May 3, 2013
And So

My life disappeared from existence as I knew it, ten years ago. When a flying object weighing in at three thousand pounds known by the name of an ATV bounced off my back as I lie there due to it’s having bucked me off like a wild horse, I survived. Life changed, everything changed, including me. But most off, my body completely metamorphosed. I was aghast, and torn, but most of all, in pain. As my world came tumbling down around my eyes, the shift in pain from my muscles, my bones, my tendons, and everything in between, the fatigue for just trying, attempting mind you, to take a shower, was overwhelming. Meanwhile I had morons trying to tell me that something was wrong with me, that I had become a failure. Oh excuse me, beat me while I am lying down. No, the pain is too great, I think I’ll stay laying here because it feels good. No, I couldn’t get up because I couldn’t bloody well get up! And so has been life, attempting to move this now decrepit body, attempting to survive the hair raising pains, and trying most of all, to do something, to continue. Because this stuff just didn’t go away. 

By Kat Lyons 

April 13, 2013
Nothing But The Facts Ma’am

I’ve heard from a few eyes and a few words, that I can be awfully confusing to a few people. But it helps when you know a bit about my history. So here goes:

1) At seven years old, I fell three stories. I broke a bone in my head. It debilitated my sense of time, and left me with pain in my neck and head for years to come. I began hearing my pains described by old people, as their pains from age, when I was a child. 

2) I had carbon monoxide poisoning, at age twenty one. I also had a condition of walking pneumonia, which was through one lung and a third through the second lung. I also had muscle tissue break down, from starvation. In the hospital, they only initially knew about the carbon monoxide poisoning. So they thought I was doing drugs instead. Therefore, they took away the air to my brain for too long, and gave me brain damage, so that they could test me. These tests showed the pneumonia and the starving to death part. That explained it.

3) At age twenty four and twenty five, I was being brain damaged by five chemicals which had seeped into the ground from some broken pipes. They were in my air and water. This gave me terrible brain damage. It changed my life and how I interract with those around me. Everything changed. I lost a lot of things, and had to rebuild it.

4) In 2003, I had an ATV accident. It threw me off of it to the right and the guy to the left. I landed on my face. He landed on his back. The ATV, all three thousand pounds of it, bounced off of my back, and down the hill. 

I am still alive, but not in one piece. I have been putting myself back together, ever since.

By Kat Lyons 

April 11, 2013
This makes me remember all those days where I just left the house, and visited goodness knows who. I lived by the seat of my pants. Because I was studying in college. I felt that the rest of my time could be used completely free. Now I see how much more that I could have done with my time. But I also was doing something completely calculated. I was learning. I knew that I didn’t know, unlike most young somethings. And it unnerved me, extremely, to the degree that I made it my mission to find out. Kind of like sticking your hand over the fire without knowing what fire was, that is exactly what I did. And I must say, even though I regret those days by the fire and blown by the wind, I am changed because of it. I am mature. I have learned. I know things, that I wouldn’t have known, if I hadn’t have been willing to try. And for that much, I am grateful. I just wish it didn’t take so long. And I wish I had known about the fire, figuratively speaking, before I put my hand in it. But oh it was fun, and exciting. Yes it was exciting. 
By Kat Lyons 

This makes me remember all those days where I just left the house, and visited goodness knows who. I lived by the seat of my pants. Because I was studying in college. I felt that the rest of my time could be used completely free. Now I see how much more that I could have done with my time. But I also was doing something completely calculated. I was learning. I knew that I didn’t know, unlike most young somethings. And it unnerved me, extremely, to the degree that I made it my mission to find out. Kind of like sticking your hand over the fire without knowing what fire was, that is exactly what I did. And I must say, even though I regret those days by the fire and blown by the wind, I am changed because of it. I am mature. I have learned. I know things, that I wouldn’t have known, if I hadn’t have been willing to try. And for that much, I am grateful. I just wish it didn’t take so long. And I wish I had known about the fire, figuratively speaking, before I put my hand in it. But oh it was fun, and exciting. Yes it was exciting. 

