What You Wanted

I remember the first time I got high in spite of you…

The smoke burned my lungs and the white powder burned my nostrils and all it did was make me see you.

So I swallowed the pills and chewed the mushrooms, trying to see anything and everything else.

Still you stood there watching me in a world of terror, shaking your head and mouthing “I told you so.”

I screamed at you to leave me alone and you put your face in mine and screamed right back.

The first time I got high in spite of you was the first time I discovered how much I loved you.

So I let my lungs burn and my eyes turned red and soon enough you were gone.

I couldn’t see you through the clouds of smoke and I couldn’t see you when the lights began to flash and my heart began to race.

Nothing made me more angry than to look up into the mirror I smashed with my fist when you told me I would never be enough.

Those cracks distorted my face, showing only those red eyes and the smeared make up and the twisted smile.

The funny thing is that this is what you wanted.

You wanted a broken soul to repair.

You wanted an addiction you could break.

You wanted someone who doesn’t sleep, someone like me.

And then you left when you realized that you can’t save someone.

I was cracked when you met me and I shattered when you left.

So I get high in spite of you, wondering who will be the next one to pick up the pieces only to drop them again.

When I Love You Most

When the streetlights hang low and that black shirt fits you just right…

is when I love you most.

Because the streetlights, they know our drunken dances by heart.

They know our darkest secrets and deepest kisses.

They guide us home where I’ll love you until the lights fade and the rest of the world rises for the sun.

And when you wake up and light a cigarette while you read your favorite book, is when I love you most.

I remember the night that the streetlights went out and all we could see were stars and I tried to write a poem about the universe and you pretended to love it like you love your favorite book.

But the lights flickered back on and the stars disappeared and for awhile you did too.

And I remember the night you came back and I lit your favorite book on fire and you used that black shirt that fits you just right to put it out.

You still wear that shirt for me even with the smoke stain on the sleeve.

You told me that while you were away you had a dream of someone else’s hands on me beneath the streetlights.

So they led you home where you found me with a bottle of your favorite wine reading your favorite book.

I was crying because I didn’t understand a word of it and you didn’t have the patience to explain.

That night I loved you least.

Because even though I knew all of your favorite things you still walked into the world of the sun, and left me wondering if the damn streetlights would remind you of the stars and me.

And when you came home you didn’t yell at me for starting the fire, and you didn’t fight back.

You just put it out and looked at me with the eyes that I love the most.

I wanted to start riots and I wanted to see you burn but the next morning I found you smoking a cigarette while you read my poem about the universe, as if it were your favorite book.

And that is when I knew you loved me most.

When I sleep

I wanna feel like I feel when I’m asleep…

Because when I’m in the world of my subconscious no one can touch me

Even in a nightmare the demons can’t grab hold of me

I’ve stopped running from them, the demons I mean

They circle and they scream and they laugh but they cannot touch me

It gives me a power and control that, when I’m awake, isn’t in me

I wanna feel like I feel when I’m asleep because in the world of my subconscious I’m running through things unknown

I discover a whole new world where no one has ventured but me

It’s like Alice’s wonderland

Except my wonderland is full of desires and fears and lusts

I wanna feel like I feel when I’m asleep because the earth as we know it no longer exists and I can leap across universes and meet creatures who tell me secrets I won’t remember when I wake up

I can push through walls into vast gardens and I can explore the depths of the sea

I can taste death without taking a bite

I can fall and fall and never break

I can be surrounded by darkness and still see

And I can visit those I’ve lost in the world I wander around when I’m awake

When I close my eyes and let my subconscious take over my entire body I’m at my most vulnerable

People say your mind can be your own worst enemy

All I know is that my mind could create an entire galaxy of possibilities

My mind can create monsters that not even the angels have faced

I am me but my mind is it’s own

It chooses what I see when I’m in the world where no else one can go

And that, is the best feeling there is

Having to let go, having to see your greatest fears and your greatest indulgences and not have to tell a single soul about it

God, I love that feeling like I feel when I’m asleep

And the whole time you’re lying next to me, in your own world, in your own lifetime

Would I still love you if I saw your world?

Would you still love me?

I don’t think you would

Because if others were meant to see us in our purest rawest most fucked up form, no one would love each other, and the shame of it all would consume us

And that’s why there is no feeling like being asleep

No feeling like being by yourself in your mind, conquering the demons who haunt you when you’re awake


She was bleeding but her blood wasn’t red and her skin hadn’t broken.

She was screaming but there was no noise and her mouth wasn’t open.

She was crying but there were no tears and a smile was on her lips.

She was sad but she wasn’t allowed to be because she had a home and a family and a bank account.

She was laughing and it wasn’t genuine but we still laughed along with her.

She was talking about jumping from the sky but we told her not to joke about such things.

She was singing but her body wouldn’t dance.

She was begging for help but apparently it was a dramatic plea for attention and she shouldn’t act like a child.

