early world


i fumble words early in the morning, because I don't sleep at night. When I doze off, suddenly there's a soft, pretty hand that talks to me in my mom's voice, and laughs, and says mmm wake up, sweetheart. so I don't talk well. I don't think in regular ways. I think just how it looks when a hurricane hits, and I push back the bad dreams with my bad hair and I try to make my legs work while I'm falling down.

there's something about early, and bad diner coffee across a green-tinted table from faces that make your heart hum. there's something about driving places early, and the way the trees whip themselves around that makes me think about someone I miss, and someone who lives too far away. And my heart is saying oww, ow, oww, owww in  the backseat, and I pacify it with one earbud in at the left. With the right I hear my dad tell my mom he wants to make pizza. I hear my mom talk about tomatoes and sauce and then yawn really pretty, and dad asks her something and she replies and the engine murmurs in its usual way.

i pull my hat down over my ears.

The trees keep melting against my window, then washing away like rain. My sister curled her hair today, and she's looking away out the window over there.

There's something about all of it-- the coffee, the trees, the missing someone, the talking... I mean, I get to have a hand shake my shoulder every morning. I get to hear someone tell me to get up. I get to do all this. I get to ride in the backseat and listen, I get to miss someone. I get to do this today.

my heart is blown away by the tiny things that are actually the big things-- that are actually my world.





lOVE,
kATE

So how was your sunday, loves? I want to hear about it.





paul

+


     Life has this way of teaching a person not to cry anymore. Because after enough time and hurt, you're burned, calloused and jaded enough to just keep taking it and passively settling for less.
      And so after a while, the tears don't come as often or as hard. You choke up less at good poetry, and you say things like 'that's just the way things are' when people die, and wars occur and disease breaks out, and disasters devastate. You just sit back, burnt out and broken, and fold your arms and take what comes. Hating it. Wondering why. Letting the callouses form thicker and harder.
     But then, there, in that room alone with everything I hated about the world, I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be a restless spectator any longer. The fire inside me wouldn't allow it. I couldn't believe that this was it. That this was all there was. I couldn't believe that—and something was telling me I didn't have to. Because somehow the story—my story, the story of every person that ever lived was being retold in ways I couldn't imagine. 





Every day I wake up, and I sit at a desk with a cup of coffee and edit a manuscript.
This is an excerpt from that manuscript.



lOVE,
kATE

hold on to the little things || guest post by Sami Nuxoll

I feel so blessed to have the extremely gifted miss Nuxoll guest-posting today.

Let's just leave it at this: Sami is a hyper-gifted soul. Like, reading over this post, which includes a poem (as you will see), I was blown away. This message is something my heart needed-- and needs every day, and maybe its something your heart needs too.

Sami blogs over at She Laughs, and I highly recommend you check it out, follow her, and do some reading. In fact, I insist. Go.

Thank you so much for being here today, girl!

____________________________________



HEY GUYS.

So the ever-wonderful and gracious Kate asked me to do a guest post. Kate - you have the coolest and most inspiring blog EVER. This is super exciting! I’ve never done a guest post before...as a result I am equally thrilled and terrified.

So just a preface - mostly what I do while I blog is poetry/slam poetry/thoughts – on a good day my blahs are insightful and inspiring and inventive. On a bad day it’s basically just me ranting. (so fun.) BUT - a while back I decided to tone down on the thinking-writing and focus more on the other parts of my life because the thinking-writing was turning into a really cute bunny-peach that wanted me to pet it all the time. (aka: my blogging was taking over and I wasn’t getting anything else done.)

Toning down does not mean permanent hiatus.

Toning down means doing something easier that does not require as much attention.

Which meant doing fun little picture/text things on Canva. (Duh. Always the logical choice.)

But there was a pattern, and it did actually start with an event, as all good blog series do. (Or maybe that's just me...) I started doing these “sticky notes” to myself because I am really good at forgetting the little things. The things that we take for granted, or the lessons that we think we don't need to re-learn. Kate asked me why I started the series, and this is my answer. In poetry format, of course, because that's just how I write.

_________________________________________


I am not always a nice person
on bad days I storm through the house like a furious blonde Godzilla,
my bedroom a lair until dinner is ready and
I emerge hungry and my words are my teeth and claws,
waiting for a target.
I don’t acknowledge the people around me because
I don’t want to hurt them.

I hurt them anyway.
I don’t acknowledge my sister.
I grunt in my dad’s direction.
I give mom a halfhearted hug.

which makes them feel unloved.
like they’re an obligation that I cannot wait to get rid of
that I don’t like them
that I don’t care for them
that I am unhappy

What an awful feeling to put on someone else.