By Kat Lyons 

(Source: stored-snapshots, via dontbeafraidoftomorrow)

April 11, 2013
As I transform myself and my life, there are days filled with peace, and joys that jump out at me all around. There are also days where my mind and heart remember something which makes me cry, and I’m tied up in knots about it. But no matter what, through happy and sad, I am changing, growing, and building, one step after another. Many of the steps that have gone their way, have brought me to today. And for that I am entirely grateful, for I am blessed. 
By Kat Lyons

As I transform myself and my life, there are days filled with peace, and joys that jump out at me all around. There are also days where my mind and heart remember something which makes me cry, and I’m tied up in knots about it. But no matter what, through happy and sad, I am changing, growing, and building, one step after another. Many of the steps that have gone their way, have brought me to today. And for that I am entirely grateful, for I am blessed. 

By Kat Lyons

(Source: instagram.com, via carlamarquezgarcia)

April 8, 2013
Silence Doesn’t Solve Anything

You want me to tell you that I didn’t live. Oh but I did. You want me to tell you that I didn’t love you. Oh but I did. And I still do. It was those who loved you who did not love me, who kept you from me. But that, you do not want to hear, because that is what you can not bare. It is not me that is wrong. It was them. But now there is anger, because you have become like them. Their distorted reality makes them cruel and makes them snide. I was simply full of love and they did not love me back. It is not my fault. It’s on them. It’s not your fault either. You were caught in the middle. And they have fed you full of lies. Your words, they turned sour. Because you wanted me to confirm their lies. This I would not do. For I tell the truth. You sounded drunk. This might be a reason why you don’t remember what you said or how you raised your voice. But you can’t take it back. I still remember. And I still want to answer, what I refused to answer then.

By Kat Lyons

April 8, 2013
Touch Lamp

I want to tell you the deepest darkest secrets that I hold snug and tight. But I know that not everyone can see what I see. For when a person looks at another person, we can not know what exactly brought them to that place in time. We can not know their story, even if we think we do. Sometimes, when we know each other, we assume that we know all there is to know. When in fact, there may be books inside, stories untold, truths yet to find, or forever to hide, from you. 

By Kat Lyons

March 17, 2013
Imperfection

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Suffocated by my own yearning, I pause to reflect frequently. Then I douse myself in gratefulness and live a few days fully. Desire to break out of this prison that my body creates for me by being disabled, and finding places full of joy in between. Longing for when I can be better, yet loving so much that I want to squeeze every last drop of this moment in time. It’s a dichotomy, brought on by my implicit awareness of nuance and depth, meaning, tranquility, truth, life, death, time and what that exactly means. ‘Others’ can’t see quite so clear, what is dear, or why this is this way to me, why time rambles on the way that it does, why I don’t get along in the same way they do, why I am here and why they are there, or why I can’t just be quiet in my loneliness and peaceful in my comaraderie, be quiet and sit down. It’s because I see the bliss. I see the joy. And I’m telling you this, I can see ahead, like few ever do. And I know where this is taking me to. Trying to navigate the perilous streets of life, so that I’ll get on the right path. But not wanting to miss a thing along the way. Worried that I won’t make it in time. Worried that I’ll miss my ticket too. But frustration in memories when it was me and you. Calling out across the land, I wish you could hear me. I wish I had just said I love you. But this is here now. And it is like no other. I am blessed like I have never been. And so in the middle of my worry and my fret, grieving ten long years over you, I stop and pause in between, to take a good long drag on the sheets and the wine, the hill so green, and all of these things that for once I don’t want to lose. I want to feel it to be it, to go and do. Held down and tortured by my limitations, yet joy in so much abundance. I can’t negate just how beautiful it all really is. 

