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About Literature / Hobbyist Kehlani (Kake or KK)Female/United States Recent Activity
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i.
we fell in love in the winter,
and it only makes sense that it's dying now.
we were the snow and the heat of spring is killing us,
bringing blossoms of new romance.
it's just...i fell for her in the course of a night,
and i figured that 'hey, she's across the nation.
she can't hurt me'.
well i was fucking wrong, 
and you know what?
she did it unintentionally.

ii.
now i can't blame her, okay?
i mean i come with a shit ton of baggage,
and i am an ocean of problems.
oh, and i didn't let her know that i cared so much.
so basically curiosity killed the cat,
because i was dying to know.
come on cass, what are we?
were we ever anything?
did i do something wrong?
and i was expecting it to hurt...
just not like this.

iii.
i just...wonder if she knows that;
she was my fucking sky,
the reason the sun rose and fell,
the reason to breathe.
she was the summer in the eternal winters of my mind,
she was...she was....she IS.
she is my fucking sky,
the reason the sun rises and falls,
my candle in the night,
burning bright.
and it's not fair.
it's not her fault.
but it hurts.

iv.
"I miss you so much."
right words, wrong girl.

v.
oh, and Cass?
try your hardest to survive,
because you deserve it.
and i do love you. i do. i do. i do. i do.
We were winter.
I fucking loved her. Just so you all know, and she's in Georgia, I'm in Cali.

It's 9:33 pm my time, and 12:33 am her time on March 31, 2016.
I haven't written in this format in two months,
but just so you, and everyone else knows,
i loved you like broken people love broken things,
i loved you like a poet loves words,
and typist love type writers.
I guess, i was searching for something that wasn't there,
and i clung to what i did find, mistaking it for love.
and i'll continue to recount the love we had
for many months to come.
you were my missing magenta,
that i kept searching for in this world of  8 pack box of crayons.
and most of all,  you kept me alive this winter,
for that i thank you.
-Echo

p.s. hey moon, please forget to fall down.
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i can still smell your rose perfume, 
and hear the hum of your voice, 
when i close my eyes and
attempt to drown the world in dreams. 
i can still feel the curl of your lips against mine,
the gentle touch of your fingers on my cheek. 
i can still hear your voice as you tell me you love me. 
and dear god, woman, i love you too. 

we're like fireworks, 
and symphonies lighting up the sky.
we make the world a little brighter, 
and take everyone's breath away. 
my poet fingers twined with your typist fingers, 
my ink veins and your ink finger tips.
you left black finger smudges on my shirt. 
a permanent stain of an almost love. 

i can still hear the echoes of our failed romance, 
when he tells me he loves me, 
and i can still feel the echo of your unsteady heartbeat against my back, 
when he hugs me close. 
i can still feel our end when i'm trying to restart a beginning for him. 
and i can't help but miss the curl of your hair around your ear,
and the way it tickled my collarbone when you kissed me hard. 
and oh dear god do i miss you. 

i really hate that in every beginning there's an end. 
and i really hate that because i wanted a new beginning, 
we absolutely had to end. 
i hate that his hands are not typist hands. 
that his hands do not work against my skin like a craft. 
that he does no breathe the same way i breathe. 
i hate that i keep longing for you, 
and i hate that i told myself you weren't worth the effort of my words. 
because you do. you do. you do. you do. you do. 
you are the best there ever was and the best i never was. 
and he is almost everything, he is close just not close enough. 

because for starters, 
his hands are not typist hands. 
and his heartbeat does not match my own. 
his lips don't curl when i kiss him. 
he doesn't look like sunshine on a rainy day. 
and i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. 
i can't tell you enough. 
i know i hurt you. i know. i know. i know. 
i know it wasn't fair. 
and i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
four.
prompt: to every beginning is an end. 

so i'll probably redo this at a more reasonable hour...like, 2 am is not reasonable. 
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i'm getting really tired
of wiping tears off your mascara stained cheeks. 
i'm getting really tired because i never get a genuine thank you. 
i get a quick kiss on the cheek, 
as you plunge the knife into my back,
as if i were a wind up doll and the knife were my key. 
i am not a wind up doll,
looking pretty in the shop windows of your heart. 
and i never quiet understood why i meant so little...
why i meant so much. 

