this is 4 kendall & adri…
Posted by kat on April 29th, 2006i would rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you…
if any of u read this, COMMENT!! 
Reflections On a Starry Night
Posted by kat on April 9th, 2006I gaze at the starry sky
the moon like a silver crescent mirror
bearing his reflection.
I wonder
if someone,
somewhere, could also be gazing
upon this same night sky,
yearning to know if I was there.
Protected: Watersong
Posted by kat on April 9th, 2006Finding My Wings
Posted by kat on April 9th, 2006Come to me. Come to me and listen to my story, written in the folds of the fabric of the universe, my soul residing in everything pure. For when you hear the sweet voices of baby birds in the spring, it is me who is singing a song of rebirth. When the heat of the sun blazes down on the earth in the summer, it is the warmth of my love for the people. When the golden leaves twirl down from the trees, I am there, a reminder that while the bare, spindly trees seem dead, there is new life that springs from the center of the meaning of creation. And at last, in the winter, while the glittering ice crystals spiral and waltz, and the wind hums melancholy notes of grief, it is me, remembering myself and my sorrowful past, whispering my secrets to whoever may listen. This is my story. A story I will tell you in hope that you will remember me, and I will remember you so that my spirit may always bless you. Listen, for this is Laila’s story.
“We are the hated ones who barely exist, our pain carefully concealed behind a calm, innocent mask. Pretending to be indifferent to any kind of emotion, we live a life of pain, struggling to find the courage to face another day. We are the forsaken, the forgotten and the unloved in the world.”
Daddy. As far as I have remembered, that word had no meaning to me. It was simply a dead word, a simple synonym for tears- tears- tears- stinging words piercing the depths of my heart- fists finding my face- screaming- tears- tears- tears- and more tears. ‘Daddy’ hated me, hated me for everything, hated me for my mother dying to save my life. ‘Daddy’ always thought that I wasn’t worth my mother’s life, though it was he himself who killed her. He blamed me for everything, for being myself, for breathing, for living. Yet I knew that deep down somewhere, he loved me, and I knew without question that I loved him also. ‘Daddy’ wasn’t always like this. ‘Daddy’ once knew love, but now refused to be affected by it. Only after Mom’s death had his heart of gold blackened and hardened by grief and self- blame to a heart of icy stone. But it was a heart of icy stone that I believed could be melted and carefully wrought to shape into a loving heart. But every time I tried, tried to bring back to him the warm embrace of love, tried to tell ‘Daddy’ that I loved him… he responded with anger. With hate. With the hate that he now grew accustomed to- the hate of himself, and of me, and of everyone. I knew he didn’t mean it, but it hurt. It hurt more than a fiery arrow through the very threads of my soul. Finally, I just gave up trying to tell him. So I kept all that rejected love in a place inside me, a place where all of it gradually rusted away until it had turned into nothingness; burned a hole clean through my heart.
“Reality can be beaten with enough imagination”
I must confess that I have sometimes wished that death would come and embrace me with its darkness to take me away to be with my mother, the only one who had ever loved me. I desperately needed a place where true strength could dwell, where I could confide my thoughts, and my feelings could emerge out of their hard cocoons. It is so that I found the butterflies.
They called me, called my name, called me into being. Their iridescent wings sparkled in the sunlight as they rode on the wisps of fragrant spring breeze. I ran to them, hair streaming behind me. I embraced them, and the single touch sent waves of warmth through me. One single touch and they understood my sorrows. I gave the love to the butterflies, and in turn they gave love to me. “Why was I born?”, I asked them. The butterflies’ soft, melodious reply was not spoken, but heard in my mind. I gasped, for it was with my mother’s voice, a twining, spinning, harmonious voice that the butterflies spoke with. “Laila”, they sang, “You were born to teach your father to love.” And so it began.
The butterflies were now a part of me and helped my untamed thoughts of raw anger metamorphose into something beautiful. Their presence was enough to renew my being, enough to change it from a mass of jumbled discords to an intricate glowing pattern, with the woven threads of new hope luminous. The butterflies were my never-ending dance of love that nurtured me.
“Through the wind and the rain, she stands hard
as a stone. In a world that she can’t rise above.”