By Kat Lyons 

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November 8, 2012
Transformation

First, I must apologize to my followers who cared about my writings here. And for my absence, I must explain. I made this blog much too public. I allowed my distant family members, old friends, and my teacher to read this blog. Some of my distant family members took my writings as an offense. It seemed to exacerbate problems with them, hinder, rather than help. I wrote in such a way that I can do, and have done in an unfinished book. I say unfinished simply because the pieces are not in order or ready for publication. But they are done. I can write many ways and have a lot to say on many subjects. But I am just a girl, a woman, with my own world that I see through. I like it there. However I am imperfect, and very different from others it does seem. I also tend to have a loud voice emotionally speaking. I thought that what I was writing was beautiful. It meant something to me, something important, near and dear to my heart. I started out by trying to say things in such a way, as to enlighten poignant moments in my life, through the written word, yet as in a cloud, not exactly clear for the eye of the reader to see. In other words, such as art may portray a piece or slice of life, leaving out the rest, and tell secrets from the roof tops, all the while keeping many secrets in their waist coat, so too were my writings meant to be. But due to the extremities of my life, and the emotions and happenings which I began to describe, family who does not know these things which have transpired in my life, and only presupposes their own ideas upon me of who they expect me to be through the lense of their eye, the boldness of my writings were a bit too much for them to bare or comprehend. Especially since I write things in this vein as in a fog, highlighting what I wish to, and not what I don’t, it confused the matter even further. For they then began to miscomprehend my meanings, or especially where I was coming from. I began to feel a bit too naked, and extremely bothered by the lack of understanding which was already apparent, boldly being thrown in my face, over something, tidbits of my heart dribbled across the page, which were meant to show truth and sheer love of my life. The lack of respect for my life and my words became a bit too much for me to bear. In addition, I became quite shy, as I was sharing these things with a large percentage of those whom have known me in my lifetime. And then seeing through the eye of my family, how these things that I write about can be so misunderstood, greatly so, it brought out in me a deep concern caring too much how others may see it. And yet, these things that I wrote about, were to the large extent, directly from my heart, and truth wrapped in pretty words. Therefore it was something poignant and of primary importance to me. I wanted to give the reader, who may or may not know me, a vision of chapters that I have been through, as in a story. I wanted to give a piece of myself, back to the reader, for them to see something that only I can see because it came directly from my life story. I also wanted to continue with the theme in which I found myself in, illuminating socities ills if I may, through the use of my own experience, or simply a biography of sorts, only not direclty so by any means of the word. I wanted to give a window to my soul in this lifetime, not of the moment in which it was written, such as taking out of thin air any moment that has transpired in my lifetime and ruminating on that. However this did not mean it to say, that those words described my very emotion or my very thought of the day. No, it was to be more of a story than a day to day moment by moment type of writing. However it was not taken thus by some of whom I do speak. And so I could not carry on, in that vein, or here at this location. I wanted to give an eye to a type of writing which I may do, and have written much more fervently and symbolically of my life, of much more intimate moments and extreme events that have shaped my reality. And yet again, I described things as in a fog, and yet explained in such a way as to the tell the complete truth behind a veil. 

And now if it is alright with you, I choose to go on. This blog was not initially intended to turn out as it has. It was to be about subjects that matter to me, a paradox in the world, peace, love, joy, descrimination, politics, and the such. In addition, I wanted to write freely about little things that may not matter a great deal at all, things that only matter to me. I did want to say personal tidbits about my day or my thoughts and be open about the private thoughts in my head in my day to day life. However these matters can be very small indeed, and at other times quite dramatic. And there again, is the dilemma, there are days when I feel like telling all, and there are months a stretch on end when I feel like being private and alone and not sharing anything at all for it is mine and I do not always like to have the judgements of others on something that I may or may not find beautiful but either way it is mine and mine alone, not theirs to dissect. And therefore, I came back today, and felt the need to explain. For it is time for me to begin to write about things that matter. And I have been having the pull, the desire to write about things which matter very little indeed. In this, my format for this blog may change. My writing style may change as well. Let me begin, again in this vein. Welcome into my little space. 

I want to help spread peace, through discussing ideas of importance to many others and not just me. But I also do want to write freely, about whatever comes to mind over a cup of coffee. Greetings and good day one and all and good night. 

