Poetry

10 Things I Never Told You Because I Knew Better

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

1) You hurt me.
Perhaps it was pride
or a small bruise on
left ventricle, but
sometimes when I take
a deep breath, I still
feel the sting.

2) I never believed
the stories your sold
to my patient ear. I
only heard the harsh
words and the criticism
you spat at my face.
Those are the only words
I really remember.

3) I liked the way
you kissed my forehead
when I rested beside you.

4) You reputation proceeded
you. It was my own faulty
wiring that placed my hand
on your door. I always knew
what I would find.

5) The first time we had
sex was awkward and disappointing.

6) The second time we had
sex, you said I made you
anxious which is why you went
flaccid to my touch. I don’t
know if you lied
for my pride or yours.

7) It was wrong the way
you lead me to believe
you genuinely cared for me.

8) Even to this day,
I still like when you
smile at me. Despite it
all, I smile back.

9) Even if we did exist
in some alternate universe,
we would never fit together.

10) I forgive you.
I forgive myself.

“10 Things I Never Told You Because I Knew Better” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).

Resolution

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Apologize.

Forgive.

It happened,
it happened,
it happened.

It’s part
of your life.

Accept it,
accept it,
accept it.

Make it armor.
Don’t flinch.

Don’t turn back.
Don’t be ashamed.

You made
mistakes.

You are human.
Be humble.
Don’t be sorry.

Accept,
accept,
accept.

Mend.

“Resolution” is previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).

what we brought

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

The moon’s calm broke,

spilling elusive shades
over the sky’s backdrop.

I remember how we hurried.
Skirted over rocks and rivers,

caught butterflies in our teeth
and squeezed grasshoppers in our toes.

It was minutes till sunrise,

when the world was at its blackest.
We were enveloped,

just the two of us,
stolen from the wake of the world.

With slippery fingers

we climbed the crevasse,
hoping arms would not give out

demanding our gasps and split fingernails
lift us just a little bit higher.

Upon the apex,
we watched rising mist
begin to sink beneath the orange glare
of a breaking sun.

It was the first time you told me
you loved me.

We sat at the edge of the world,

hanging our feet off granite ledge
and tried to touch the surreal with

impulsive fingers still flecked
with green and bits of insect.

“What we brought” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).