i am your friend, 
i am not your concealer. 
i will not conceal the parts of you that you dislike. 
i will not hide you from the world. 
my heart may be big but it is already stretched too thin, 
tearing at the center. 
i decided to take a look inside, 
and i've discovered that you are an automaton.
you do not have a heart. 
and that is the saddest thing about it. 
and i, as an inept, inventor am unable to make you a heart.
when is it that your heart stopped thrumming?
when is it that your heart stopped loving?
I understand this heart is unable to do a lot of things.
but that does not mean you get to treat me like you do.
i am tired of wiping tears of your mascara stained cheeks.
i am tired of feeling bad for the wolf in sheeps clothing.
i am tired of being your wind up doll,
that you keep locked away until you feel needy.
and i am done with that.
I am done with you.
"I desire the things that will destroy me in the end. "
~
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, entry 63, page 55

three.
this is a bit of a mess. I was following the prompt and then.... yeah. 

prompt:This heart will never work again
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i. 
i really hate my anxiety, 
it makes me hate doing the things i love. 
my anxiety is a homewrecker. 
my anxiety prevents me from asking my dad to drive, 
because my throat swells shut as i start to speak. 
my anxiety prevents my kisses from being complete. 
my anxiety prevents me from being the Marilyn Monroe this Aubrey Hepburn body is. 
my anxiety....my anxiety....my anxiety, 
did not matter to you.

ii. 
my anxiety did not matter to you, 
which was a first. everything about me mattered to you in some way...
but not my anxiety. you brushed it off. 
and i can't tell if that is a complement
or if you're rubbing salt in the wound. 
though, my favorite thing, is the fact that my incomplete kisses make you b r e a t h l e s s, 
and you've grown used to me breathing sonnets against your skin. 
you've gotten used to me calling you a masterpiece. 
you've gotten used to me seeing you as paper skin, and ink veins. 
you've gotten used to the fact that i see you as a poet's masterpiece. 
 
iii. 
i wish i could tell you one of my major pet peeves is when someone
says the same sentence more than once with only slim variation. 
i am an author, a poet, a wordsman,
did you think i wouldn't notice that the underlying message is the same?
i wish i could tell you that i also hate cliches, but that with you they were okay. 
i wish i could tell you, that despite the fact we are the couple in the rain without so much as a jacket to cover us,
that i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. 
and some days i'm not sure it's you i love or the rain. 
i mean, because when it comes to you...you adapt to me. 
you adapt to the fact i won't tell you what happened at my aunts house 4 years ago. 
you adapt to my silence, even if it's violent. 
you adapt and you move on.

iv. 
i wish i could tell you that i know who your ex-fiance was. 
i wish i could tell you that she is so pretty, and that i hate when you talk bad about her. 
i wish i could tell you that i don't swallow these words on purpose, 
but my mind filters words differently, as to not make any wounds. 
i am not interested in using my gift of words as a weapon, 
i will not start a war of wit that we both get hurt in. 
i just...i just wish i could talk to people about how i feel. 
i wish i could adapt. 
i wish i'd stop finding muse at 3:43 in the morning, 
when the house is quiet, 
and my mind is violent. 

v. 
i wish i would stop drinking tea like it's a life line, 
i can't drown my emotions in apple tea, 
putting it down on paper is much more permanent.
i wish i would stop swallowing words that slit my wrist from the inside.
i wish i stopped using words like "chill, fierce, and bravo. "
which are all dandy words unless you use them like me.
(i wish i'd stop using words like 'dandy, tidbit, and waltz' in everyday sentences)
i wish i could stay on topic.
i wish that we were the couple that took the downpour as an opportunity to make our cliches come alive. 
i wish i had the healing hands of a goddess to erase the last trace, 
of your car crash romance, so beautiful and tragic. 

vi. 
i guess in a way i got tired of you adapting, 
and us kissing just didn't feel right.
and i guess that was killing me and i guess you won't understand. 
because to you being caught in the rain without so much as a jacket, 
was just getting wet, not a perfect moment to cliche the hell out of our love lives. 
i guess i get tired of using 'your', 'you're', 'you'.
and 'there', 'their', and 'they're'. 
i guess i never have the right way to make the sting on my rejection stop ringing in your ears, 
or the words to make us alright. 

