Hello, friends!

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Hello, friends/readers!

I have officially published a poetry book called "Broken Wings: A Collection of Poems" and it is now available on Amazon! Yayyyy!

I hope you all get a chance to read it and I would love your feedback!

https://www.amazon.com/Broken-Wings-Collection-Kristan-Key/dp/069274326X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1468376425&sr=8-1&keywords=broken+wings+a+collection+of+poems

The link to purchase the book is above!
I'll still continue to post my new poems as I write them!

Thank you so much! <3

The Dark Side of Their Love

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I sit in the dark.
Dark like the irises of my parents eyes when they tell me that I should lose some weight.
Dark like the bathroom I'm hiding in so they won't see me cry.
Why aren't you more like your sister?
Your sister with the blonde hair and the hazel eyes.
She's a cheerleader you know?
And what are you?
Just some chubby girl in drama class with the good grades and intelligence.
But intelligence won't find you a husband and neither will your ability to read books.
Books with pages as frail and rip-able as your self-esteem.
Why? Why in the world are you so tall?
You're never going to find a man and be able to look up into his eyes.
We don't play favorites, they chime together.
Smiles of Guiltless deception perched on their lips,
lips that usually looks like a lowercase N, their disapproval almost as stagnant as the shit coming out of their mouths.
Playing favorites is their favorite game.
One of us playing Princess Peach and the other playing Bowser,
they pit us against each other on the rainbow track while not so secretly cheering on one and not the other.
And you lose,
of course you lose,
because you didn't have confidence from the start.
And their eyes gleam at their perfect daughter,
and you,
you just sit there in the dark.

The Virgin

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You're HOW old,
and you've NEVER had sex?!
Is there something wrong with you?
Did you lose a bet?

I mean, there's obviously something.
That's just not normal.
You must be such a prude,
or have realllllly high morals.

Are you disfigured?
Is there some physical anomaly?
Because NORMAL girls don't wait that long.
I lost mine when I was thirteen.

Are you a psycho?
Do you have a lot of baggage?
What could've happened to you to cause
all that damage?

Sure, I regret losing mine so soon,
but to wait THAT long?
You must be a loon.

I mean, why don't you just get it over with?
It's not that big of a deal.
Just go out and give it to whoever will take it.
Let them cop a feel.

It doesn't mean anything.
It's just your body.
After awhile, trust me girl,
sex will be a hobby.

You're HOW old,
and you've NEVER had sex?!
Is there something wrong with you?
Did you lose a bet?

Blood So Red

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Cut me open,
and you'll see I'm bleeding inside.
Biology aside,
my heart is torn.
Jagged pieces.
And it's me.
It's all me.
The pot finally
recognizing that
the kettle is black.
Something's wrong.
Innate.
Within.
Empty.
Wanting to die
rather than live.
Pointless.
Is this all there
is?
All I am?
Alone.
They always go
and never stay.
Ripping at my skin.
I want out.
Crazy.
Bat-shit crazy.
Two of me.
One is good,
she wants to fight.
But she's so tired.
Fighting is hard
when you're
fighting all the time.
Exhausted.
She's at her worst.
That's when the
other sneaks in.
Whispers.
You're not worth it.
Nobody cares.
Nobody loves you.
Go ahead and disappear.
Go ahead and let it go.
You're ugly.
So, so ugly.
No talent.
Not special.
Nobody wants to hear
what you have to say.
Cut, cut, cut.
Just try it.
Not side to side.
Down the middle,
like you mean it.
STOP IT.
STOP IT.
STOP IT.
GET OUT OF MY HEAD.
PLEASE. Please.
Crying.
Hanging on by painted pink nails.
Facade as fresh as
yesterday,
and the day before.
Masked.
Raging war within.
Good one.
Bad one.
Which one will win?
Everyday
slipping closer
to the edge.
Why haven't I jumped
yet?
What's worse than
being alone?
So, cut me open,
and you'll see I'm bleeding inside.