She was told that she was loved and her heart beat for the first time in years.

She was told that she was a light that couldn’t be distinguished by the black clouds in this world.

She was a sad girl, but she fought it, even though death wasn’t an escape and happiness wasn’t an option.

She was strength, and beauty, and had the mind of a poet.

She was a beautifully stained soul and I carried her through the days when she thought she couldn’t take another step.

She was a part of my life even though she is just a reflection and no one else knows she exists.

She was me and I learned to love her even though she was the part that wanted to give up.

The Problem

She lived for peace, but would die for beauty, that was the problem…

Red lipstick only stains the party drinks and the mascara only runs down her cheeks when she’s alone.

High heels only made her feet swell and tight dresses only made her eat less.

That was the problem.

She lived for love but couldn’t love herself.

Lying between sweaty sheets from the drugs that made her look tough.

Lying to herself about the alcohol burning her throat and the hands trailing up her dress.

She lived for hope, but couldn’t shake the feeling of the empty space between her rib cage.

That was the problem.

She couldn’t live a life being happy with herself.

Her very being wasn’t enough to keep her standing tall, wasn’t enough to ground her to this world where beauty and pain are one in the same.

She stood in front of him, naked horripilated skin exposed, blood pounding through her veins and not one ounce of confidence.

She lived for him and he walked away.

And that was the problem.


I can’t see the stars. The night stretches past the city lights but there are no stars. Only lit windows of the people who can’t sleep. People like me. Street lamps reveal those who don’t wish to be seen.  Headlights never stop, always guiding people to their destinations. Blinking red lights on top of skyscrapers remind planes that we’re here. As if the planes couldn’t already see the thousands of lights the city reflects. Bright neon colors come from the windows of the people who spend their nights dancing with the lights. I sit on the fire escape and watch all of these lights, missing the moon and the stars. I miss standing in the middle of a field, away from the artificial hue of the city, my arms spread wide, looking up at the night sky with the stars and the moon and the far away planets. Because there are all of these lights and none of them come from the stars. Can you believe that there is a whole universe above us and the city lights can make us forget that’s it’s even there?

I’m Back

Hey guys!

I’m not sure if I have any avid followers on here who actually look forward to or enjoy my posts, but I’m writing this just in case. I’ve finally made the decision to move from Ashland, Oregon where I was going to college. I have found myself in a tiny studio in Portland with two new jobs and hopefully more opportunities ahead of me. I haven’t posted in about a month because I’ve been so busy but now that I’m settling in I am going to focus more on my blog and its content and document my experiences. Thank you to those who have left me feedback, I appreciate all of it. I think that as a writer, feedback is a must, along with criticism. I really want to pursue a career in journalism and travel and share my experiences that I’ll have with people around the world. So if you’ve stuck around and seen this post and care about what I’ve had to say so far, let me know if you’d like to see more of my stuff. I hope every single one of my followers on this site has been having a wonderful summer, and if you haven’t, then I hope and pray that things will start to turn around.

I also would like to add that if anyone ever wants to reach out and talk to me, or ask for advice, or just want to learn more about what I like to do, please don’t hesitate to write me. Even if you just need someone to talk to, I’m here to be of any service to others. I think that’s very important in writing as well, being able to empathize and communicate. Thank you so much to whoever has followed me and kept up with my posts.

• Kiana •

Why I Hate Yoga

I am one of the very few people in the world who does not in any way enjoy yoga unless I am lying flat on the ground with my limbs hanging calmly at my sides. That is the only yoga position I am good at and the only one I will do. I thought I’d be good at yoga. I thought that maybe if I signed up for a yoga-pilates class over Spring term that I might find a way to calm my inner self and get some exercise in at the same time. And oh my God I was absolutely wrong and hated myself for it. For starters, the yoga teacher is insanely hot with no flaw on her perfect fit body. She can talk without a break in her breath, even when she’s a human pretzel and holding herself off the ground with just her pinkies. Upon first seeing her incredibly toned butt and abs I was inspired and thought that I could definitely look like that by the end of the term. Let’s just say I was wrong about a lot of things during those past three months.

I didn’t make it to the first class, so that was a good start. But by the time I finally got myself out of bed at 8:30 in the morning and dragged my flat ass to class, I was ready to tackle any obstacles lying ahead. And the first thing I needed to do was place my mat in the very back of the class, all the way at the end so the least amount of people would see my red face trying to hold my body up in downward dog for 15 minutes. I sat down on my claimed territory, ignoring the glares from the other girls who were pissed that I had grabbed the best spot, and prayed that no muscular hot men would walk in. Instead I became surrounded by girls who wore tight yoga pants and shirts that proved to everyone that yes, they were fit and only taking yoga as a torturous pre-workout. I told myself that I wouldn’t let them get me down but the more I started to hate yoga the easier it was for me to make fun of them in my mind whenever I got the chance.

