That Kind Of Woman

September 4th, 2012

I miss the playing. That’s one of those things a relationship brings into your previously single life. The playfulness that doesn’t come as naturally with others. It’s the need to reach out and touch. It’s the eyeing up each other over a court, table, or field. It speaks for me wordlessly Are you ready? A nod, or just the first move from him is answer enough.

Next it is the challenge. The need to not only keep up, but push further, past if even for a moment. If you are lucky is fulfills each level, intellectually, physically, and emotionally. Three levels that help you be a better component, or partner.

No matter what you want to do, you will only get better if you are challenged by those who are better at it than you. Playfullness also means there is a need to have fun. Just plain old goofball fun.

I ~~miss~~ want the playing.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

July 1st, 2012

Your collarbones collected secrets long held close to your heart in the drawn out lonely nights you thought of me. Your fingers would dip and drop into the recess, soft skin harsh, hard bone horrible secrets. Haunted notes hit the air like the steady high notes in black and white films. Your mouth parted in memory, your eyes deep in nostalgic remembering.

History for you and I, was like a scary story told around smokey sticks burning in a campfire. Our beginning like the bitter bite into not ripe fruit. Our middle like the jagged edges of rocks split by force. Our end a rattling, raspy smokers cough.

Perhaps you licked your lips, wetting the surface where your lies bloom. Grown deep with in that organ, the one with the agonizing beat to the music, only beautiful when played by the right hands.

Now we mourn the awareness that burst when we touched, tattooing our feelings for future lovers. Nothing compares. Not to the way you played over my ribs like the keys on a old and well loved piano. Not the taste of your breath, sweetened like honey, across my lips. Not the eyes that met me with unspoken desire, spoken through our figures.

Smothered I was, suffocate I did.

-Kat Keegan

July 1st, 2012

Fiction Writing: Write a song after listening to Bad Ritual by Timber Timbre.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

January 8th, 2012

My first college boyfriend, if you can call him that, one evening showed up beneath my apartment window playing the accordion and singing.

We had a very immature relationship, based off of 18 year old desires and 18 year old expectations. We fought, about silly things, but I also mooned over him. Unfortunately for me the mooning overtook reason and I didn’t see the manipulative power that one person in a relationship has (if they choose to abuse it) over the other.

We rarely left my one room apartment. We would read, study, watch tv, talk, laugh. He would play his guitar, write music. I would work on this or that. I went to his place once in the months we had being seeing each other and I learned that I was for him, a challenge. I wasn’t a prude, I knew things, I grew up with boys, I understood the basics of perverted conversation. What I didn’t realize what that when an 18 year old girl, inept at flirting, with loud and boisterous tones, declares that she’d rather wait for a mature relationship to have sex, some thrill seekers take advantage.

The virgin. You know what creature in fiction and fable seeks out the virgin? The dragon. Mythology declares, as far back as dragons can be traced, the myth has the hero & dragon battle. A symbol for the fight to redeem femininity in society. The dragon’s main goal to stockpile the treasure hard to attain, also known as virginity.

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The vulnerable enchanting woman guarded and captured by a menacing monster, and the hero’s task to rescue her, marry her and establish his kingdom with her. Except that there was no conquering hero on a gallant white steed, instead there was the realization and the break-up. It really wasn’t even a break up, just a fight and him moving onto different pastures. Which to this day may have been his haunt while we had my first “romance”. (Still iffy on whether he was juggling a girl while he and I had been seeing each other)

I realized that he was not a dragon, he was just a cocky on the outside, insecure on the inside college guy. Smart enough, witty enough, individual enough to catch my gaze, also magnificently attractive with a “devilish” good-look about him. And I, Miss. Making-up-for-high-school’s-social-leprosy, was lively and entertaining and soon knew more people than I could count, and I’d imagine most of them had heard through the grapevines of my chastity.

He ended up moving on to a girl who was a little less chaste. I ended up changing the group of friends that had brought him into my life, and they really didn’t seem to mind. I ended up realizing a very important thing: I am the hero of my life, and I don’t need to be saved by something I am supposed to expect. Doesn’t the virgin ever get sick of the possessive and vain dragon? Why doesn’t she do some slaying herself and take some of that stockpiled treasure and do her thing? (Yes, Disney movies are improving this stereotype, I love Mulan.)

He’s not a bad guy, he’s a musician in a band that gets minimal fanfare. He put on some weight, he dated around, ended dropping out our sophomore year. He called me over the summer, said he saw me and that I looked good, that I seemed to have changed, be more confident, more relaxed in my skin. Wondered if I was his friend, even after all the bad. I told him we were. He still invites me to shows and parties. He lives about an hour and a half away. I always decline.

It’s not as though he brings nothing into my life right now, I don’t wish to sound harsh. It’s that he brought what he needed to bring, and now we are on separate paths that are not, in my mind, going to cross again.

But I will always remember the giddy and flushed feeling I had when he showed up playing the accordion and singing, and I will remember fondly the lesson I learned without losing other than time.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

October 31st, 2011

Tonight is a night I drove home and thought to myself “wouldn’t it be lovely if I had an apartment and at home waiting for me was a lovely gentleman, so we could curl up on the couch with pb&j’s and watch a movie. And by watch a movie I mean cuddle, laugh and kiss while the movie plays. Then we would lay in bed and I could talk about how frustrating I find losing my train of thought in the middle of discussion. Or maybe how I finally after years and years of education gain more than disposable information from my professors. Or maybe that I am worried that when I graduate I won’t find a job. Couldn’t a trace my nails along the backs of his hands, as he tells me his recently discovered truths and worries.

Maybe I could tell him that every halloween as a 5-10 year old I refused to be a princess or a fairy. That instead I was Robin Hood, or a Mummy. That my mom sewed every costume. That my mom is probably the most understanding and determined women I have ever met. That I love her, and losing her is a fear I carry around in my heart. Maybe I could let the tears of fear show, and he would clench my hand and rub my earlobe, just like my mom did when I was a little kid.

Maybe he’ll just be silent because that’s what I need. Maybe he’ll whisper a word of wisdom or comfort, because that’s what I need. Maybe he will just be with me because that’s what I need.

Plato’s view on gender is my view on love. We humans started out as creatures, rounded with two faces, eight limbs, two of each and that we were so proud and misbehaving -because we were complete in our happiness- that the Gods decided as punishment they would split us down the middle. They thought that our being able to see these wounds would scare us straight. They took pity on us and shaped us into more pleasing shapes. Our middles once a gaping wound was formed into a smooth stomach and closed at our belly buttons. We were given reproductive organs to give us a way to achieve the same sort of wholeness that our original selves had, during sex. To become one. We are destine to scour the earth looking for our other half so that we may finally be complete.

I know scientifically this is impossible, but who is to say that in our past life we were not in a realm of these dual beings. Two as one, complete and selfishly happy in each other. One self. Arrogant beings that we were we spoiled it by challenging fate. Reborn in this world and life we are lonely. Some have lost their mate, be it death or some other reason and end up alone.

I know my other half walks the earth. I know we may not be destined for each other now, or even years down the road, but what I do know is that someday I will find him. Not because I need to, but because it’s just what is supposed to happen.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

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