HitchhikerI stood at the side of aHitchhiker by kittykittyhunter
dusty road, thumb raised,
sun shining on a reddened face,
and when the car came to a halt, said that I
wished to journey on eastward.
Compliance: she was headed the same way.
Her radio crackled tuneless songs
and the seatbelt was too tight.
I saw a creaking apple tree
but she would not turn; her orchard grew
more fruit than she could ever
care to eat.
I saw a sculpture of ancient stones
but she would not turn; in her room she had
a corkboard peppered with pins and a
postcard of the same scene.
When – at last – my feet touched ground,
I could not speak with sincerity.
She tapped her nails on the steering wheel
humming that if I yearned my own route,
I should not sit
in the passenger seat.
You have sewn stars to your sleeves.I talk about stars quite a lot (do I not?);You have sewn stars to your sleeves. by kittykittyhunter
I’ve described them as stitches and grains of salt,
I’ve written of distance and said with a smile
That travelling through space
Takes a while.
I don’t need to go that far.
You, dearest, in the stretch of one stanza,
In the breadth of two heartbeats
Can dazzle the world.
Love and compassion thread through your verse:
Your sunshine brightens your words.
You have sown splendour where cracks used to meet.
I want to watch gardens grow at your feet.
the miracle isAnd I do not know this feeling in my lungsthe miracle is by kittykittyhunter
only what it resembles:
nostalgia, creeping up from the depths
of a yesterday
(forgotten / lost)
tapping on panes with
seeping beneath the door.
But hardships pass
become embraces – fleeting,
trapped between the pages
of books with gilded sheets
and spines so strong that they are
The smoke disperses.
We are left with emotions
which heal and cleanse;
we wrap ourselves in golden love
remembered / found.
you're very dear to methey are not words that I speak oftenyou're very dear to me by kittykittyhunter
but ones I carry
in the core of my chest,
and with you, I am grateful
that there are never those questions
about which of us loves more
or which of us loves best;
there were days
where I felt so fragile
that even a smile
made me stammer and cry,
yet you extended a gentle hand
and with the simplest strokes,
taught me to fly
upwards, into that peerless blue:
on the cloudiest days
my sunshine is you.
organs.Dearest —organs. by kittykittyhunter
You do not know what it is to feel love so deep that your heart contracts in the centre of your chest. You have never experienced your organs inflating at the first thought of another; I say this, Dearest, because you do not love You and thus know nothing of my pain.
I want to seize a star and trickle its dust from my hands into yours. I want the clouds to paint your name on the sky’s summit.
But for now, I shall be content with dreaming of you. I hope that incense sweetens your sleep. I hope that the rain soothes your spirit.
declarationi studded my fingers with glitterdeclaration by kittykittyhunter
and trailed stars across your brow.
because i want you to know
while it matters
that this is my love.
that i cannot climb mountains
or traverse oceans for you
with a fleeting touch,
remind that i am here:
i am near
and will not dissolve.
my words are never grand.
i pray they are enough.
meetings“Hey. Are you alright?”meetings by kittykittyhunter
Summer was buzzing in his ears when he turned towards the voice; a chorus of insects was accompanied by the flapping of wings overhead and, somewhere not too distant, a stream gurgled. He saw a girl with black, unkempt hair – there were holes in her jeans and her t-shirt was splattered with mud. His gaze travelled to her jaw, bloodied and grazed.
“I think,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “that you should worry about yourself instead.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
CardigansWhen the world slowly rolled towards evening, I leant over the balcony railings and watched her stand in the communal garden, flat face uplifted, eyes closed as she basked in the sun’s last warmth. It could have been like the sinking star in storybooks – a brash vermillion – but it was always golden. Once my mother heard of my disappointment, she scoffed,Cardigans by kittykittyhunter
“Life is rarely like a storybook.”
Those words did not leave me. In autumn, it brought me no delight to look for squirrels carrying fruit. In winter, I did not waste my time with searching for identical snowflakes. And in spring, which was the heaviest with folklore, there was no hunt for fairies.
Summer arrived. My mother returned to her old pastime. She stood outside, pale hands clutching her thighs. Her cardigan sleeves had frayed. The hem of her skirt swept the concrete floor.
It finally occurred that her words had been a warning. She
fantasy.there are moments in the day when you become too aware of all the ordinary obstacles. like a bookshelf squeezed into an awkward space so that you smack your shoulder against the wood every morning as you leave your room; like the trainers strewn across the stretch of hallway so that you trip on your way to the door; like the welcome mat that slips and slides on the patio because it'll rain till noon. life is doing its best to impede you from progressing or getting out and that is the worst thing:fantasy. by kittykittyhunter
you can never get out.
The Star CharmerI once knew a girl who told me she could charm the stars.The Star Charmer by kittykittyhunter
It was difficult to believe. There are snake charmers, true, but who could possibly have the power to sway astral bodies? And, by 'charm', what exactly did she mean? Charming people can turn a room with looks and smiles, so it only follows
That any kind of Star Charmer would need to be sweet of face and kind of heart.
When I told her this, she laughed. Not a rippling sound. It was a brazen explosion. She covered her mouth. She choked and gasped.
It emptied me of all doubt.
"You can't be a Star Charmer," I snapped. "What's in the least bit star-like about you?"
The girl pressed her fingers together. She studied me with grey eyes, still watering from her outburst.
"But," she said quietly, "I'm not the star. I can only befriend them."
I rubbed my heel into the ground. "Name one."
Retracing StepsWe frown at her, because the smallest thing drives her giddy with delight, and the guilty cannot share in her optimism.Retracing Steps by kittykittyhunter
I first saw her in the playground one autumn morning, encouraging a snail. I wanted to pick it up and drop it on her head but I had already been punished for doing this to someone else. So I watched. She smiled when the snail reached the grass, away from our fellow six-year-old acquaintances.
That was the first swing.
She progressed through school, as we all did, apart from those who drifted to other towns and cities. I lost a few people that way. New faces arrived too, integrating themselves into our lives.
Sometimes my eyes strayed over to her. She counted the etchings a previous pupil had left on her desk, dreaming up some fantasy about who the child had been, who they were now.
When we were ten she caught me staring. She smiled.
That was the second swing.
It was time to change scho
WARNINGYou shouldn't be reading this, because this is my private journal and right now you are invading. An invasion of privacy is very bad, because, if you've learned any history at all (and I doubt you have, because we study history to avoid repeating the same mistakes), you will know that when invasions happen, people die. Both the invaders and the nation they're invading have casualties, and it's very sad, and all about power.WARNING by kittykittyhunter
Maybe that's why you're reading this: because you're power-hungry. That's worrying too. You are, potentially, a megalomaniac. Even if the 'mega' part sounds good, you can't forget the last three syllables. I have never met a nice maniac, and if you have, you are what is called 'deluded'.
But maybe you are still going to ignore me. Even though I have told you and told you. That's upsetting. It suggests that you care little for my personal space.
I will still invest a little faith in you. I will