Copyright Kat Lyons

August 18, 2012
The Past Becomes DNA

The memories, they seep into your skin, like a tattoo that can never go away. They become part of you when you sleep, when you are awake, wherever it is that you go. Because they are a part of you now. They attach to your soul, and grow alive as your breath. You can not get rid of them. You can not shake them. All of the things one does in a lifetime, they all get written in invisible ink where no one else can see. But the one who they are now a part of, can never stop seeing them, never stop reliving them. They will always be. Alive and well, they blend with today and tomorrow. The ink stains of yesterday, are a trail to follow. Tears down the years, looking into the hillside not so blue, the exact faces of yesterday, forever a part of today.

It is all in how one chooses to look at it, as a refrain, in the background, ever ceaseless begins to play. It is in the perception, and the attitude, the choices of how one begins to look at it anew. Never alone, always followed, always a part of you….

Some believe that the past is gone. They prefer to believe that what was then, does not exist now. But how do they live with the ghosts of yesterday, if they think that they are no longer real? For they exist in this reality as they once did, only on a different plane. Soaked into the molecules of one’s DNA, there is no shaking the truth. Time and now and all of the yesterdays, weave a blanket in time, which leaves a pattern in one’s soul. They are forever to remember, to live with like a foot or a hand, which can be seen by looking into the mirror. One will always have to live with one’s soul.

Things that were never said, that needed to be said, arguments left undone, never finish. They don’t just disappear. They linger in the air like the stink of a cigarette, something you know was just there. These things need to be managed, instead of ignored. The longer that time may pass, as the years have grown, it doesn’t take away from yesterday. It may build on a tomorrow. And today may definitely change. But it doesn’t stop yesterday from happening, or from being set in stone. Weaved into the fabric, the atoms in the air between two people that can never be the same. For it does not go away. It is a layer that is embedded, where all the world can not see. Like a secret kept locked up and away, but open in the air for any one to feel who is present there.

So instead of ignoring these calls from the soul, to correct the misdeeds of yesteryear, why not confront these age old demons and set them to rest? For they will always be.

Copyright Kat Lyons 

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Filed under: prose creative writing 
July 28, 2012
The Room At The End Of The Hall

“Shall I tell you my secrets?” she whispered, by the lamplight. I could see the light shine in her hair. “Sweet nothings, or simple things will do”, she said, as she looked at the book lying on the table. “Is it you or is it me,” she said? I wanted to look her straight in the eye. I wanted to be off the cuff, tell her everything my heart desired. But would that be too much? Or would it be enough? If we made lists for each other of everything we ever wanted and everything we ever liked, would it matter too much? Spying her underwear on the floor and her diary by the bedside table, I wanted to peer in. But is that acceptable? If she publicized it for all the world to see, would they even care? Or would they perhaps care too much? Twisting things all up inside, she knew that they all had their opinions of this world both of them shared, of their internal thoughts, their private lives, as if it all were up for debate. And so she usually chose to keep the door closed and not let anyone in, or very few indeed. But the time would come when she would need to publicize her story into writings. But leading up to it the key. And so she wondered, what they cared about and why. Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, she turned to me, put her finger to her lips, and said “sshhh…..”

Copyright Kat Lyons

July 19, 2012
Putting It All Together

Okay, there is a lot to be improved on. And I am doing that. It is taking a lot of work, just like everything else has. But that’s exciting too. It’s definitely not dreary or boring. Actually, I’ve been quite happy. Until she railed on me yesterday, about why this and why that, all about years gone by. Because I was poor. Because we were in poverty. Because we didn’t know any better. Because it wasn’t available here. Because she didn’t listen to me when she should have. Because my father didn’t do his job. Because because because there are so many reasons why and they are very real ones indeed. Including and not limiting the facts that I was abused, that I was tortured, that I was neglected, or a many other myriad of facts that protrude into one’s life into one’s space and time and steal like a thief in the night things that were too precious to be ignored, but they were. Indeed. 

