August 27th, 2014

I don’t kiss and tell, but maybe just maybe my lips are still elated that they had the attention of yours.

That they bubble over with the feelings of ecstasy that came from the kiss that may or may not have been betwixt our lips.

Oh, yes.
In the moment in the moonlight, and in the sun.
Hidden, then overt.
The kiss that stings, and soothes, that marks and is fleeting.
All at once. 

In this kiss I stop and live in that divine moment of meeting.
Being present with this present. 
Mine and yours,
ours suddenly. 

I don’t want to tell,
but the kiss travels from my lips
down down down to my fingertips, toes.
To the backs of my calves, and a spot between my eyes. 
To write, or tell. To touch. 
To confess with delight.

To remember the way my hips tilted towards yours in this kiss.
The way I was pulled pulled pulled to you in this kiss. 

Teaching and learning the ways of each other. 
Holding, and kissing, and squeezing well and tight.
Urgent in its deliberateness. 

The need to be kissed, badly, in Rhett’s words, kissed well, and by someone who knows how. And perhaps someone who needs to be kissed as badly as me. 

July 10th, 2014

You don’t have to tell me you love me. You don’t have to write it down, or say it as we sigh into each other. You don’t have to scream it to the world, or spell it out in texts.

You don’t have to say I Love You. 

I don’t really believe it from the mouths of men. You love me. You LOVE me. You love the way your hands fit between the curve of my waist and my ribs. You love the way my bottom lip is lush and damp. You love the way I can flip over an egg and make it perfectly sunny side over. 

You love how confidently I raise a glass of whiskey to my lips, or press my mouth to yours. You love than I laugh loud, and dance with abandon. You love how I blush, or how my freckles align on my arms. 

You love these lovely things that encapsulate who I am. But you don’t love me. I love me. 

You don’t love the arch & ache in my back, or the veneers on my teeth. You don’t love the hate I feel when I am fearful. You don’t love my tears as they fall down my face. You don’t know how my thighs brush, or how my fingers bite into the flesh of my palm. You don’t love the prickly hair that grows on my legs. You don’t love the crookedness of my eyes, or my ears. You don’t love the hurt I feel, or the desire I have. The greed in me to be a lover and a fighter for someone who loves and fights for me. You don’t love that I have more to say, or that I tell you you’re wrong. 

You don’t have to love that I’d rather you claim me, now with your hands and mouth than pretend to be civil. Be wild with me. Mate me. Dig deep for instinct. 

reach deep into your gut to gain the slight, raw feeling. I’m not fragile in form, I am enviable, and respectable. I am strong, I know what I want, and especially what I don’t.

So, don’t tell me you love me, because I don’t believe false promises, or even your half truths. 

April 14th, 2014

Sometimes, I forget that I am young. 
I forget that I have only been blessed with a quarter of a century. 
I forget that mistakes are part of trying.
I forget that fear is motivation, not food for anxiety.
I forget that friendship takes kindness, and openness. 
I need to forget those who have made me less kind and less open.
I forget the way a first kiss feels. 
I forget to smile sometimes. 
I forget what it’s like to be wooed, except by myself.
I forget that it’s better to woo yourself than to expect others to do it for you.
I forget how to give a genuine hug to someone other than my mother and my father. Because I’m fearful others won’t return it. 
I forget the sound of my first boyfriend’s voice. 
I forget to eat well.
I forget to make eye contact, retail has killed a friendlier version of myself.
I forget not to stand tall and act like I don’t care, because of how I was approached when I cared. 
I forget that kindness and courage can go hand in hand.
I forget who I was when I was 19. 
I forget what it looks like when someone wants to be your friend.
I forget because I remember that no one can change my life, only I can. 
I remember these wonderful women who have looked me in the eye, and told me good, and kind words. Strong words.
I forget that each day is a blessing. That each day is what I make it. That each day belongs to me and me alone. 

I forget. 
I’m going to forget forgetting and start remembering. 

June 17th, 2013

Sometimes, I worry about the person I will be in 10 years, like they are an entity on their own that already exists in my head. I suppose it’s almost the same way that I look back and worry about the person I was 8 years ago. 