Behind the Smile

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Sometimes I look in the mirror and can't
recognize myself.
I think:
Who is that woman?
Why is she so sad?
Years and years of being told she's not good enough,
yoyo dieting,
and severe depression have gotten her here.
Trapped,
in her own body.
The pounds keep on mysteriously appearing,
wrinkles near her eyes,
sleepless nights.
She's only 25.
Her youth stolen by people who
don't even realize they'd stolen it.
They took it from her,
with their cruel words and lack
of love.
She's fending for herself now,
and she's failing.
She wishes she could curl up in a ball
and just disappear.
Lights out.
No one would know.
Months would pass.
No one would know.
Eventually the landlord would show up
looking for his rent.
He'd find her and say,
"Looks like we got another one."
Cut his losses, and call it in.
No funeral.
Who could afford that?
A plaque is made in her honor.
Sister, daughter.
Died too soon.
Who was she?
Not anybody important.
Alone.
Oh! She had a cat!
"Really cute. I need to find a home for it, do you know anybody who might be interested?"
Gone.
She's gone.
Becoming a distant memory.
A few tears would be shed,
and then they'd remember:
Well, we didn't really know her in life,
so what's the point in crying for her death?
And the world would continue turning.
And the lives would continue on.
And the landlord would find a new tenant.
What was she,
but a whisper in the wind?
Sometimes I look in the mirror and can't recognize myself.
I think:
Who is the woman?
And why is she so sad?

Reject the Hate

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The hate has always been there,
evil thoughts in the minds of those
who would do others harm.
Prejudice has been around forever,
and there are people who have to live in
fear every day.
Based upon their religion,
based upon their skin color,
based upon their sexual preferences.
Prejudice has been around forever.
America was built upon the backs of
differences,
but while we've moved forward in so
many ways,
the hate still lingers.
Waiting.
Muslims being harassed and called terrorists because of their beliefs or how they dress.
African-Americans being shot and murdered on the street, in their homes, during church.
Children being shot and murdered in a place that was supposed to be safe, their school.
Gay and transgender people being shot and murdered for not putting a blanket definition on what is love.
This evil and madness seems to creep up on us,
but in reality,
it's always been there.
Life is fleeting.
It's gotten to the point where you or someone you love can be killed
just for breathing.
We cannot turn our backs on this growing acceptance of hate.
Let's fight back with love
before it's too late.

Remember

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Puffs of white and streaks of grey.
Flashes of yellow gold light up your eyes.
The rumbling starts
but it had begun long ago.
You've heard it growing louder for years,
and now it rolls perfectly in sync to the sounds
from the sky.
   CRACK! 
It jumps starts your heart,
making it rev up like a camaro that's been sitting
in the backyard for far too long.
It stalls, then sputters, then roars back to life.
The seats are torn, but with some patchwork
she'll look like new.
You're surprised at the speed of your heartbeat.
You've felt dead for a time now.
Water falls from the grey,
marking their spots on the cracked sidewalk.
You watch and listen from the
safety of your cover.
Safety, always safe, never living.
With each growl from the sky
is another step forward towards the edge.
It reverberates through you, starting from your toes
all the way to your fingertips
   CRACK! 
You step off the ledge.
Your bare feet drop to the now wet grass.
The torrents wash down over you, soaking your
clothes to your body.
And you begin to dance,
and you begin to laugh,
because you've realized
you're alive.

I Don't Believe You

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When I was young,
you told me that my dream was
rejectable,
impossible,
and altogether laughable.
You spit in my face
your words of discouragement:
Change your dreams,
change your wants,
change yourself.
"Maybe you should do something
more realistic."
As if what I had been dreaming
was a lie I made up.
Too illiterate to be a writer,
too unattractive to be on film.
You told me when I was young
that my dream was infallible.
Now I'm telling you,
nothing is impossible.