The teacher would always start the class by meditating, which is something I had proved to not be very good at. During my freshman year of college I decided to take a Meditation class at another attempt to calm my inner self and it did not go as planned. But I tried to block everything out of my mind and focus on my body. Except that when I focused on my body all I could think about were how my nose was itchy, and my back was aching from trying to trick everyone into thinking that I had a good posture, and my stomach sounded like a hungry hippo, and my feet were falling asleep beneath me. So I decided to have thoughts, but only positive ones. And that’s when my anxiety decided to tell me that I could not sit and have lovely thoughts to myself. So I started thinking of the bills I had to pay, and getting more hours at work, and missing home, and Jesus Christ I’ve been in this position for all of eternity.

“Downward Facing Dog,” the teacher would say in a mystical voice as she flawlessly changed positions so that her perfect butt was pointing straight up into the air like a trophy and mine was failing to fight gravity. Well this position hurts too. All of my blood was flowing to my hands and my toes were aching and I was praying to God that the pain would end. And when it did, and we tried another exercise, I was in a whole new kind of pain. Every class was like this until I started showing up with complete resentment towards the teacher who “promised” that it would get easier. I don’t think yoga ever gets easier. I think only masochists practice yoga everyday. But at the end of the class the teacher would turn off the lights and let us lie back with our eyes closed. I would fall asleep, every single time, and when everyone began packing up their stuff I would wake up feeling groggy and cranky and ready to tackle my next class with a vengeance.

Now yoga was hard enough for me as it is. What with my muscles feeling like they’re on fire and my shirt always slipping down to reveal every single one of my insecurities. But one day a man, who was very enthusiastic about yoga, decided to join our class and to my entertainment, was very vocal about how he felt about it. To say this guy enjoyed yoga would be an understatement. We began with our meditation exercise. Everyone is supposed to inhale through their nose and exhale through their mouth. This man was sitting across the court from me and I could still hear his exhale as if he was right beside me. I don’t know if he was trying to expel his soul but I ignored it until we changed positions and he started to groan as if yoga was his lover and he hadn’t seen her in a very long time. I looked around me to see if anyone else noticed the orgasmic sounds coming from him but everyone had a straight face and seemed not to care. I’ve never been successful at trying not to laugh. Once I get going it’s harder and harder to stop. And with every groan, grunt, gasp, moan, and climax I was falling over with laughter.

I have no idea how the people next to him didn’t crack a smile. He sounded like a mating whale and with each position it grew louder and louder. He was as excited about yoga as much as I fucking hated it. And by the end of the term he had stopped coming and I was angrier than ever before. My limbs hated me, and my self esteem was at an all time low, and the days I could have slept in and not tortured myself were haunting me. But I’m proud of myself for trying it. Yoga may make me want to turn into the hulk and smash the nearest town to bits. But that’s just me. And if you’re one of those people who thinks yoga is all flowers and butterflies and letting go, then I applaud you, and if you’re like me, welcome, and I’m sorry that it hurt you.


Have you ever felt really alone? Not just lonely, but completely and utterly alone? As if you were to walk through a room full of everyone you know and no one stops to greet you. No one notices because you’re in a box of self deprecation with no way of escape. The one thing I am not alone in dealing with is this feeling. How do people get to that point in their lives where they just no longer care? How do people get to the point of just accepting their hatred for themselves and living day by day with no idea what they’re living for? I hate it. And I have no idea how to get out of this endless cycle of my insecurities ruling me. How do you get rid of the churning feeling in your stomach that you call sadness when you don’t know what the cause of your sadness is? It seems as if everyone I am close with is annoyed by my very existence. I can’t ever do anything right. I can’t show them how much I love them because I’m keeping quiet as to not upset them. I know that my family will always love me, and I am so blessed to have them. But friends are a different kind of anchor than family. Friends are there to help you find yourself and guide you back to the path of life when you get lost in the dark. But I don’t have someone to do that for me. And when I think I do they say something to remind me that I can never be good enough. I read somewhere that isolation is the worst form of punishment for a human. People lose their minds when they are isolated. God banished Cain to a lifetime of loneliness for killing his brother. Yet when I am around others I feel more alone than ever. I feel unappreciated, as if my presence couldn’t make a difference in this world. And that is a very hard war to fight. The war with myself has been going on for awhile now and I’m scared that one day I’ll surrender. 

Self Destruction

Why do I smoke? I’ve seen all of the warnings. I’ve seen all of the pictures of what it does to a person’s lungs. I’ve promised my parents that I would never touch the stuff. Yet here I am, a cigarette hanging between my fingertips. And I enjoy it. My lungs are paying the price but that doesn’t seem to stop me. Maybe it’s more proof that humans desire what can easily destroy them. It’s as if we secretly enjoy pain. We’re all masochists and life is our sweet torture.