I don’t hate my age. In fact, I am spoiled that I am the age I am, that I have time. Time to learn more, to correct the flaws I have slowly, like braces and crooked teeth.

I had crooked teeth, I suppose I do again. That’s what happens when you refuse to wear your retainer. I nearly cried when my mom said I should have braces. Why? My teeth were crooked, my bottom teeth all wonky, like my mother’s. I love everything about the way my mom smiles, it makes me feel like a kid again. 

I suppose I am suspending in this time that is filled with trials and tribulations that only happen to a girl in her early 20s. It’s just moments we have to wade through that will make us better and better people. I am not the best person I could ever be, but I believe I am on point for who I need to be right now. I’m selfish. Yeah, but here’s the thing: on a certain level I can be selfish. I have no partner nor child who I have pledge responsibility to. I hold myself to the relationships I have, with friends, and family, within my professional life. But, I also get the great luxury of going through life for myself, to learn more about myself. 

I love when people ask me questions, and I get to dig into my head and answer. Answer exactly how I feel, instead of thinking about what my answer should be. I get to learn about myself in those moments and learn about what others see compared to what I understand about myself.

I have a tough time with some people, they come off as judgmental to me, and I take that personally. These people, ones I have tried to dedicate time to, time to foster trust and kinship. And yet, I just don’t please them. I am not funny, or I don’t think before I speak. I doubt myself, I doubt my perception of things, and my ability to communicate.

It’s such an uncomfortable feeling for me since I never feel that way, except in these situations, with these people. A rare moment where my skin crawls and my throat tightens and I feel like bursting into tears. Why? I mean really, why do I immediately feel as though a dagger has found it’s way between my ribs?

It’s me. It’s my foolish attempt to mend things that I can’t see or fix. To blindly try and please. Such a horrible feeling. Not knowing what is wrong nor how to fix it. Fleeting, but so vivid when it happens again. 

I don’t hate my age. I just have a difficult time understanding how much I have experienced, and how much I haven’t. And how neither of them can be defined by age. 

So, I worry about who I will be in 10 years, but not as much as I worry about who I was 10 years ago. I suppose worry isn’t even the word. maybe it’s wonder. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

June 12th, 2013

I once met a man with tattooed hands. Except, before I even knew, the tattoos took a life of their own. They spread from his knuckles to his wrists. From his wrists to his forearms. His sleeves rolled up as he went through the days.

On days he wore no shirt, you could see the tattoos grew, to his elbows and biceps, wrapping around both his arms, like vines on a brick building, they only intensified the beauty of his structure. 

Finally, spreading across his shoulders and back, wrapping around his barrel chest they caressed his neck and met in the front then they grew downwards like a weeping willow, slowly and slowly tip unto top.

Until finally the tips touched the ground, a glimpse of his bare feet showed they were grounded in ink too. 

Throughout the years, or days, I can’t remember now, his appearance didn’t change. He just grew into his skin as the ink took to him. Took to the rough, and soft. The ink just became a part of him. From the bottom of the scruffed cheek, to the tops of his tan toes.

He was always him. As if he never had a bare patch of skin. 

June 9th, 2013

an exercise in writing lists

  1. I haven’t had cake in 6 months.
  2. Two of my best friends are farther awe from me than ever before and it’s hard for me to know exactly how to communicate how much I miss them.
  3. In an attempt to grow my fingernails, I have shaped them and I keep forgetting and scratching myself. 
  4. When I was 19 I got stepped on and lost my big toenail. It took a while to grow back. (it’s fine now)
  5. I am extremely competitive. 
  6. On the bus, I make a conscious effort not to make eye contact with anyone. 
  7. I found a typed, on a typewriter, love letter addressed to no one from a woman named Sharon, likely to the love of her life, in a second hand copy of The Silmarillion that a handsome boy bought me a month ago.
  8. My lucky number is 5, and my basketball number was 32 because 3+2=5
  9. I miss playing basketball, but honestly I don’t miss playing a team sport with women. 
  10. Today I moved out of my studio apartment and into the loft area of my building where my grandfather’s antiques are stored in a museum/bachelor dream pad/narnia like manor. The leak that surfaced back in October is going to be replaced. I now have a murphy bed. 
May 19th, 2013