Wandering Hands

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She was a chubby little girl.
And with the way society talks nowadays
you'd assume it'd be the chubby ones that could stay safe.
Fear crippled her,
even at 5 years old,
sitting in her father's lap,
her uncertainty as ripe as bacteria laden mold,
but he didn't do it.
Not like the others had done.
But she still couldn't trust that the evil poison
wasn't in his lungs.
No, trusting was for fools.
It'd been proven as time went on.
She couldn't trust men to keep their hands
where they belonged.
5 years old, and already afraid.
Always living in a panic,
always feeling betrayed.
And so she ate, she ate, and she ate some more.
She pushed her feelings down with
fries and a cheeseburger.
She thought, maybe, it'd keep them at bay,
wandering fingers and stolen childhood -
her self esteem being molded by dis-proportioned clay.
And everyone's lives went on like normal.
Everyone's but hers,
because it all becomes real
if she says the words.
Who was she supposed to talk to?
About all of these traumas?
She had no one to go to.
Not even the people who were supposed to be
fulfilling an unspoken promise:
to keep her safe, and leave her childhood intact,
but while they were busy fighting each other,
it was stolen and she'll never get it back.
She's tried everything to make her life better,
always searching for the next fix.
If food doesn't work she just moves down the ladder.
From liquid courage to herbal remedies,
to depression meds and powder nosebleeds,
nothing can give her back what she's lost.
Always living in anxiety, not able to trust.
And it's sad.
It's heartbreaking, really,
that now she's always looking for something
to numb her feelings.
When she should've been protected,
she should've had a chance.
Instead of hiding as a child
from wandering hands.

Too Young

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Anger.
Blacker than the night.

These people:
they hurt us,
abuse us,
mistreat us,
molest us.

We were taught to trust those we know.
"Beware of people you've never met."
As if stranger danger was where the danger hid,
and not in those around us,
lurking.

Lurking,
so well, it's nearly impossible to see
these wolves hiding in the skin of sheep.
And we learn,
we learn,
safety is a fallacy,
a lie we tell ourselves so we can fall asleep.

Although our skin is crawling
from the inside out.
So you tell,
and your loved ones eyes cry tears of doubt.
You told
but nobody believes you.

You're a liar
those eyes scream at you,
but you know,
you know
what you're saying is true.

You were there.

You felt the hands that don't belong
from someone you thought could do no wrong.
Oh, and the guilt,
the guilt!
The what did I do?
I must have done something to deserve this.

No, in truth,
it wasn't our fault.
It's the monsters in the minds of
those who surround us.
Breaking us,
breaking us,
forcing us to rebuild from the ground up.

We're too young
to have hate this deep,
coursing through our veins,
causing us to bleed.

The Sound of Wings

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Alone,
alone,
perpetually alone.
A girl with no purpose,
a girl with no home.

Flittering,
fluttering
like a lost little bird,
trying to find her place
in this huge, massive world.

Adrift,
adrift,
constantly adrift.
A girl whose confusion blossoms
when she watches her world shift.

Flittering,
fluttering
like a lost little bird,
she doesn't know what to do,
she's been told her dreams are absurd.

Aflame,
aflame,
passions aflame.
She's got this need to belong,
to fight past the pain.

Flittering,
fluttering
like a lost little bird,
she's learning there's nothing wrong with being
a dreamer,
so she's heard.

Alive,
alive,
wonderfully alive.
The world is a clear sky
in which she can take flight.

Flittering,
fluttering
like a bird with a dream,
she flies higher and higher.
Her bright wings will be seen.

Where Has All the Good Gone?

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So much violence.
You turn on the news and all you see is
death, murders, rape, abuse,
hate.
Why?
Where does this anger come from?
We flip through channel after channel of despicable acts:
made by men, bred by men,
the blood of man
dripping as quickly as the tears of the people
remaining as victims.
Their pixel-ated faces sad reminders of what could face us
if we ever walk out the front door.
Every good story as 10 bad ones to take its place.
Shoving the positive down further and further until it's almost
nonexistent.
School shootings, gang hits, drug overdoses,
terrorist attacks...
meaningless killings and meaningless death,
but we can't stop watching.
We're captivated captives
giving killers credence
by continuing to click
until we get our fill,
cultivating a culture
of colorful criminals
who watch the violent news
as children.

Why? 
Where does the anger come from?

Forget Me Not

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Forget me not,
when I go,
because the world won't remember.

My life will be gone
like a whisper in the breeze,
there one moment,
disappeared the next.
You have to strain your ears
in order to catch it.
But even then,
there's no way to know
if you've heard it correctly.

But, I suppose that's normal
for must of our lives.
We're just regular people.
Average Joe's and Josine's.
We're not stars.
We're not celebrities.
Our lives are not as big.
But if we can touch one person...
at least one person's life,
maybe our name can go on
even after we die.

So, forget me not,
when I go,
because the world won't remember.

Inadequacy

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Inadequacy is a normal fear,
most of us feel it when others are near.
For instance when you and your buddies go for a beer,
there's this gorgeous brunette at the bar whose got a nice rear -
view mirror, on her car, outside... you saw her come in.

