than just a love story.  And Heathcliff... he’s rough and course but the way he loves Catherine...” there I go again rambling. But he sat across from me, his face tickled with hair resting on one of his hands, intently listening to me. His smile made me feel lightheaded, and a giggle escaped my pink lips.

“What?” he smiled so widely it felt as if we were the best of friends, sharing some sort of inside joke.

“Nothing...” I reciprocated his smile, rearranging my glasses back on my nose.

“Not nothing... what was that delightful giggle for?”

“Ha. It’s just, I’m sitting here blabbering on about Wuthering Heights... and you, this stranger, you’re actually listening to me and you seem even interested in my nonsense. It’s just, I’m not really accustomed to that and it amused the hell out of me.” I let out another giggle and watched as his eyes lit up at the sound.

“I am interested, Isla.”

I liked the way my name danced out of his mouth, it was innocent... but veiled in something wild.

“It’s classic, you know? Each time read it I find a new story within. That’s just one of the many reasons I love reading. But, tell me, Walden... I think I was supposed to read that in high school. Have you read it before?” I asked, trying to push the attention off myself.

“Thoreau is a genius. Every line in the book is quotable. And yes, I have read it... more times than I can remember.” He said it with passion, something I found to be entirely charming.

“I’ll have to check it out, I like adding books to my list.” I said politely, as I took the last sip of my coffee. I checked the clock on my phone and was startled to see it was nearing midnight.

“You gotta get out of here?” he asked as he keenly watched me.

“Yeah, I should probably get going. Thanks for the chat.” I said evocatively, hoping he recognized how much I enjoyed it.

“Anytime, it's refreshing to talk to a fellow devourer of good literature... you come here often?” he asked as I began bundling on my layers to walk outside.

“Mhmm, every Friday, sometimes during the week as well, yourself?” I returned.

“My first visit... I’ll be back before I leave though.” he said. The words felt like a slap across my face and I found myself full of nosiness.

“What do you mean ‘before you leave’... where will you go?”

“Well, I don’t live here... just visiting. I’ll be back in Chicago at the end of the month.”

“Humph...” I don’t know why I felt so offended with this information. My eyebrows borrowed surely looking like a little princess wanting something she can’t have. 

“Perhaps we could bump into one another again, tomorrow night?” he asked so pleasantly.

“Okay, yeah... I’d like that.” my heart skipped a beat, or two, or three. “What time?”

“I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He said with poise. 

I smiled. And felt heat stain my cheeks. And as I stood to wrap myself in my long coat, he stood with me. He stretched out his hand and found mine.

“It’s been a pleasure, Isla... until next time.” he was serenading me and he had no idea.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlie.” I grabbed my hand back sharply and sprinted out of the bookstore, forgetting my heart on the table. 

(Part Two Here)

Friday, January 31, 2014


a smile splayed athwart my face
my thoughts brimming in playfulness
when my mind is on you
on your face tickled with hair
my fingers ripe with impatience
a heathen you are, with angel eyes
you pull me
loosing sense within your alluvian thoughts
awashing me with pure lucidity
i cling to your clarity 
a needful reminder in days of darkness
tuck me away in the back of your mind
i'll stay
teeming in your thoughts
let me in, won't you?
i'll be your deepest secret.

photo : my tumblr.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

concerning myself.

i'm a girl  an anomaly; completely incomplete. 

i love coffee and hate rude people.
i have orbicular hazel eyes.
i like using words that make people think.
i've been told i'm interesting. 
i like interesting people.
i like eyes that tell stories.
i seek truth.
i like wearing black.
poetry feeds my soul.
i am the paragon of introversion.
which baffles most people who are privy to my infinite depth.
i'm a paradox of feelings.
i'm a moonchild.
i like the word fuck.
i have long hair and i don't care.
i eat words as my personal form of nourishment.
i'm in love with literature.
escapism is my drug of choice. 
i'm eternally submerged within a novel.
i write to heal.

my name is Kayla.