I was doing it wrong, the ignoring part, anyway.
it took me three days to figure out why my sister was mad at me.
It took me
three
days
to figure out that I was really being a jerk. 

how could they know that I was just feeling down,
or a complete stranger done something that made me sad
how could they know that it wasn’t them?

when I realized this
I put a note on my wall.

the first words out of your mouth should be lovely ones.

a sticky note pasted to the rust-red wall next to my bed

these ideas started flooding in:


all the little things that I don’t notice
you will never regret being nice. 
the things I should be doing
look for the next adventure
the things I can say to people that I don’t
you are not an afterthought.
or that I would love to have said to me
just be.

or even just realizing that life is a lot simpler

than we make it out to be
do it scared.
and yes it is going to be okay
be a nice human
there will be bad days
fear is just a love vacuum
but there will be good days too
find your happy medium
and we have to focus on those
its gonna be okay




some of those little lessons are the most precious ones.
We tend to brush them off, thinking they don't matter

my two and a half year old niece told me that I looked so beautiful in my dress.
that I looked like an angel.

and I was well on my way to a not-awesome day
but her tiny mouth blew out sweet words like bubbles
because she had decided she was going to be nice that day
and she was going to share her orange with her mom
and tell me I looked beautiful:

those words meant so much.

Some days I feel like I don't have the capability to be a nice person.
The world is ugly and dark
And it turns me dark and ugly along with it.
Some days just aren't meant for learning.

But no -
No backsliding
No returns.
I will not relent
I will learn

I would rather be too nice than a jerk.
I would rather say nice things and have people wonder what I want
than think I hate them
I would rather be a good person than not
I would rather have people be open around me, and say what they want: their beliefs
their wonderings and opinions and wants
and have a mental disagreement with them
rather than have them be afraid to talk around me

I will continue to write sticky notes to myself
until I learn them
I will continue to remind my forgetful
(And sometimes ugly and stubborn and mean)
brain of everything that matters
the little things
the things we get told once and then forget
or get told never but are expected to think
the good things that we need to hear
every
single
day
until the little lessons are just
as important as the big ones
Until my walls are covered in yellow sticky notes

Note to Self: Don't Give Up. 








the frontman





I was sitting in the kitchen the other night talking to my mom about how people say things like "i can be myself when i..." am around this person, or when i'm doing this thing, or when i'm somewhere, etc. I was asking my mom why she thinks people say that, and she told me this:

"because there's a lot of people who aren't themselves either-- they're pretentious, and so you feel uncomfortable around them, and you aren't yourself either."

And I was like...huh. Interesting.

And then the next day I was sitting in the kitchen again, and I was thinking about how sometimes I'm not myself either. Like sometimes I'll be laying in bed that night thinking about the day and I'll be like "who was that person anyway?"

And the weird part is, I don't even try to do that. It just happens.

Then I think like, that's so weird. I write all these things about being yourself, and not being insecure, and I myself am insecure. And then I realize, that's because we all are, sometimes.

We all carry an emergency ski mask in our back pocket. We all have a frontman-- a silicone version of ourselves that we hid behind sometimes. A version of ourselves that doesn't have acne, that doesn't have quirky habits, that doesn't occasionally trip or spill coffee on themselves, that doesn't laugh awkwardly and rub their elbows and blush. A version that is cool, and calm, and collected, and precise. Organized, coy. An unblemished head turner.

I use the word frontman, and I named this post after it, because I think it's a good word.

A frontman can mean a few things, but the most familiar definition is the music one-- like the frontman of a band. The guy who stands in the front and sings the lead vocals.The hair flipper who touches hands and occasionally jumps off the drum set. The frontman is cool. There's GIFs of him on tumblr.

Oftentimes bands are seemingly defined by their frontman. But what if there was no drummer? Or guitarist. Or synth...person. What if there was no background vocals. Or stage managers, or techies. What if there was no person for the lights, and the sound checks.

A stage with only a frontman is a very lonely stage. And a frontman without a band is just like...a person standing on a platform trying to be something they aren't.

I was thinking about how I want to be myself around everyone, not just some-one. Who I am when I wake up in the morning, who I am when I'm alone, when I'm writing, when I'm humming while I sweep the kitchen floor at 11 pm...

I wanna be that person around everyone.

I was reading a book called 'how to be here' the other day, and the author was saying something like this:

"who you aren't isn't interesting... who you are is"

And I thought...huh. That's really really simple and obvious and true-- and we miss it every day.

The frontman isn't bad. But I want to be that frontman. I want to be the blue-print me touching hands and jumping off the drum set.The me with quirks, acne, and coffee stains.

Because she's interesting.

Like you are interesting.
The blueprint you.







lOVE,
kATE