Inadequacy.
The feeling of feeling not good enough.
But who labels us with this awful word
when we try and we try until trying's absurd?
We won't stop until affirmation is procured
but even then, we can't believe what we've heard.
How sad is that?
Always to feel like the worst?
Things are OK, things are fine, then someone
surpasses you and your bubble bursts.

Like the girl sitting at the end of the bar.
She see's you checking out the brunette from afar.
Compared to the brunette she feels like fat lard,
she covers her belly and puts up her guard,
even though she really is beautiful.

We're always vying to be something we're not,
aiming for movie star looks without movie plots,
emanating each other as if we're robots.
It's time to press the off button and climb out of this box
and put together the shreds of ourselves before it all rots.

We have to accept our differences
and sew back the pieces.
Using needle and thread we renew our leases,
to be who we are,
not living on other people's visas,
watching each other live like we're official scorekeepers,
wishing we could trade out all of our interesting features.

What's the point in being the same?
If we were the same we'd wish we were different.
We aren't born in a factory and maybe this reminder will eclipse it.
None of us are perfect.

That brunette hottie you're checking out at the bar?
She's on her 5th vodka straight
because she doesn't like who she is.
Nobody treats her seriously because of her looks.
They act like she's not smart enough to open a book.
Beauty Queen, maybe, but she wants to be more.
She sees the girl at the end of the bar staring at the floor
and wishes they could change places.

Inadequacy, you see, in inherent in us all.
It could be life changing or it could be something small.
Be different, be brave... if you have the gall.

The Waters

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The waters, they're rushing.
Rushing.
Rushing.
The waters, they're rushing,
not stopping,
unrelenting.

They're swift,
they're fast,
they're making their own path.
The waters, they're rushing.
Rushing.
Rushing.

They break whatever holds them
with sheer force and power.
So strong, so mighty
but that can change in an hour.

They're so inviting,
so enticing.
Come on, dear, take a dip.
But be careful,
they may push you
just enough to make you slip.

Soon you'll be traveling fast
down a slippery slope
with nothing to hold onto.
So be careful,
Mother Nature
can come back to haunt you.

Look Up

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I look at you all
from my perch up high,
I look at you all
mosey on by.

It's easier to put into perspective
when you take a step back
and ponder, for a moment
if you're on the right track.

I see all of you
and your missed connections,
cell phones and self absorption
has all your attention.

There are people,
so many people
passing each other on the street.
Take a moment,
look up,
you never know who you'll meet.

I look at you all
from my perch up high,
I look at you all
mosey on by.

Stolen Away

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Do you know
where innocence goes
once it's stolen away?

A darkened place
full of empty space
where children's smiles go to waste
and evil monsters like the taste
of what was once so pure.

One it's taken
we can't get it back,
ripped away
leaving nothing to grasp
or hold onto.

Darkness, darkness
goodbye light.
We've been forced to grow up too fast now
against all that's right.

Do you know
where innocence goes
once it's stolen away?

A darkened place
full of empty space
where children's smiles go to waste.

All the Good Things

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Lollipops, lemondrops,
kittens and rainbows,
puppies and bunnies
can affect how my day goes.

Rain showers,
yellow flowers,
blue skies,
and butterflies.

Fresh cut grass,
the sound of jazz,
baby ducks,
children running amok.

Chocolate,
popcorn,
cotton candy,
snickers - so delicious I don't even care
that my thighs are getting thicker.

Sunsets and a swift breeze,
fireflies and tall trees.
All of the good things
that I love to see,
all of the good things
that make me happy.

Spring

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Golden red rays filter through the trees,
the flowers below swarming with bees,
there's a smell of honeysuckle floating on the breeze.
Welcome, welcome,
to the beginning of Spring.

Birds whistle sweet songs to each other
as they build nests to offer their babies cover.
They fly high in the sky
to glider and to hover.
Welcome, welcome
to the beginning of Spring.

Caterpillars cocoon and begin to molt
into these creatures that are beautiful to behold.
Their lovely colors are incredibly bold.
Welcome, welcome
to the beginning of Spring.

Children are running outside
and they're laughing.
Playing some game their adults might find baffling,
but that might make it all the more fun
as they continue to chase and play in the sun.
Welcome, welcome
to the beginning of Spring.

