Original Works by Courtney Krystek is loading...

Original Works by Courtney Krystek

Our eyes meet as the story drops to a hum between us. Hum, hum, it presses against our chests, hum, hum, woke the hummingbird from the nest. Love me, love me as my wings press my breast. Love me, love me, oh hold my heart, the beats fold when the clouds part. In your hands seperation is sweet.

— (via courtneykrystek)

There is no single home. There is no single place to which you crave with your lips as thirsty as the dry sky. Sometimes we find home in the profound clarity of our memory, but sometime home rests in people. Sometimes just walking down a crisscrossed street, merchants and children running up and down like fireworks over running water, sometimes then you find your home. By looking into the eyes of a partial stranger, by brushing besides them with your clothing ragged yet alive; maybe you share a curvature of the lips, maybe you resist the sparkle of their eye, the spark that threatens to incite you with just a single hushed word. Maybe you’ll never meet again, and maybe you’ll spend the rest of your life waking beside their smile, coffee stains like oil on your hands. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll forget to yearn and instead you’ll live, crumbling hope in your hands.

— (via courtneykrystek)

Cracked Pavement

courtneykrystek:

Smooth

Run down

Cross

Uncross me from the pins

crashing into my wrists.


Heels

dug

soft

bare burning bulb

nails

clench

crochet masterpieces

pricked in skin.


Pull

Twist

Curved

Balanced

tree shaken down to Winter.


Bitten lip

swinging map

drawn over irises

blank.


If I cheat enough

will it still feel like stealing a heart

everytime I leave her?

Or just a sweeping pendulum

too scared to break open and fall?


Don’t make promises to my ring finger

or it’ll be the middle that leaves

in the morning.


When did I become

the one unattached

down

down

floor

couch

bed sprung?

Hush.

Your words remind me of her.

Make love to my body

but don’t even think about cuddling up to my soul.

Waiting

courtneykrystek:

They told me the bruises ringing my legs were anemia

a simple iron deficiency

eat more beef, one doctor told me.

eat five meals instead of three, he said.

take supplements, another said.

Well I did all three

until the lumps on my breasts were questioned

like suspects in a murder

which very well could soon be the case,

was it you,

or you,

or you that killed her?


Was it the tempered gland on her kidney turning around too fast?

Did we catch her heart too late,

our clockwork machines too weak to carry

a burden such as mine?


Advanced directives,

advanced directives,

so many people keep throwing them in my face with urgency

saying fill out the papers Courtney

fill out the papers with your shaking fists

but I can’t line the red with my ghost-like signature,

I can’t seem to curve the C and the K in the manner that says I am going to survive.


Because I am terrified.

Because my bones are sealed in concrete

watching the world spin around them

sickening and weary.

I’m waiting for appointments

and I’m waiting for tests

worse,

waiting for the results.


And all this time, a question brands my brain like the hot metal pressed hard against the horse’s flesh,

when did I learn to live?

Where did I find the will to stay?

I want to stay I want to stay god goddess please please let me stay let me stay

I’m a kaleidoscope-
star collision headed for the full moon,
a broken glass screaming ‘NO!’
to the hand nearing with clear superglue.

I want the thunder to shake my bones
I want the lightning to strike my pale pigment into fire
fire
there is fire on your lips.

I want to shatter in the sick rain
let the tears run along
every ceramic crack
of my china bowl body
thrown against a wall five years ago.

I want to scream
my vocal cords snapping open
close
you open
close
they’re turning into purple ash
my brain is on fire
my eyes are facing the dying sun.

I’m painting my soul into expressionistic
masterpieces
and it’s scattered
dug out with a clawed fist
but each black shard
only attracts more light
and moths are my best friends
surrounding this burning
burning bulb heart of mine.

I’m a sun-drenched boot
and I prefer it this way.

Don’t lace me up.

I want to feel the wind.

— (via courtneykrystek)

No you’re not her.
Nothing about you screams “Taylor!”
My hand brushes a teardrop of your hair
And it’s not fiery
It’s not fighting
It’s not the red root
Bleed because I fucking can
Color.

We talk about existentialism
And forensic anthropology in the same breath
And i’ve met only one other girl
With a brain so versatile
Complex
Burning
Burning
But I press a fingertip against your skin
And my hand comes back clean
And hers would’ve burned.

No you’re not her.

Your eyelashes blink burnt sienna sunsets
But hers are hot emeralds
Blinking like streetlights
The one night you hung out in the middle of the street daring a car not to swerve.

You are safety I can wrap spiderwebs into.

But you aren’t her.

No you aren’t her.

— (via courtneykrystek)

I woke up with red flags pressed into my skin
a flush of thousands, golden sun gleaming in thrifts of blood,
I picked them up one by one
and smoldered each fighter between my forefinger and thumb.

The earth wants me to keep living
so badly it’s sending troops
to fight the battles raging in my head.

But I just swipe my hands along my skin
knocking each mast set into the follicles of trauma
rooted deep inside my belly.

If you pull them all out
I’ll unravel like a twenty thousand year old tree.

No I don’t just want to tear myself out of the world
I want to burn alive
until the only remainder of the paths you scorched into my skin
is smoke.

You see, my courage is afraid to eat
and my bravery is stumbling over its own lost feet
I don’t recognize my fractured eyes
that were blown up running into land mines
fighting to get away from you.

But don’t worry.
I’m keeping our secrets tucked nicely away
in the last fifteen birthday boxes my mother gave me,
the candles scorching their way into the cake
as I shouted ‘God make me safe’-

a wish no six year old should know how to scream

and right now I’m screaming fuck you and our sick society-

I can’t even put these trauma-riddled
words into poetry
because all I can think of when I think of love
is the way I screamed in the backseat of your car

and all I can think of when I think of hope
is the desperation that clawed its way into my chest
every time you offered to babysit.

The next time someone asks why I don’t finish a meal
I’ll show them the structure plans you carved into my thighs
for years to come when my hips would swing

Now the only thing left hanging is my kneck
in an attempt to dry out the body
you left bleeding on your sheets
cracking your knuckles at the door
saying ‘we just went out for some ice cream.’

And the doctors wonder why I threw out all the spoons
when my mom brought home rocky road the day I learned what is was to touch the moon.

This is me ripping down the stop signs
that no one paid attention to
This is me blaring the radio every night
just to get your fucking footsteps out of my head
This is me opening my rubber-banded throat
This is me reaching for her right-handed touch
This is me clawing the edge of the world over
looking for the grave you cleverly composed
This is me pulling my eighteen-year-old self from her first suicide attempt
This is me screaming breathe.

Breathe.

Am I Still Human?

(via courtneykrystek)

courtneykrystek:

Woke up one day and I was gone.

Clawed through my chest, picked through each rib like a toothpick,

All blood on my hands. But nothing to show for it.

Lungs full of clouds

I’ll breathe easy

But you know it’s a lie when I stutter everytime you ask me what’s wrong.

Revolving mirror

If I stare too close will I fall in?

Let me go.

Gunshots through the doorframe were always your worst nightmare

And here I shoved them on your lips

Every single damn time I said I love you.