Welcome!

Hey there. My name is Kenneth (he/him). I’m a queer 26-year-old Métis poet. This will be my dedicated writing blog, and contain original work by me only. This includes poems, prose, essays, journal entries, rants, vents, whatever.

• If you would like to read all of my work from the past decade, my book is available as a hardcover on Lulu and on Amazon as a softcover.
• I am currently looking for an editor! If that sounds of interest to you, please message me or send inquiries to editor@bkpoetry.com. If you’d like to donate, click here.

If you’re a writer or lover of literature, like this post or send me a message and I’ll be sure to follow you! And if you wanna get to know a little more about me, feel free to keep reading after the cut. 💖

Collections

• Juvenilia (2011—2013)
• The Hyacinth Boy (2014—2017)
• The Pine Draft (2018—2020)
• Last Call (2020—Present)

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return;

so many months have passed since i’ve washed up on these digital shores. mea culpa. i have returned. i am ready to apply overwhelming force to my love of writing.

please, forgive me for my hiatus, but i am here now. refreshed and ready to spill into yr head. let us continue this journey together.

Depreciation

i.

Snow is a bizarre phenomenon,
  what else material is such finite
  crystal.
A unique beauty, trapped in identical mundane
  destined to be a permanent worthless—
  trapped in-between the feathers of singers.

A transversion in between the living and the dead, the skylarks—
the water self-suffocates in an attempt to embark.

(she holds him close, but not close enough.
But that isn’t why he is no longer there.)

ii.

I sometimes ponder
  the meaning
  of the vain.

But the nourished always
  comes back burnt
  regardless.

iii.

When i first met her
the only thing i knew was that
her skin felt the way love hurt.

  Was a silk cottonsong.
  I wish
  so desperately that i could dig up,
     from the rainbow-breath’d
     who, in his temper,
     guarded the dogwood
       
         so tightly— it cracked.
And died.

iv.

They always whispered
  that the better place
  was the one after this.
  Whenever we were still
crying n’ hyperventilating.

I wonder where snowflakes go
  after their better half
  passes.

Medicine

You’ll take care of me, that’s what you said,
   bandages on my body all over
   warmth when I’m cold.
I’ll tell you every thought in my head, you’ll smile
   tell me to focus on other things, the real things,
   & give me my medicine.

Each day the dose gets stronger,
   I’ll tell you I’m building up an endurance,
   when, really, I’m just waiting patiently.
The nights are cold, shivering, blood feeling empty,
   you’ll tell me that makes no sense, that it’s
   just paper, just a story or fairytale I tell myself.

The summer heat is going to finish me before this does,
   I swear, I can’t think, the boiling of it all
   the atoms that make me are evaporating.
Drenched in water, I try to collect as much air as I can
   desperately trapping it in the palm of my hands
   before it has the chance to run away and escape.

Building up, slowly, rising like the stars,
   each day I tell you that I’m waiting,
   but you won’t believe that it could go that far.
The jumping back and forth, the sharp contrast
   it cuts my skin, but nothing leaks out.
Instead of a tender heart softly beating,
   you already took care of that instead.

Steady

Two lines that are parallel,
   always nearby one another,
   but never touch.
Two lines that are perpendicular,
   touch one another once,
   but never see each other again.
I think about that as I lay on yr chest,
   a heart wrapped in ribcage against my ear,
It moves the way a train-on-track sounds—
   the thick metal beast ready &
   connecting the two rails together,
   steady.