Lists. A writing exercise…

What I know to be true…

  1. I know that I would rather have wooden floors than any other.
  2. I know netflix has changed my way of watching series/films I would have never watched before.
  3. Companionship and camaraderie are essential to my interactions.
  4. I enjoy dipping lemon slices into sugar as a late night treat.
  5. The spelling of my name was after Katharine Hepburn.
  6. I like mattresses that walk the line of soft and oh-too-firm. 
  7. I like to dance, or shimmy or shake. I like to move when I can.
  8. I am very good at pool, i just need to relax and trust myself. 
  9. I make a damn good breakfast.
  10. I get scared and lonely sometimes. 
May 15th, 2013

I think we realize a little more something about ourselves each time we extend ourselves to others. It may be at the bus stop, with a smile and a hello. It may be a presentation at work or for school. It may be putting yourself out there to meet someone who lives a thousand miles away.

I am me. I don’t have to be the same person I was yesterday, or two years before that. That is such a blessed thing to realize. It’s so hard being accountable for other people’s feelings when things are out of your control. Distance, timing, or situation. 

We gave it a try, we met. Things were tough. Things were amazing. But, at the end of the day if I am not truthful to myself then what good am I to another person, especially another person who deserves me to be the fullest person I can to my fullest potential, then I am taking advantage of what they are willing to give.

I am not in a position to be in a relationship with anyone.

There. I said it. Actually, I dodged around that…

I do not want to be in a relationship right now.

Damn. That’s it. 

This I realize. It’s amazing to realize that, especially after years of not understanding why I couldn’t find “the one” to be with.

Because, (past me), you were and are so young. You are a baby in the world, your experiences are yours, not to happen once someone finds something worthy in you. I thought a lot of my potential as a person was wasted on the fact I was single. I mean, how messed up is that, to think that way as a 19, 20, 21 year old. My worth was determined in my eyes by the fact that someone wanted me.

Not to say I settled. I could have. I think everyone could settle. For someone who doesn’t treat you right, or who doesn’t make you feel happy, or any other reason. I was waiting for another person to affirm what I already understood about myself, but until they showed up I would half ass my relationship with myself.

Damn. When and where did that happen? 

What can I say? It was self doubt, insecurity and the overall feeling of being left out. You feel left out when you can’t find someone, especially when those around you seem to find a perfect equivalent. As I become more and more sure of the person I am, of what I am giving to the world as a whole, I realize that it was long overdue that I spend time cultivating myself. Doing things I like, getting better at activities I liked, doing things I wanted to. 

That leads to a different path, one that asks the question “What do I like doing?” and “Why?”. Then there is the whole “graduating college and spending a year in a topsy turvy world of possibilities” not that there is anything wrong with that. I have learned my strength, and weaknesses.

However, just because you know those things doesn’t mean you are suddenly complete. God, it sure doesn’t. I am a mess. I weep in the arms of my friends, I yell and laugh and dance in the company of kindreds. I make bad decisions. But, it’s how I handle the consequences. It’s okay to do bad things. It is, as long as you realize they were bad and you advance and adjust. 

So, I sit here. Realizing that I cannot be accountable for anyone but myself. I can’t. Not until I make a very conscious choice to merge my life with someone who also has realized that it takes a whole lot of self growth before you can grow as a pair. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

April 27th, 2013

I once met a guy via tumblr. I was young, and hadn’t ever really been in a relationship. It was long distance, and because he and I weren’t very well suited for each other, things got difficult. It wasn’t as clean cut as I made it. It hurt a lot, especially when all i felt like was a passing fancy. I wanted grand romantic gestures and words. This guy, he just wasn’t that guy. I learned a lot. I also lied to myself. I told myself that I wouldn’t date from the internet. Casual flirtations… okay, yeah. 

But I told myself that boys from the internet were that. Just boys, a distraction. What me as a 20/21 year old thought she wanted out of a 25 year old boyfriend…. it was ridiculous.

Now, hold on… I have dated off the internet. I have sat back and watched my friends date, family members. I see compatibility and compassion. Understanding. Friendship. I had bad dates with good guys, I had good dates with bad guys. 

It’s a minefield. 

