Biography of Kathryn Cox
Kathryn Cox Poems
Holy F**k. I am crazy. My demons can't chase me. The thought of it all.
If I could only make sense of it all. My life. My life doesn't make sense. Well, at least to me.
Who can I blame? Is it I who tore down walls, or are you a professional?
Trying to make sense of it all, and not trying hard enough. Am I really who I say I am?
The hope of tomarrow, The excitment of today. How I know what you will ponder. And because you ponder me,
Overwhelming feelings of regret and hurt fill me with the sanity I need to be calm. The possibility of being calm stays slim and I have judged to quickly. Mistakes are things I don’t make, But I still regret my decision.
Life as we know it is starting to fade. Humanity no longer exists. No hope for prosperity nor growth. No hunger for kindness and love.
My Own Wrath
Frightened and scared of disprovel. Even though courage is my strongpoint. I have an ambition-to fulfill my own needs. If i could only find a new way to conquer.
Creation Of My Guilt
Feeling bad for what i have created, and yet no guilt overcomes me. Is it the truth i spill when i speak these words? Or is it my own truth that i have subsided?
I Don'T Know How To Say
It happened so fast, Life. When i open my eyes i can feel them shut. When i close my eyes,
Coffee And A Cigarette
My intuition is slacking, and my looks are starting to fade. I am embarassed of myself.
Lies You Tell Yourself
Mostly I feel that sensitivity is a weakness. This is a lie I tell myself. When you feel you have nothing left, you always have friends. This is a lie I tell myself.
I had a clean sheet of paper until i started writing. Writing on my mind that is not a clean sheet of paper. My mind is a postcard sent to everyone that listens, confirming my weaknesses, confirming my emptiness.
The Thought Process
Lost in thought, and found in the way you found yourself. Cast before me like the wind was by itself. And love in depth of the sea beyond as if you knew what i would become.
I had a clean sheet of paper until i started writing.
Writing on my mind that is not a clean sheet of paper.
My mind is a postcard sent to everyone that listens,
confirming my weaknesses, confirming my emptiness.
Covering it up with paper.
Paper with writing,
paper with different languages,
no one can understand.
Not even myself.