And now there is a view and a house to put my things into. Instead of living in a trailer or in an apartment or a house that is falling apart around my ears, beautiful as it was by the train tracks, or that gorgeous two bedroom that had a chandelier, but all was not pretty. The facade could not hold it all up inside. 

But now I am. Now I am whole. Now I have my first house. And there is a beautiful yard and a view. Did I mention the view? I just can’t get over it. Somebody pinch me please. 

And so it is all just beginning, when I have been on this road for a long time. 

There have been chapters and men who I have loved and women who hated me. But I have been loved too. It is a story in and of itself. And that’s okay. I can leave that behind and accept it all as a part of myself. For it all happened to me. But that is then and this is now. And I wouldn’t give up this moment for the world. It was hard getting here. Now let me enjoy it, please. 

Okay, all isn’t daisies. But is it ever? This is glorious. I finally get to build everything that I have waited for as a child and as a young adult, everything that I ever reached for, during those community college classes year after year, during those years of training, and dance class, monologues, and all of that. Every time that I hid my car so that I could compose in peace. It all added up to right here and right now. And just because the world didn’t gloriously land in my lap back then, doesn’t mean that I’m not going to take it now. I’m still willing. I’ve been waiting. I’ve done the work. I’ve put in the sweat. I’ve done my time. I’ve earned this. And I want to say I’m ready. But I’m not. I have two years left to put it all together. See, there are things that I’ve created, that still have more building to do. The tower of pisa wasn’t built in a day. But it is close, close enough to count down. And that is truly a first. And I am so excited, I could burst.

Copyright Kat Lyons 

June 26, 2012
Glass Windows

Picture Reblog: dontbeafraidoftomorrow 

Looking back across the desert, she remembers laughter with friends, glasses of champagne in hand, a recorder listening to her ideas as they spill out over the night scene, in her very large bedroom with white walls. She remembers coming home and hugging her knees tight as she rocked and cried, then painting on a smile for the all mighty dollar. She knew she had glass windows, but why couldn’t anyone else see? But the one who’s body she lived in, was freedom of movement. She could sway and create, magic, with a thought, standing on her tippy toes. Each love gone, led her to the point where she realized that she was running out of time. So she stopped the clock on her wrist, and danced the night away. She enveloped herself in it’s mystery, the illusion, a little too much. The bubble world had decieved her too, not only was she supposed to act as if she were not she, but it had caught her in it’s lie, that there was plenty of time to go around. Her face of youth, so young and care free, was that of a woman and not a child. But they couldn’t see, what it took from her. She pounded on the glass and pounded with her fists, again and again. She tried to break it. And so she started to climb, higher and higher until the ground was very far away. She didn’t think what would happen if she fell. And one mistake after another, she continued to climb. She thought that if she climbed high enough, she could touch the sky.

Copyright Kat Lyons

Picture Source: t-a-h-i-t-i  Picture Reblog: flaneur-etrange

June 22, 2012
The Red Vintage Car

Building the second scene to her life, she is mentally unpacking a beautiful, chic, vintage, suitcase. She slowly pulls her clothes out, and rummages through the containers. 

She was once a girl, who had a life, enough built for two, or three or four for that matter. It was supposed to go on into eternity, without a break in between, but one step into the next. But she was ripped out of that life, as if it never existed, like all the ones before. She’s had memories you know. But they were in bubble, and fog, surrounded by a mystery that frightened her thoroughly. But they were only dreams. Dreams upon dreams and worlds upon worlds that she had lived into her dream worlds by. Violence permeated these dreams. Each new dream there was another attack. It is as if she could see into a criminals mind the horrible things that he’d done to this poor girl. Only there was more than one attack, and definitely more than one attacker, each one leading, always leading into the next. And the dreams would cut off, and abruptly another chapter in this book in her minds eye would begin, always lovely, until the horror would begin, dawning a new day in a new and different way than the previous dream had. But they all had the same hope, the same endless enthusiasm for life, that some day, this young woman, would get out of here, or there, or anywhere, just to be who she was meant to be. 