It’s brutal. And I thought that I was evolved. I was evolved because I didn’t settle into a relationship with someone who wasn’t right for me, and me not being right for them. I thought that I could conquer all. That I could bolding walk through the dating world, and not give any fucks. 

Boy was I wrong. Because just when you think you know exactly what you want, and exactly how to voice it. Bam. Someone falls into your lap. Virtually of course, so it’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s like rain clouds and storms. 

Because I am telling myself repeatedly that it’s been 6 weeks. We talk everyday. Hours and hours of talking. Laughing. Teasing. Meeting parents, friends, family. It’s inside jokes. It’s liquor flavored words that spill from our lips. 

It’s not easy. Mostly because we had plans before we started talking. He’s going across the world to teach english for a year. I am straddling the city/country life. I am paying student loans and trying to establish myself as a dedicated and creative worker. He’s figuring out what do do for the next 5 years. So am I.

So when we glow at each other, it’s so great. He makes me float through things. I know he’s there for me, for little things or big things. To talk them over, to suggest and support. He is a part of my life. Day to day. And I am for him.

He’s coming to visit. In less than 2 weeks. I am terrified. My stomach leaps and jumps. I am so glad to have him in my life.

I think I lied to myself and him the first week were talking and I told him that I would never do a long distance relationship. I was too scared.

Because I realized something. I’d be a fool not to at least give this a shot. Not to give as much support and enthusiasm to him and us, as he is. Just because a version of me went through something that is vaguely similar.

It’s not even close. This time. Gosh, this time, it’s different. And I am so very excited. 

I don’t know why I am telling you this. Ah, whatever. Enjoy a little snippet into my romantic life, followers. 

April 7th, 2013

We’d venture for each other to do the silliest things.
Make funny faces during serious talks,
purposely froth our beers to leave a mustache of foam.

Your deep, loud voice, and my uninhibited laughter filled up any place we’d be.

That’s the thing about us.
Everyone would notice. 

February 24th, 2013

I feel like I am in that place in my life where people are either telling me “You are so , young you have so much time.” or “what are you going to do with your life?”.

I don’t need to have it all together. I don’t need to listen to the criticism of anonymous people and feel bad about myself. I don’t even need to listen to hurtful things people may say to me in day to day life. Anger is released upon me and here I am supposed to feel hurt? Betrayed? Sad? I don’t need to feel anything, my actions will not be changed because people tell me something nasty that they think about me.

I feel like it’s been years of this back and forth with people. Telling me what I should and shouldn’t do here on my blog. It hasn’t changed thus far, so I can almost guarantee it never will. I don’t care if you feel like me sleeping through yoga, and eating bread and dip in bed is going to make me fat. Newsflash, I am the way I am. I love every little bit of my body, ya know why? Because it’s mine. Mine. Not yours, not my neighbor, not my boyfriend’s, not my mother’s. Not the president’s or the pope’s. It’s mine. I can do what ever I want to it, and with it.

I can hike mountains, or lay on the beach, I can do anything I want. I am not ashamed of it. I know it is beautiful. It is. It may not be to you, but that is probably a reflection of your own imagine of what you think a beautiful body should be. Or what someone told you, and now you have to live up to that idea. 

I can go to yoga, or eat bacon and eggs every day. I can sneak off to movies and eat twizlers, or go to the gym. I can do what ever I desire, and nothing you say will change that. I can do any or all of those things. I do all of those things.

My weight has fluctuated for the past 5 years. 150-190lbs my body has changed. Guess what? My life changed. I will never be skinny, I have said this before, I have talk about all of this before. I am amazing. I am beautiful and I am full of hope that instead of calling me self absorbed, you realize that you too should accept your body, your flaws and strengths. You should really listen to the peple who tell you are beautiful and believe them. Believe yourself when you say it.

Am I perfect? No, but really what the hell is perfection? Why do I have to adhere to someone else’s idea of what my body should be?

I started seeing someone who has been amazing at just communicating what he finds interesting and beautiful about me. The things he says are already things I knew and accepted about myself. I am compassionate, and caring. I am beautiful and funny. BUt hearing it said by someone else, it’s wonderful.

Does this happen with every person see? No. Will every person I meet think the same things? No. But that’s their problem and not mine.

