Imagination

Somewhere between working a 9 to 5 job
And trying to keep my sanity afloat
I came to view my imagination
As more of a wild beast
Than some sort of domesticated pet.
It started out as a kennel I visited daily,
Appreciating the beauty and softness of this animal,
But the wilder my imagination became,
The more precautions I had to take.

My creativity went from a hamster on a wheel
To a snarling saber cat
Quicker than I could snap a lock
On the cage.

One day it lay dormant,
Basking in what little sunlight
Peeked through the blinds of darkness
That shuttered my mind,
And I decided a few minutes uncaged
Would be just fine.

What the hell was I thinking?

Kristin Howell
4/24/2017

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Memories

It wasn’t until all of her dreams
Had faded to memories
That she realized they weren’t actually dreams,
But nightmares that had been haunting her,
Threatening to engulf her in every waking moment
As they did in her sleep.
They seemed normal, at first,
But the little nuances
Hidden within the mundane
Became clearer with every day that passed
Void of them.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
They started harmless enough,
Passing pictures of moments she wished for,
But over time they began to decay,
Gradually, so as not to scare her.
Eyeballs turned dark
And hair stared to fall out,
New scars forming and old scars
Bursting open.
But they were sometimes hidden,
So she didn’t notice the blood running
From everyone’s noses
Or the sharpened edges of fingernails
Painted black.
When she started to realize things were shifting,
That’s when the pictures started to move
And she became a part of this other world.
Her own eyes blinked to black
And her nails grew faster, longer,
And one morning she woke up
Unable to remember when she cut her hair.
Then things shifted again
And the moments stopped moving,
Started fading away, shorter and more distant,
Until she had no more dreams,
Just the memories of dreams,
And suddenly she knew why she was trapped.
Of course she didn’t cause the scars on her arms,
These nightmares did,
And if only she went to the doctor
Before these moments disappeared.
Then they would have seen.
They would have understood.

Kristin Howell
4/20/2017

Looking to the Moon

i’m just a girl
looking to the moon
to heal me,
to breathe me in
and take my life
and make it something
useful.
make me into
a guiding light
for those
who are
lost
like
me
in a world
of hate and
greed and
heartbreak.
spread my energy
into the crystals
hanging by
the lovers’ hearts
and adorning
the hippies’ wrists
and gleaming on
the fingers of those
desperately in need
of strength or
clarity or
whatever the cards
that come with
their jewelry
says.
these days
i feel dull
and
broken
and i’m
looking to the moon
to transform me,
to make me
feel,
to make me
alive.

Fly

I feel like an imposter
Wearing a second skin,
Painted with all the things
People want to see;
But like a snake,
I’m ready to shed
And get rid of the little
White lies I tell myself
And those around me.
I am a cliche phoenix
Born again from the ashes
With brighter feathers
And stronger wings
And I am free to fly
Or to stay.
I choose my own path,
A divine path,
A kind path.
I will fly,
I will be happy,
And I will be wild.

alive

even when she falls apart,
she knows she’s got it together
because instead of reaching for
a knife, she reaches for her pen
and spills ink instead of blood.
she lets her emotions run free
rather than locking them in
a fragile cage with no key,
where they batter against the bars,
the metal twisting and screeching.
she’s no longer trapped,
no longer a slave to her mind;
she broke all the locks
and let herself be wild,
weird and unapologetically
alive.