Caged by Society

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So you've got some extra lovin',
most women do.
Perfection is a fallacy,
no matter what the magazines
are telling you.

The beauty is in being different,
not in being the same.
Love yourself in the skin you're in,
don't play societys game.

They tell you that to fit in
you should be small,
with super model height at 6 feet tall.
Your skin should be clear,
your teeth should be straight,
if you don't contour - you won't get a date.

Your lashes should be curled,
your cheeks should have blush.
Don't forget to draw in those brows, girl.
Go all in, or bust.

If you have acne,
that's okay - just conceal it.
Put more make-up on your face,
that is society's tip.

You need to lose weight?
Just start eating less,
or don't eat at all
so you can fit in that dress.

Wrinkles near your eyes?
We have creams for that.
We'll do anything to stop natural aging,
like Botox, face lifts....
It's all a trap.

They make you not like yourself
the way that you were born.
We're losing ourselves piece by piece,
and not realizing it's a cause to mourn.

You are INCREDIBLE just as you are,
with every little one of your scars,
with every little part of you that makes you stand out...
Love who you are,
it's what life is all about.

Youthful Ignorance

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Let's go party.
Let's get drunk.
Let's go wild with pills and drugs.
We need to be intoxicated to have fun,
this world will never tame us.

That close-minded thinking
will get you into trouble
when you're trapped traveling
in a downward spiraling bubble.

It's okay to have fun
when you're young,
but you need to be smart
before someone who loves you
is forced to suffer a broken heart.

When you're buried underground
the world above you continues,
and all that's left is the sound
of a 'died too young' tribute.

You. Are. Not. Invincible.

Drowning in Depression

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I'm underwater.
Drowning, drowning.
My fingernails are reaching but I just continue sinking.

I live down there,
in the dark, in the deep.
I try to escape,
but I can't swim free.

It's a dungeon-less dungeon,
a cage for my mind.
I'm desperate for light
that I can never find.

I'm terrified.
I've seen things down here,
the darkest recesses of my soul
leaves me shaking in fear.

Monsters in the form of thoughts,
snarling and ravaging
as the best of me rots.

Eyes peer down
from somewhere above:
pitying eyes,
hidden by love.

They put on their wet suits
and jump into the pool,
but refuse to swim in the deep end -
where all of my demons rule.

After a while they get tired of waiting,
I try to swim up with them
but their light is quickly fading.

I'm underwater.
Drowning, drowning.
I live down there,
in the dark, in the deep.
I try to escape,
but I can't swim free.

Hey There, Sweet Stuff

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Hey, baby,
what's your name?
Come a little closer,
let me see that pretty face.

How old are you?
Wanna hook up?
How much do you weigh?
What size is your bra cup?

Do you have Snapchat?
What about Tinder,
or Kik?
If you're looking for a good time,
you're my type of chick.

Where did we go wrong in society
for people to think this is OK?
To treat young girls and women
like they're pieces of meat
on a silver tray?

These are daughters, sisters,
cousins, and mothers.
Would you treat your OWN family this way?
As you do to another?

You need to change your way of thinking,
in fact, the whole world does.
Learn to adjust your way of speaking,
if not for your family, do it because...

Young girls are growing up believing their value is in their face,
when it's really their MINDS that matter,
not the size of their waists.

Constantly sexualized, generalized,
vulgarized, and demoralized,
they're seeing these things through impressionable eyes.

So take a minute,
and think about what you're going to say.
This could be your sister, daughter, or mother being treated this way.

Change is Coming

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The trees whisper to me,
softly, gently.
The breeze rustles through my hair,
as if to say "Change is coming."
I look out
beyond myself, beyond the landscape,
beyond the earth, beyond the universe
and wonder...
What is death, truly?
Death of a pet, a person, of a dream?
What is death?
Is it truly an ending?
Or is death just a word we use because we have to categorize
and compartmentalize
the things that truly mystify?
The trees whisper to me,
softly, gently,
as if to say "Change is coming."

Blindness Cured

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Sadness, feelings, mixed emotions.
I'm breaking free from this misguided devotion.

We're family, or so I thought,
but family doesn't leave family to rot
in a place so dark and cold they can't get out,
and you just watch and laugh as they're breaking down
into dust.

