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Since I finished the Alphabet Series this year, I will be starting a new series called The Raw Concept. This series will be experimental poetry/prose written all at once, without corrections/edits.

As such they may be a hot mess, but it sounded like fun when the idea came to me and goodness knows I could use some stretching of my writing muscles.

The series will be tagged as the above, just giving you lovely people a heads up so when you see these atrocities of the English language you won’t be worried I’ve completely lost my mind.

x am kennedy

Untitled

Since I finished the Alphabet Series this year, I will be starting a new series called The Raw Concept. This series will be experimental poetry/prose written all at once, without corrections/edits.

As such they may be a hot mess, but it sounded like fun when the idea came to me and goodness knows I could use some stretching of my writing muscles.

The series will be tagged as the above, just giving you lovely people a heads up so when you see these atrocities of the English language you won’t be worried I’ve completely lost my mind.

x am kennedy

Format Quote

She is finite only in the way
she ages, clocking years on her skin
like any other fine piece of art– marble.
So it’s your fear, the fear of her finitity
that seems almost silly,
as though what is inside her has ever been
smaller than a universe, ever expanding.
They tell you– no.
Every year history rewrites itself on the spines
of that which we now understand,
if you’ve ever sat through a literature class
you would know there are dozens of books
trying to figure out just who the artists were,
souls are not so easily pictured– captured
by words and gravestone dates.
You are so afraid of cemeteries you say,
because it is where all things go to end,
but I have yet to find anyone who lies
down in the soil with no more
to say, it is only the fault of the living if
we do not care to listen.
We are doomed to repeat, I think,
because we put the history into the ground
and practice– imagine how to touch the stars.
She is finite only in the way you fail to look–
that you want her to be. She is finite to you,
to me, maybe to a great many onlookers,
but I cannot imagine that she ever looked
over her own horizon and found that there
was nothing left to discover– to see.
People are secrets like that, endlessly evolving
to the speed of neurological lightning,
dull only in the space between
yourself and infinity.

am kennedy, “The Raw Concept of Infinity”

Format Quote

She is finite only in the way
she ages, clocking years on her skin
like any other fine piece of art– marble.
So it’s your fear, the fear of her finitity
that seems almost silly,
as though what is inside her has ever been
smaller than a universe, ever expanding.
They tell you– no.
Every year history rewrites itself on the spines
of that which we now understand,
if you’ve ever sat through a literature class
you would know there are dozens of books
trying to figure out just who the artists were,
souls are not so easily pictured– captured
by words and gravestone dates.
You are so afraid of cemeteries you say,
because it is where all things go to end,
but I have yet to find anyone who lies
down in the soil with no more
to say, it is only the fault of the living if
we do not care to listen.
We are doomed to repeat, I think,
because we put the history into the ground
and practice– imagine how to touch the stars.
She is finite only in the way you fail to look–
that you want her to be. She is finite to you,
to me, maybe to a great many onlookers,
but I cannot imagine that she ever looked
over her own horizon and found that there
was nothing left to discover– to see.
People are secrets like that, endlessly evolving
to the speed of neurological lightning,
dull only in the space between
yourself and infinity.

am kennedy, “The Raw Concept of Infinity”

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Anonymous:

please stay safe ok? people care for you, & you care for yourself. life is shit but sometimes it can surprise you. let it surprise you. strike up a conversation with a stranger reading your favourite book. tell someone you love them. get a new hairstyle. get outside more. push yourself and never stop pushing yourself, ok?

Do not worry anon, the worst is behind me. I’m in the very best care and consistently working hard to better myself. Writing here is my way of self-expression, and more often than not I am writing to identify harmful behaviors and thought patterns. The more I write, the better I am.

This blog has been fairly quiet for some of this year, but the writing is coming back, the honesty is coming back. Thank you so much for your kind words, it’s so important to not feel alone when you’re struggling. Much love to you and anyone else out there who needs some.

please stay safe ok? people care for you, & you care for yourself. life is shit but sometimes it can surprise you. let it surprise you. strike up a conversation with a stranger reading your favourite book. tell someone you love them. get a new hairstyle. get outside more. push yourself and never stop pushing yourself, ok?

Do not worry anon, the worst is behind me. I’m in the very best care and consistently working hard to better myself. Writing here is my way of self-expression, and more often than not I am writing to identify harmful behaviors and thought patterns. The more I write, the better I am.

This blog has been fairly quiet for some of this year, but the writing is coming back, the honesty is coming back. Thank you so much for your kind words, it’s so important to not feel alone when you’re struggling. Much love to you and anyone else out there who needs some.

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Under the cut due to a rambling bit of personal writing.
Trigger warning for literally everything.

