Ketty Joe Henri writes because her imagination needs a landing platform. She is working on a lot of projects at once and will become successful in all her endeavors because she says so. She went to Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, NY. One of the most prestigious writing schools in the WORLD!!!! By the grace of god, she graduated and realized that she spent almost her entire time there not writing to her potential because she doesn’t like to be told how and what to write. She’s working on that. She wants to fly off her own wings and land on soft cotton. Sometimes she gets really deep and is afraid that people wont get it, but then she remembers that she actually doesn’t care.
Why we be, How we be.
We are lonely because you refuse to succumb to the ridiculousness that is sand friendships. It takes to much effort to build them up to be something solid and then have nature destroy what wasn’t real in the first place.
We are lonely because, ever since you were a child, you hated to conform and conforming is the best seat in the social theater. You are short in stature and would’ve loved your position.
The people that you want to spend endless giggles with are either far away or haven’t realized how amazing you are until you are far away. By then you could careless.
You are lonely because you don’t have the energy to promote how cool you are.
We are extra lonely because we are sill figuring out who you are. That takes time and solitude.
Did I mention that you are an only child and loneliness is kinda your thing?
The older you get, the more loneliness starts to smell weird.
Scented candles, a nice shower, loud music and some writing should do the trick.
………Shut the fuck up. I don’t need you to tell me why we are lonely. I’m well aware.
Here’s to all the girls running into brick walls in the name of love.To the insecure girls that live on a tight rope trying to balance their self worth with the boys that don’t hold their hand in public.To the ledge that is danced upon after the sweat cools.Here’s to the hearts thrown into on coming traffic
and to the women who fold into little girls on cold sheets.
To the outline of self-love that’s never filled in.
And the mason jars of tears on your window sill
Yep, this one’s for you.
$, loss of POWER, new found RESPECT for myself.
Me: Do I make you uncomfortable?
Me: Good. There’s no point in being comfortable. Not enough room to grow in there.
Here’s the thing
You. Make. Me. Utterly. Uncomfortable.
Usually, I’m cloaked in layers of mystery
But with you, I’m exposed. Every window is open, latches broken.
The ends of my nerves are frayed. I’m unable to catch my tongue as it reveals more of me to you.
My heart is so much faster than my common sense.
I don’t have enough time to analyze the version of me that falls into your lap .
I should be terrified.
There’s no telling the repercussions that I am accumulating. I’m told that I will surely pay in the end. With either tears or regrets.
But for some reason, I’ve never felt more wealthy.