That One Poet Kid

     It's me, I'm that one poet kid. I was that kid who tried to beautify every little thing and write about it in a point-of-view that nobody else seemed to have. I know there are more of me out there somewhere, but making those connections are harder than ever! Here's to new beginnings, or rather, old beginnings. I'm going back to my roots and showing what the world looks like through rose colored eyes. Don't be mistaken, my realistic nature will still be showing through, but I'm going to walk through the past and revisit old poems, as well as share new ones. Catch me on flipside.

Kalen

April 12, 2019

            The first time that I felt alone was when I was six years old. I came to a realization that my siblings, two of the people in my life who should have been loving and guiding would never be that for me because I was too annoying. The second time, I was eight years old. When my sleepover of 3 became a sleepover of 2 because I was being too loud. The third: when I was twelve and all the girls my age wouldn’t accept me because I was too girly. The fourth time I felt alone was when I was seventeen. My first boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t have sex with him. Then came the fifth: when I left my home to find myself because I was too restless. And then, it seemed, every day I felt alone. Even amongst people who accepted me it felt like I was a hollow shell. Even with my new boyfriend, even with my supportive family, and even with my closest friends. What did I do?

           

            I dumped that sob, I told my family I loved them but I wasn’t coming home, and I decided to open myself up to possibilities.

           

            And that led me to you.

Kalen Lewis

My Mother's Words

I do not

give up

on my dreams.

I do no

sit

or sigh.

I work

hard

everyday.

Like my mother

i do not

cry.

I push

and push

just like her.

I go

until

i can't.

I try

so hard

to maker her proud.

Her words

forever

i will chant.

Do not

give up

on your dreams.

Do no

sit

and sigh.

Go work

hard

everyday.

Don't be

like me

and cry.

Push and push

until

you break.

Make me

proud

to call you mine.

You see 

my dear

i give and give.

I cannot

dedicate

to myself.

Because

for you

i live.

I Am My Fathers Daughter

by Kalen Lewis
July 6, 2018

Oh my daughter,
You will fall in love
With the mountains.
And the countryside
With its sunsets.

And when you travel the world,
You will come to find
That's where you'll always
Want to go home to.
Oh my daughter,
You are just like me.

It's Because of You

I was once a tidal wave
If you ever tried to stand before me
You would get knocked down
I was too brave for my own good.

Now I am like a river
I will constantly wear on you
Whether that's until you're smooth
Or until you are gone
Depends on how long you wish to suffer my abuse.

February 15, 2018
by Kalen Lewis

The Little Old Lady

When a little old lady,
With her little old chair,
Marches to the hillside
Where the flowers do share
Their secrets of joy
And their oaths of joy,
The little old lady
Forgets past remorse.

She takes up her easle
And the pulls out her paint.
Then the little old lady,
With her little old chair,
Marches to the hillside
Where the flowers do share
Their secrets of beauty
And their oaths of color.
So the little old lady
Paints comfort there.

She paints for the wars.
She paints for the peace.
She paints for those
Who keep losing sleep.
She paints the flowers,
Then she marches home.
So the little old lady
Was never alone.

March 9, 2017

No Goodbye's

Do not cry,
When you hear me leave
In the middle of the night,
Past the dark pine trees.
There will be no goodbyes,
Under the moonlit sky's.
Just a warm breeze
While the cicada's sing.

Written: August 29, 2016
Kalen Lewis

The Lightning

The lightning strikes,
Are all I have.
In this empty world,
They light my way.
All I have,
Is a dangerous thing.
But the rain is cold,
The wind is brittle,
And the thunder,
Is the price I pay.

The Silent Struggle

Written by: Kalen Lewis

Where do the shadows collect on your face?
Under the eyes,
Hidden in your cheeks.
Where does the darkness battle with the light?
When you can't sleep,
In the dead of the night.
Where can I find your unconscious soul?
Buried in my heart,
A big black hole.

Written September 19, 2015
To those battling with PTSD.

Sonnet 106

William Shakespeare

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see desciptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of food, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
     For we, which now behold these present days,
     Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.