vii. 
or the words to tell you that then it comes down to it, 
i really hate kissing. 
i really hate making cliches.
i hate calling incomplete sketches masterpieces. 
i hate driving. 
i hate the quiet. 
i hate what happened to me four years ago at my aunts house. 
i hate not being enough, or too much, 
or just right but you not being enough or too much. 
i hate my depression. 
my regression. 
my obsession. 
i hate vertical scars on my wrist and thighs, 
i hate apologies. 

viii. 
ill tell you what i do love, 
i loved us. 
i loved us with every fiber of my being, 
but you were like a delicate rose and i was a tornado, 
and we couldn't stay together without one of us being hurt. 
i love tea at absurd hours of the mornings, 
i love succulent plants, 
i love knee socks and over sized sweaters, 
i love almost and always. 
and i love the words 'legitimately, expectantly, and endlessly. '
and when boils down to you and i? 
i love that you were my favorite possibility of forever. 
that we weren't always never. 

ix.
i hate adapting. 
i hate not being. 
i hate almost forevers that are so close. 
i hate 3 am panic attacks. 
i hate getting soaked in the rain, 
just to tell you that i do in fact love you. 
i hate good nights without i love you's 
but you don't understand because you adapted. 
you adapted to my anxiety and now it's locked in your closet, 
out of sight out of mind. 

x. 
I really hate my anxiety, 
it prevents me from doing the things i love. 
it has me teaching myself how to breathe again at 5:15 in the morning on a school day. 
it has me keeping violent sonnets kept like razor blades in the corners of my mouth. 
it has me in disbelief of the future. 
it prevents me from being the Marilyn Monroe this Aubrey Hepburn exterior could be, 
but in the scheme of things?
i like being an Aubrey. 

"so this is my life, and i want you to 
know that i am both happy and sad, 
and i am still figuring out how that could be. "
-Charlie, the Perks of Being a Wallflower By Stephen Chbosky
two.
so, im kinda keeping to my new years resolution of writing everyday. this one doesn't really count i guess, i mean i wrote it at 3 something and saved it but didn't upload it...i still wrote though, so. 8 days until my birthday!

Prompt: A couple stuck in a rainstorm without so much as a jacket. 

I quoted Twenty One Pilots somewhere, see if you can find it. it's subtle so, look carefully. 

Thank you AmazingHat
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I'm starting to get tired of people.
And being and it hurts.

Nobody cares anymore...

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ECHORIVER6450's Profile Picture
ECHORIVER6450
Kehlani (Kake or KK)
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Author || 14 || Panromantic/Demisexual

So here's the deal: I have insomnia and deal with little bouts of crippling depression. I have social anxiety but tend to be a outgoing person I guess.
I have a mild addiction to Tumblr and Pinterest. It's a bit unhealthy.

I want to preform Slam Poetry...but yeah social anxiety. Yay?
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:icondarklover33:
DarkLover33 Featured By Owner Mar 26, 2016   Writer
Thank you for the fave! :DHuggle! Heart 
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:iconkat-quills:
Kat-Quills Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
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:iconechoriver6450:
ECHORIVER6450 Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
what is that?!
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:iconkat-quills:
Kat-Quills Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
The Dr.Who fandom
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:iconechoriver6450:
ECHORIVER6450 Featured By Owner Mar 22, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
true. 
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:iconshadethelucario:
ShadeTheLucario Featured By Owner Jan 12, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Ay! Happy birthday C:
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:iconechoriver6450:
ECHORIVER6450 Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you!!!!
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:iconhemolittoral:
hemolittoral Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2016  Student Writer
I really like your poetry -- and also, I feel you on the slam poetry thing. Anxiety is a killer.
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:iconechoriver6450:
ECHORIVER6450 Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the follow!~ and the complement! I'm getting better with the anxiety thing....kinda. I've wrote a couple slam poems, it's sad that I can't preform them.
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:iconhemolittoral:
hemolittoral Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2016  Student Writer
I totally get that, and it's my pleaure! I've gotten out of the habit of writing slam poems because literally I have a block where I can't write poems longer than like, 5 stanzas recently. rip me
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