I have worth as a person, and no matter what someone says about me, I can’t and won’t lose sight of it. Because in all honesty, that person is losing out on a great opportunity to have me in their lives. Selfish? Full of myself? No. I am sure of myself. Sure for the first time in my life that I am who I am. Am I fully developed? Have I cast aside all my flaws, and become all knowing and wonderful? No. I have sins, I have faults, I have vices. Accepting those things is just as important as the acceptance of my being and it’s aesthetic to others, and most importantly to myself. 

If my 16 year old self could see me now? Damn, that would be a sight. It would be awesome, because I know I was scared, and confused. I didn’t think I was beautiful, or that I had anything to give to other people. I know what I have, what I can give, and how I should receive as much if not more from the world and the people in it. Everyone should. 

If you tell yourself that you are ugly, or angry, or fat, it will happen. It will happen because you become what you tell yourself you are. I am beautiful. My sister, my mother and all the women in my family are stunning women. Not only on the outside, but because of the types of women they are and how they see themselves.

Anything you may try to throw at me, I can guarantee you I have heard it before, and it comes up lacking. It’s not something that I need to prove to you, because I have already proved or disproved it to myself. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

February 1st, 2013

Don’t ever let anyone ruin a song for you. Sometimes people come in and out of life purely to share a good song with. Or at least, I have convinced myself of that.

They have taken some of time, maybe a little of your heart, but please I beg you don’t let the music that you at one time loved be taken away. 

It may have been your freshman year of college, in some guy’s devastatingly messy dormitory and he played Hey by Pixies every time you were together. In his car, or when you sat on his bed and stared at his hands as he stared at your mouth. Then suddenly, because you didn’t know or want to move fast, he was dating a girl with purple in her hair. 

It may have been junior year of high school when your sister got into a car accident and you were right there with her in the passenger seat suspended by your seatbelt and Billie Holiday’s I Can’t Give you Anything But Love was playing in the background, amplified by the adrenaline that was pumping.

It may have been the long distance love on that one monumental night while you lay breathless on the phone. And he told you to play This Must Be the Place by Talking Heads and you swear that every part of you was separating and colliding with the wish you were laying in bed with him, and that the distance was nothing as your hands intertwined listening to one of the most beautiful song you had ever heard. Then, only a year later to miss the best friend you had developed because you wanted and needed more and you couldn’t stay silent about it, and he couldn’t give it. And every time you hear it, you ache with a little of that hope which you felt that night.

You may have heard the song in the background of a party where you were being broken up with in the hallway. You may have cried and wept to a song after your grandfather past away. You may have been throwing up into a trash can after a roller coaster, and the park speakers played the song over your nausea and fear. You may have told secrets, or lies to a certain song, and then had your trust betrayed. 

Don’t let anyone ruin any song for you. Don’t throw away that feeling, appreciate how it felt and realize that there are so may more songs to hear, and to appreciate the ones that you loved, even if the pain is still there.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

November 26th, 2012

a love letter to you reading this.

You looked great today.
Your skin was beautiful in the morning light,
then at that magic hour before sunset.
Your hair was casually elegant,
as you didn’t really bother with it.
You smiled,
and several people saw and smiled too.

Your style was reflected in the outfit you chose today.
You inspired someone with what you wore.
You inspired yourself.
Those casual looks at your reflection,
they made your step a little lighter.
They made your heart a little happier.

I want you to know you looked great today.
Even though you weren’t really trying.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

November 22nd, 2012
Kat Keegan
Spoken Word

My poem read by me. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

November 22nd, 2012

You were honey.
The way your words clung as long as they could to your tongue,
then dripped heavily onto my skin.

Like the honey sticking to the glass,
imprisoned after harvest.

I thought of all the bees that worked tirelessly for that honey.
I knew you didn’t work, you allowed that for others.

You were all unforgiving lines. The dash of your collar bones. 
The dark dusting of hair on your forearms.

You were sinfully sweet, when it suited you.
Or you held a little bite, a sting.

You were from the wildest flowers.
Your hive was feral and mean.
Never to be tamed.

Not even the honeyed stinging tones of your voice.


(Source: thatkindofwoman)

A website dedicated to the things that inspire a young woman with a good head on her shoulders, an overactive imagination and a constant question on her mind: what kind of woman is she?