Until the day that the dreams began to visit her waking life a bit too frequently. They all began to mesh, as if they had a sequence, one after the other and the other, until they all seemed a bit too real. The visions came crashing down in her mind like a sharp knife, clear in brilliant color and down to the last little detail, detail after detail, as if she herself had gone there with her camera in her body and taken pictures of it all, down to the last mite. And so finally, she had the courage one day, to go to that city that she knew had once been her home, where these dreams began, that she knew weren’t just dreams. But it had been so much easier to think of them that way. And the harsh reality of yes this is real, every cliff, every snap shot of the ocean, every house, the church, the roads, they were all there. She couldn’t wish it all away. No she couldn’t wish any longer that it had all been just a dream, for it had all been real, all too very real. And so she had to cry anew, over each snapshot, each refrain, each scene, as they came flooding back to her. Memories which she had known before as her life, had become dreams, for they were easier that way, to be, just to be she. But to assimilate that she had been all of the she’s before, it was a bit much. And she cried. Again and again for things which had gone by. 

Copyright Kat Lyons

May 5, 2012
Firefly

Picture Source: untitled by eleanor rask on Flickr Pic Reblog: only-existing

When she was little, and could not communicate, she did not know

That one day when she was 18 and nearly free, sitting in a car infront of a friends’ house, she would feel like she always had, and be overcome by it, the need to break out of her skin, to fly, be free, locked and held captive inside these cold walls, her body housed some sort of prison in this strange bizarre world, where she could not get out

Further, she did not know, that the one thing that would set her free was years in the future, she’d find herself dancing on a stage, mesmerized by the intensity of following the muse, lit up like a firelight, she was free within the flame, the fire of the art which had set her soul ablaze, and so she danced freely expressing herself within this soul energy, it engulfed her, she breathed

Encapsulated and captured by their desires, her beauty had it’s admirers, still, but 

Walking down the street she was always in danger, on alert, learned, for they were watching her

Everywhere she went, they all wanted a piece of her

If they could steal her clothing, her money, a piece of jewelery, or anything at all, 

If they could steal her time 

Useless they thought of her

But beautiful like a prism

Something that they owned to look at

But that had no heart

She was not given the same thought, the same passionate reply, that other girls were, no

Because she was plastic, and did not matter in their eyes

And so when the day came that she ruthlessly broke out of her shell

And became fat, ever so very fat

She found the love that she had always envisioned that they would have for her, if only they knew

That she wasn’t a plastic doll, no

That she wasn’t less than human, no

She also became free, for she could walk down the street without dangerous eyes following her

Without being trapped

Without being hunted everywhere she went

Without hearing the whispers from everyone’s lips, no

For she was just finally she

But less empowered still

For she found what she always knew

She needed the beauty back

For it was the key

To unlocking the land of the free

Dichotomy

Copyright Kat Lyons 
Picture Source: Norman Rockwell    Picture Reblog: penseesduchoeur

April 24, 2012
The Train

Picture Source: weheartit.com  Picture Reblog: dakokopuff

We were young and foolish. We had are sights set on the horizon. Smoking and drinking, telling a tale or two. We’d talk until the wee hours of the morning, kicking up the dust outside the cabin down by the railroad tracks. Looking up at the stars, we’d revel in the night. Sharing our dreams and aspirations, laughing and joking, we’d wittle ourselves into each other’s hearts. The fun we had. Making history in our lives with each other, we smiled. Driving down inbetween the corn stalks on the old country road, there couldn’t have been a better spot. We walked down that road time and time again looking over the horizon. Dreaming of tomorrow and living our dream, youthful bodies, full of luster and energy galore. I danced until twilight under the stars. Taking a full drink of the breadth of our friendships entertwined. Walking by the canal, and down the dirt road, we found each other. All of us, making a name for each other, with our own lips, our own hips, the way we dressed in our smug levis, and the way we talked with such passion for life. It seemed like tomorrow was the best yet to come. We didn’t know yet to value every moment, nor how to see the beauty in our comaraderie, how lucky we were!

Copyright Kat Lyons 

 

Picture Reblog: girlinlondon

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Filed under: prose creative writing 
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