Heeeey 🙂 My name is Kiara and you are probably shocked as hell right now that I even exist because I am so insanely distant, and out of touch with the pulp zine for some reason, it’s weird. I am currently 16 years old and I live in Philadelphia. I spend 99.9% of my time by myself, which I guess makes me somewhat edgy and fit in with the teens of today (I spend .1% of my time talking to Chuck at the register at CVS).
Because I have been such a big loner since such a young age, I have had lots and lots of time to exercise lots and lots of gr8 skills like, reading real fast, drawing pretty good, having an amazing movie collection/taste in music, and making fuckin’ perfect short films and stuff. I’ve also learned a lot about myself and my emotions, which has obviously filtered out to me writing weird, angst-y poetry about being black, being alone, and probably about being horny and sad and high sometimes…
Here is my poetry 🙂 😉 <3
There Are Women
There are women
Leaning on counters
Smiling at every man that passes
Handing lollipops out to girls with braids
Women who get undressed
Flip hair, don’t care
Sliding into passenger seats
Standing on tip-toes to reach
Wear blue on a golden afternoon
Read books “far too complicated”
Eat messy food with unmanicured hands
Who don’t belong to you.
There are women
Can’t even begin to squeeze
into that tiny size 2 dress
Don’t have the time to stress over
How many times a week
A year they shower.
Women that don’t even think about the color pink.
There are women
And menstrual cycles
With short hair
And Harley motorcycles
There are tough women
And strong women
Who love other women.
There are women that save lives
Who thrive on the idea of being free
“I don’t want children”
“Don’t need no man”
Who don’t like to sing
Don’t like to dance
There are women who are loud
Who take tokes
and laugh at jokes
Women with hymens still unbroken
Or reminded of it’s absence every single day.
Women who have hair in more places than one.
And there are women who are sad
Who are broken
But those same women can be glad
Can be put back together again.
There are women
Who don’t know stereotypes
Or how to break them.
And there are women
Who have hips
And know how to shake them.
*Ok so, since I am a huge jerk, I started with one of my most popular poems. I wrote this hastily (maybe in 2 hours) in my uncle’s bedroom one night before school cause it was due the next day (oops). It was for this gender stereotypes poem thing that my english teacher was making us do. I honestly don’t think he even read it but one girl in my class definitely did because she copied it a lil :)))))
I’ve never been loved before.
Sometimes the love given from a mother doesn’t feel like enough.
Though it should be.
I feel lonely when draped in friends
I feel angry,
“Perhaps if I were to be caressed
By the rough hands of a man
Or women who wants to touch me
Purely for the reason of feeling my skin”…
Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so cold.
Maybe then I could gather the strength to leave my home
Rather than cower from within.
I need to be filled.
To be guided,
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you”.
To feel a warmth inside of me.
“I’ll never let you go”.
Don’t hurt me on your way to my heart.
Be careful, but please come quickly.
Because I am in need of some company tonight
And every other night.
*Ok so this poem has already been on here before for Chey’s poetry club last month, but I just wanted everyone to know what it was about. I have a very high sex drive, and during the week or month or something that I wrote this poem, I was very horny. That’s it 🙂
I put myself in terrible situations.
Into a net of naiveté.
I let you pull me far beyond the trees
And let you listen to me talk.
And I asked questions that went unanswered
Because your mind was somewhere else.
You told me love feels good.
Since when was that love?
I let you touch me
If only for a second.
But I guess I didn’t push away hard enough.
I said no,
Over and over.
I turned my head,
But I guess you still didn’t get it.
I should know better then to put myself
In self-esteem crippling situations.
But It happened anyway,
And I wonder if it’s my fault.
You were my friend.
You’ve ruined me.
And I hate you for it.
*Oh, ok this one has quite an interesting story. At the end of may this year, I made a love potion because I really liked a boy and because I am kind of a witch I guess? I was supposed to drink it (it was a lil thing made out of vodka, cherry blossoms, lemon, and other stuff) within 3 days, and love stuff was supposed to happen and whatever, don’t judge me. BUT on the last day, one of my best guy friends who was graduating tried to rape me and so I just tried and kind of failed to write the irony of it. I wish there were little shrug emoticons.
Technology man…the robots have already begun to take over! Help! HELP! Nine-eleven, nine-eleven! Goodbye world, it’s 2012. Feel that? That’s the surge of all the power they have over you. CELLPHONES, man??? Shut up. They control everything. With one quick circuit break everything would shut down. Planes will crash, lights will go out, machines…machines will cut off. People will die. They don’t know they’re robots. Everyone else is. Be careful. Don’t trust anyone! Don’t trust your family, your friends…we are doomed.
*HA this seriously makes me laugh every time I read it. I am pretty into comic books, and one time I was reading one about these people that were robots or something? I can’t really remember…but I read that and a star wars comic, and the next morning I did a wake n’ bake before school and during my first class I got really REALLY paranoid and wrote this and put it on the internet. I hope you’ve all realized by now that my poetry is not um…poetry.
You Are A Man P. II
I ran so many blocks
Just to catch a glimpse of your face.
We talked to get unlost
“Stay on the phone with me,
You know you want to.”
And I told you to stop being weird,
To hang up because my phone was dying.
You were wearing blue when you hugged me.
Three times you hugged me.
You were very different that day.
You were very high
That day in your colorful basement.
And you held out your hand to mine
“Come sit with me.”
I watched you smoke
And I got tired
“You have a crush on me.”
I thought you would kiss me.
I wished forever that you would kiss me.
But you didn’t.
What a man you were.
*Ughhhh this poem…this poem guys. It hits me in the feels. Ok so I don’t know if any of you remember that thing I wrote about me getting super high in that guys basement, but UGHH guys, I went back to his house and things happened. I like this guy a lot and I’ve already written like, 4 poems about him. There is a first part to this poem…It’s about his beard. This is the second part of what I guess is a series.
Tubs of Milk
I am a black girl.
Therefore I am too loud
Living in a white man’s suburb,
Which is quiet
And oh, so professional.
I am unwelcome.
I go to school with the white kids
Drink Starbucks with the white kids
And argue with the white kids.
I am the dirt that you try desperately to rid yourselves of
In your steaming tubs of milk.
And I am trying not to drown.
The white kids walk through halls
Following the black boys.
Rappin’ 2 Chainz
And Actin’ like they know about Tupac.
But going back to their highest class homes
And their worriless attitudes.
All the while making sure that I,
A black girl,
Know that I am
I sit in class with the white kids,
I drift from the white kids,
I do not fit in with the white kids.
But no matter how unwelcome I feel,
It seems like the white kids are more out of place than I am.
*How it feels to be a black girl pretty much anywhere? There’s not much to say about this poem other than it’s very important, and made my hands sweat just a little. It is also my last poem 🙂 🙂 🙂
All of my poetry and talents are good. You can read more of them here <3
Holla 🙂 🙂 🙂