- Martina McBride, “Concrete Angel”
Later that week, I found myself standing alone in silence in my locked-from-the-outside-by-‘Daddy’ room. My fatigued soul shed bitter tears. ‘Daddy’ didn’t even wait for me to finish what I was saying. The word ‘love’ had been enough for him. This was my latest result- being locked in my room with aching bruises and cuts all over my body. It hurt, but my weary soul hurt more. Outside the dirty window, the rain pounded a steady rhythm on the cold glass. Nobody knew about the existence of the worn- down cabin that I called ‘home’. Mom once had a garden outside my window filled with every kind of flower known to man, and we would often sit by the window, watching butterflies dancing among the flowers. I smiled, still lost in the happiness of the memory. But my mother had died, passed on to the night, and now, although the garden and a few plants and flowers still remained, it was full of weeds. Neglected, like me. I missed her, as the moon would miss the stars if they were separated. But even as I gazed wistfully at the drab, barren walls of my room, I noticed some words scrawled on the wallpaper that had never been there before. It was my mother’s handwriting. It read “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.” ‘Daddy’ had locked me in here relentlessly, without food or water… but man did not live on bread alone.
For what seemed like eternity, I sought refuge in the butterflies. They sang me wordless songs of comfort, whispering thoughts in my head, giving strength to my weakened body.
“But her dreams give her wings and she flies
to a place where she’s loved.”
- Martina McBride, “Concrete Angel”
When ‘Daddy’ finally came to my room, the familiar stench of liquor clung to him, following him like a shadow. A wild, confused, and almost mad look masked his face. A glint of silver was in his hand- a gun, the same gun that had killed my mother. Without hesitation, he fired at me. Blood…everywhere…. The world was slipping, falling from my grasp….
My vision blurred, but the shocked expression that flashed only momentarily on ‘Daddy’s face was crystal clear. Even in his drunken state, he had made a connection, remembered another night, another person he loved lying helplessly in a pool of redness…
The thought brought back bitter memories, which flooded my head as I remembered the last moments of my mother’s life.
I gazed down silently in a state of shock at a woman lying still in the moonlight. The grass around her glistened a dark red. Her glossy brown hair spread around her pale face. A face that was too pale. I knelt down beside her and gazed longingly at her fluttering eyes filled with pain, yet at the same time filled with understanding and love. It couldn’t be, I thought. I wanted more than anything for her to live. “M-” My voice broke. Pearly tears rolled down both of our faces, shining brighter than the moon’s silvery glow. Her spirit was wavering, wanting to leave her body. “Mother?” There was silence. “Laila, I love you. Find… find…your wings,” she said in a barely audible whisper. “Remember… remember that death is only a part of life. Even though I will be forever lost to human eyes, there will be a part of me that will always remain with you. When…the time comes, we will be together again. She smiled at me as her eyes closed forever.
¼br /> My mother had died to save my life from my own father. ‘Daddy’ had been in a drunken rage when he pulled out a gun and started firing wildly at me, cursing while I screamed in fear. My mother had stepped before me, planting herself firmly before me, using her body as a shield. “If you want to harm Laila, you have to harm me first.” It was the single sentence that had sealed her death. My father had paused for a moment, then sighing, pulled the trigger.
“Mom!? Don’t leave me here! This isn’t supposed to happen. ‘Daddy’ promised! Remember? He promised to protect you, Mom, from everything in the world. Everything. He couldn’t even protect you from himself.” My body racked with sobs. He had never even regretted it until now.
“Daddy?”
“Laila?”
“Daddy, come here. Come here. I need to tell you something,” I whispered. There were only few precious moments left of my life.
It went on as if I were in a dream. ‘Daddy’ carefully came. Came and listened to me as I told him my story, a story of love.
He gently stroked my hair.
Like Hers, when She died, he thought.
He understood. He finally understood the meaning of love.
As I finished, I noticed that Daddy’s eyes were filled with tears. He struggled to say the four words that I thought never hear him say.
Laila, I. I love you.;
Daddy, I love you too; I said with my last breath.
The world was becoming hazy.
I smiled as I felt my soul slip away, for I dreamed that I had wings, and was soaring with the butterflies to a place, a place where a lone figure was waiting for me… my mother.
elegance - song of snow
Posted by kat on April 9th, 2006the snow will fall.
the snow will fall.
icy crystals waltz down from the sky
becomong a luxourious blanket covering the earth.
reflecting elegant colors in the silvery moon.
boquets of bright blue sky, pretty plum purples,
gorgeous greens of crisp spring grass.
twinkle like a million stars in the mysterious night.
snowy crystals lie,
until the time comes to depart.
melting away,
streaming, flowing down
a clear and smooth surface.
creating a pool of dreams
where anything can come true.
the snow will fall.
the snow will fall…