Your words are like razor-blades across my skin,
my skin, so thin.
They slice and dice and do their damage,
wreaking havoc and mayhem and adding baggage
to an already full suitcase.

I've always wondered what it is I've done.
If it's because I'm the daughter who flies too close to the sun.
Letting the light in,
and forcing out your dark.
Realizing that you have nothing
more than your bark
to hurt me.

Despite your attempt to decimate my character
by spreading lies and gossip that depict a false caricature
of who I am,
I remain true.

Sadness, feelings, mixed emotions.
I'm breaking free from this misguided devotion.
You can try to stop me,
but I don't think you will.
It's too easy for you to hate,
or simply not feel.

So, I'm sorry.
Not though, in the way that you're thinking.
I'm sorry your heart is hardened and sinking.
Further away
into the deep blue sea,
where light cannot touch,
where love cannot be.

Dancing with Darkness

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A darkened night,
world devoid of light.
A girl walks alone
trying to atone.
It's nothing that she did,
it's just because she is

different.

She must rely on herself
to take away her own sadness
by bringing a light to the world
where she finds only madness.

Tears stream down her face,
but she must move forward.
The darkness is gaining,
always waiting for her.

One step ahead,
two steps back,
three skips one way,
she's losing track.

Sunlight breaks through the trees,
just a bit that she can see.
But it's there with an unspoken call
to give her hope when she feels small.

It's okay, it says...
to be different.

The Chasm

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Cracks, cracks
broken glass.
Shattered mirrors,
a pain that lasts.

Whispering,
screaming,
it's growing louder.
Your calm blows away
like translucent powder.

Panicking, panicking
you need to get free!
You're dying inside,
can no on else see?

Run, run
faster, faster.
Danger is lurking,
it's pulling you backwards,
ripping at you with maniacal laughter,
you will never get out.

You're tearing at the walls again,
the walls,
the walls,
the walls of your skin.
Fingernails breaking,
your whole world is quaking,
your soul for the taking,
you will never get out.

Stereotypical Mayhem

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We have to fight
the stereotypes
that try to hold us down.

We should not,
nor should we ever have been
classified
before we begin.

Placed in a box
based upon race,
based upon gender,
based upon face.

Go get a frappuccino, white girl.
Purchase it with privilege.
Take another selfie, girl.
Put a filter on that image.

It doesn't matter who you are,
putting classifications on others is going too far.
You can't judge a persons heart by the color of their skin.
The color of skin is no indication of sin.

The only way to know is to look at their actions,
pay attention closely
before you cause any traction.

Just because I'm white,
doesn't mean I'm basic.
We look the same underneath,
it'd be easier if you'd just face it.

Selfies On Point

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Selfies here
selfies there
selfies, selfies everywhere.

It doesn't matter where you go,
you have to snap at least one photo.
If you don't,
the people will know
that your life isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

Selfies here
selfies there
selfies, selfies everywhere.

In a plane,
on a bus,
in the bakery
buying cinnamon buns.

Before class,
in class,
after class, too.
If you don't post a selfie,
no one will know you're even at school.

In the bathroom,
on a date.
Because of the bathroom selfie,
you were late.

Perfect hair,
just the right angle.
You're selfie game is on point!
Oooh, is that a selfie with a bagel??

At the doctor,
at the dentist,
in the gym
while you're flexin'.

In the park,
in the zoo,
all the animals
are staring at you.

In the grocery store,
in aisle three,
you need to take
a wheat bread selfie.

56 selfies you do,
per week,
just because those brows are on fleek.

Selfies here
selfies there
selfies, selfies everywhere.

The Smell of Adventure

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Don't you ever crave it?
An adventure, that is?
The smell of freedom on an open road,
that's the smell of bliss.

This feeling overcomes me,
every few months,
I need to go exploring,
to experience all that I can, at least once.

Some people go all their lives
never having an interest in travel.
It's like soul food for me,
without it I'm sure to unravel.

The thought of seeing something new
I've never seen before
gives me such hope renewed,
my wanderlust will always demand more.

It eats away at my soul sometimes,
if I don't feed the beast.
I pay in anxiety and panic as the fines
for not allowing it to feast.

Don't you ever crave it?
An adventure, that is?
The smell of freedom on an open road,
that's the smell of bliss.