http://slow.writerscafe.org/suchakadylady The original writings of author Kaitlyn Stone en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776093410 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 my roots were frailspreading slowly in the soilI grewyoung men gazed at methey could use my skinto make fire at nightthey mightchop medownand decorate as they saw fit some built hideawaysin the heart of my brancheswhere they stayed playing games with mebefore they remembered.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1157935/ This is the way the world endsNot with a bang but a whimper.  ~ T.S. Eliot  a portrait of plasticbottle caps and broken shardscaged inside the bones of seabirds the aftermath of mealsstuffing their billsno living thingcan stomach curiosity and hunger:a killer combination&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1157933/                              in a slur of sadness       words stumbled from your lipslike drunken demons from the dark                    abyss you wi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1032333/ I can feel your heart     beat beneath the skinof my palm, as you slide into slumber               drifting into dreamswhile your warmth lights me on fire                          .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1026616/ I was born a mountainpushed up and outonto the surface of the earthreaching for the lightwrapping me with warmthand found fograin, streamssoftening my skinI know what it is liketo be hugged by a cloudand to have the sun play with windand shadowscreating a profile silhouet.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1020240/ Looking back,I wonder,and for the life of meI cant seehow your cold heartever made mefeel warm.Who knew thata little heartcould make sucha big mess? You are just a dreamgone bad. A mapfull of wrong turnsand dead ends. So, I woke upand boughta damn GPS. I know I am a woman.Yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014837/ Across the street from Notre Dame, París,a bookstore rests, awaiting you and I,and letter-lovers everywhere. There wemay find more than Shakespeare books to buy" we'll sculpt some sonnets in the writer's chair,while smelling molded pages in the air.From shelf to shelf, there's hardl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014835/ The dirt andmud, the rich,brown puddles ofearth.  Theycalled to her,reminded her.  Shegrinned and madea leap.The water splashed,soaking into herskin.  Couldn't stand thecement and concrete,she needed the muck and slimespreading between hertoes:  earthwormsshifting undergroun.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014832/ When the night comesI will bring you to bedand run my fingers down your spine:smooth skin to lustful leatherbound pages of passionon which the pen says what the tongue cannot.I will rush to the climaxand lose my breathin the heat of the dark.If you play your words just right,I'll be finishing you of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014831/ Any suggestions for titles are welcome! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014830/ time doesn't just hit you like the wavesof the view changing as you drive by the shifting scenes going eighty miles per houron the highway, but in the way you feel a part of yourself changing, modifying,growing into someone new out of someone you were and are and yet�"the youthat you wer.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014829/ A series of seven dream poems. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014827/ A prose poem. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014825/ for days I've avoidedwriting this poempushed myselfout of bed and into the lightto stare at my shadowwith my back to the mirrorbecause my reflection seems lessa part of methan my silhouette so I lookinto the blanknessof my shadowand thinkof how judgment isseparate from love maybe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014824/ I'll be your good luck charmif you'll be my princecharming, isn't it?the way our palms pressand legs lock around one anothervibrant vines lifting loversfrom empty valleysinto the tangleof limbs within the sheetsof trees swaying in the rainfallingstreaming over our skinwatering our tonguesas we gasp .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014821/ a black widowlives within my room    she spinsher silk while I dreamspirals of silverhidden in the darkshe spreads her netacross the corner on cracked concrete and she'll danglefrom a threadturning her bloody hourglass upside down she makes mealsof memory   &n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014819/ I have a jaron the nightstandbeside my pillowand sometimes I twistopen the lidto let in some tearsso that when the last drop falls I can seal it shutand see the glasshalf-full.  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014818/ You're nothingbut a bully.Brainless withwords like bullets;you will never know of truth or love, becauseyou never knew howto appreciate either.You shoot, and shoot as I smile, listening to the shells fall to the floor,echoing in the dark.You're trapped;hiding inselfish skin .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014040/ If I could changejust one thing, itwould be thebeginning of the end.Not the start, wheremost of us long togo, but the breakingof the ribbon:to finish first.But I can't, maybeeven wouldn'tif I could, becauseI realized thatreal love hasno game, no race,no finish line.Just a new trailthrough the trees .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014039/ when the cold breath raises                         the temperature of color              you can hear                          the cru.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014037/ we heard faint criesand mumbled voices from belowthe hardwood floor barely half an hour priorwe were sewing patchesto make quilts for our Barbiesand stuffed dogs as Daddy's boss walked in the dogs whimperedand he wondered whythe door was unlocked and he called out  &nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014035/ it never slowsspeeding faster than my fingers can hitthe letters, like bare feet to black gravelchasing ideas down dark alleysand over brick buildings untilthey slip into the guttersdrifting with the liquid underneaththe ground on which I stand it never sleepswide awake and waitingto prey on my.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014027/ "In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves […] Trees .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014026/ There is a rainstorm off in the distance,lighting fire in wet airand like a moth to a streetlamp,I am driven to the lightdown the road in front of me. The thunder rollsbut the clouds cover upthe beat of the drums,silencing the thoughts that saythis is onlya beautiful disasterthat tell me I'm di.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014024/ I am caughtbetween a breath and a woundboth showing meI am alive in different ways  I breathe inI bleed out I take gulps of airto fill myself withthe reminder that I amnot suffocatingand that I amalways ableto find another tasteof fresh air and while I amfocusing on the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/suchakadylady/1014021/