The End

It was all about
to end
as the sun
faded
to black
and the crack
inside the
galaxy
shattered
into eternity
and the moon
decided
to leave
and she swiftly took
the seas
to spite
our disappearing light
into the desert
we were led
and all our hope
was surely dead
but as the winds
were screaming
as the blue sky
turned to
red
the last lonesome
thought
to ever
enter my
weary head
was the memory
of you-

dipped in sunlight

stretched across

my king

size

bed

And long after
we all are dead
and into the end
we are led
I hope the Earth
remembers this:

that once

two people

were

happy

here.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 1.27.17

Bodega Roses

Lower East Side at midnight
his place
filled with lingering
wafts of 3 pm spliffs
and empty bottles
of cheap scotch,
I can never remember
the brand.
It made him feel like
James Bond
or Hemingway
when he drank it.
I didn’t want to
make him feel bad.
Bodega roses
of red and yellow
just for me,
in an old vase
on the kitchen table,
a patched crack
runs down the middle
of the glass.
I run my finger along it,
waiting for it
to pierce my skin,
but it never does.
He never takes his time
before his hands are
running up my legs
and under my skirt,
feeling his way inside,
before he lifts me
and sets me
on the table,
along side the flowers.
My eyes make contact
with their vibrant petals
as my pants
are pushed
to the side.
We have sex because
it’s what people
like us do.
My eyes close
and my mind wanders
to the painting of Ophelia
I saw at the
Tate Britain
a lifetime ago,
and the man who
wept
for her absence.
The bodega roses
come back into focus,
instead of his face.
We don’t make
eye contact
when he fucks me
anymore.
They are facing him,
even though I’m facing
them.
Because the truth is,
only one of us blooms for him.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 3.26.17

Moonlight

It was never ok,
Never quite settled
Or content,
Always a sense of
Rattled hearts
And splintered fingertips,
Reaching for the moonlight
As it spilt across your back
On October nights when
The windows were open
And the air was cool
As ice in tall glasses
On Saturdays in July,
But you never stirred,
Unable to feel the silver slivers
Of light
Piercing your skin,
But I saw it
And it shook me,
Until the breath left my lungs
And my lips met your spine,
Tucked beneath the warmth of your skin,
Radiating like sunlight in summer
The whole year round.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 7.14.17

Bodega Roses

Bodega Roses

Lower East Side at midnight
his place
filled with lingering
wafts of 3 pm spliffs
and empty bottles
of cheap scotch,
I can never remember
the brand.
It made him feel like
James Bond
or Hemingway
when he drank it.
I didn’t want to
make him feel bad.
Bodega roses
of red and yellow
just for me,
in an old vase
on the kitchen table,
a patched crack
runs down the middle
of the glass.
I run my finger along it,
waiting for it
to pierce my skin,
but it never does.
He never takes his time
before his hands are
running up my legs
and under my skirt,
feeling his way inside,
before he lifts me
and sets me
on the table,
along side the flowers.
My eyes make contact
with their vibrant petals
as my pants
are pushed
to the side.
We have sex because
it’s what people
like us do.
My eyes close
and my mind wanders
to the painting of Ophelia
I saw at the
Tate Britain
a lifetime ago,
and the man who
wept
for her absence.
The bodega roses
come back into focus,
instead of his face.
We don’t make
eye contact
when he fucks me
anymore.
They are facing him,
even though I’m facing
them.
Because the truth is,
only one of us blooms for him.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 3.26.17

Bloomsbury

I saw the
edge of the universe
that I had been seeking
since 1924
at the bottom
of an empty glass
at The London Pub
as the sirens of
Bloomsbury
wailed and
filled my ears,
my eyes connecting
with Virginia Woolf
as I wandered onto
the pavement
of Woburn Place,
but I lost her as I passed
the Tesco Express
across from
the Russell Square stop,
since she said
she’d buy the flowers herself,
as I disappeared
onto the Piccadilly Line,
and she dissolved
into the blooms
of Tavistock Square.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 3.26.17

Bodega Roses

Lower East Side at midnight
his place
filled with lingering
wafts of 3 pm spliffs
and empty bottles
of cheap scotch,
I can never remember
the brand.
It made him feel like
James Bond
or Hemingway
when he drank it.
I didn’t want to
make him feel bad.
Bodega roses
of red and yellow
just for me,
in an old vase
on the kitchen table,
a patched crack
runs down the middle
of the glass.
I run my finger along it,
waiting for it
to pierce my skin,
but it never does.
He never takes his time
before his hands are
running up my legs
and under my skirt,
feeling his way inside,
before he lifts me
and sets me
on the table,
along side the flowers.
My eyes make contact
with their vibrant petals
as my pants
are pushed
to the side.
We have sex because
it’s what people
like us do.
My eyes close
and my mind wanders
to the painting of Ophelia
I saw at the
Tate Britain
a lifetime ago,
and the man who
wept
for her absence.
The bodega roses
come back into focus,
instead of his face.
We don’t make
eye contact
when he fucks me
anymore.
They are facing him,
even though I’m facing
them.
Because the truth is,
only one of us blooms for him.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 3.26.17

The End

It was all about
to end
as the sun
faded
to black
and the crack
inside the
galaxy
shattered
into eternity
and the moon
decided
to leave
and she swiftly took
the seas
to spite
our disappearing light
into the desert
we were led
and all our hope
was surely dead
but as the winds
were screaming
as the blue sky
turned to
red
the last lonesome
thought
to ever
enter my
weary head
was the memory
of you-

dipped in sunlight

stretched across

my king

size

bed

And long after
we all are dead
and into the end
we are led
I hope the Earth
remembers this:

that once

two people

were

happy

here.

Original Work: Kelsey H. 1.27.17

Separation

All laws in this country have to be written WITHOUT the influence of religious beliefs. Religious beliefs have no bearing on the laws in this country, because we have a clear separation of church and state, or at least we are supposed to. We are NOT a theocracy. Your religious beliefs don’t support same sex marriage or abortion? Who cares, because your own religious beliefs don’t matter when it comes to written law. Your personal beliefs, have no bearing on the laws in this nation. Laws are to be written without the influence of any religious doctrine in the United States of America. So your own personal beliefs, and the personal, religious beliefs of your congresspeople and senators and PRESIDENT, have NO BEARING on the laws of this country. Laws are to be written without such influences.

WE HAVE A SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE FOR A REASON.