I
was born between two miscarriages, expected to be a boy and arrived as a
girl. My father named me on the spot after an ex-girlfriend. I was a
sick child, tested and treated and given more antibiotics than is safe
for a child until the surgeons pulled out my tonsils and adenoids. I was
less sick after that, but  prone to vomiting when the other children
got sneezes. I grew bigger and dentists identified I was missing bone in
my jaw, they took six molars to compensate. My mother told me I would
not need them anyway, the antibiotics had damaged the enamel of my
teeth. At seventeen the doctors found an extra electrical signal running
to my heart that caused me to lose consciousness, they froze it to fix it. At
eighteen I learned the word self-harm and ran my fingers across a decade
of scars trying to figure out why I had done it. Twenty they said you have anxiety, I drank at twenty-one and told them I have PTSD.
Two years later I told a therapist about all the different kinds of abuse and she told me
about borderline personality disorder. I did not believe her until the
depression started at twenty-six and in the space of six months I tried
to end my life.

I have spidery fingers and toes, a tongue they had to
clip for me to speak and elbows like jutting knives. I have a geographic tongue, sensitive skin, and often senses near the Asperger’s side of the scale. I have a laundry
list of disorders and scars that I have held as testimony against my own
life. I have convinced myself that if Darwin were here he surely would consider me a
waste of energy and resources. Long have I argued that normal people do not have such manufacturing defects.

And yet I have never considered the
opposite to be just as true. Surely if survival-ism is proof of your
right to life, then I am worth just as much as anyone else. I have
overcome death with the strength of any other animal demanding a place in the
universe. I have used my survival instinct like a
sword, cutting down every obstacle between me and the next breath of my lungs. Are not my failings, then, the demonstration of my will,
my intelligence, my desire to keep living? Are they not the prize for every moment I am able to grasp?

I am going to see a year I never expected to find, and I don’t want to give away the credit. Life is an accident, but everything else that follows is not. This is a demonstration of how hard I am trying, and I deserve to feel proud of that.

Untitled

Under the cut due to a rambling bit of personal writing.
Trigger warning for literally everything.

I
was born between two miscarriages, expected to be a boy and arrived as a
girl. My father named me on the spot after an ex-girlfriend. I was a
sick child, tested and treated and given more antibiotics than is safe
for a child until the surgeons pulled out my tonsils and adenoids. I was
less sick after that, but  prone to vomiting when the other children
got sneezes. I grew bigger and dentists identified I was missing bone in
my jaw, they took six molars to compensate. My mother told me I would
not need them anyway, the antibiotics had damaged the enamel of my
teeth. At seventeen the doctors found an extra electrical signal running
to my heart that caused me to lose consciousness, they froze it to fix it. At
eighteen I learned the word self-harm and ran my fingers across a decade
of scars trying to figure out why I had done it. Twenty they said you have anxiety, I drank at twenty-one and told them I have PTSD.
Two years later I told a therapist about all the different kinds of abuse and she told me
about borderline personality disorder. I did not believe her until the
depression started at twenty-six and in the space of six months I tried
to end my life.

I have spidery fingers and toes, a tongue they had to
clip for me to speak and elbows like jutting knives. I have a geographic tongue, sensitive skin, and often senses near the Asperger’s side of the scale. I have a laundry
list of disorders and scars that I have held as testimony against my own
life. I have convinced myself that if Darwin were here he surely would consider me a
waste of energy and resources. Long have I argued that normal people do not have such manufacturing defects.

And yet I have never considered the
opposite to be just as true. Surely if survival-ism is proof of your
right to life, then I am worth just as much as anyone else. I have
overcome death with the strength of any other animal demanding a place in the
universe. I have used my survival instinct like a
sword, cutting down every obstacle between me and the next breath of my lungs. Are not my failings, then, the demonstration of my will,
my intelligence, my desire to keep living? Are they not the prize for every moment I am able to grasp?

I am going to see a year I never expected to find, and I don’t want to give away the credit. Life is an accident, but everything else that follows is not. This is a demonstration of how hard I am trying, and I deserve to feel proud of that.

Format Quote

Given the opportunity of a loose
thread, you will pick at the knot until
it comes apart in your fingers,
unraveling in a spool of red string.
It’s absurd to pick at healing wounds,
your mother has been yelling at you
since grade school to leave
the itch alone.
But curiosity is a poisonous past time
you light at one end and drag
into your lungs to pacify the brain,
you can’t quit it even as
the ashtray drips.
In silence there is a great deal of
unanswered questions beneath your
skin and just a simple sweater
hiding their answers.
It’s winter and
you pull and pull and pull
until you can see yourself in the mirror–
naked, shivering,
and almost dead,
and you realize you look nothing like
a divinity.

am kennedy, “what the sky has taught the ground: everything falls”

Format Quote

Given the opportunity of a loose
thread, you will pick at the knot until
it comes apart in your fingers,
unraveling in a spool of red string.
It’s absurd to pick at healing wounds,
your mother has been yelling at you
since grade school to leave
the itch alone.
But curiosity is a poisonous past time
you light at one end and drag
into your lungs to pacify the brain,
you can’t quit it even as
the ashtray drips.
In silence there is a great deal of
unanswered questions beneath your
skin and just a simple sweater
hiding their answers.
It’s winter and
you pull and pull and pull
until you can see yourself in the mirror–
naked, shivering,
and almost dead,
and you realize you look nothing like
a divinity.

am kennedy, “what the sky has taught the ground: everything falls”