Thursday, December 31, 2015

An End And A Beginning

It's the last day of 2015, and it's been one hell of a year.

A lot of things have changed.
I graduated high school and started university, which means living away from home and the city I've grown up in. Learning to be independent and proactive has been an interesting process.
I made a lot of new friends, and realized that a lot of old ones weren't really friends at all. It's hard getting around the fact, but I know it's just a part of growing up.
I opened up about a lot of personal things that I've been keeping to myself for a while, and it's still an ongoing process. It's hard, these are things that I only ever really spoke about vaguely before. But I'm trying, and my friends and family have been nothing but supportive.

Creatively, clearly, I've been very slow about. This blog, which I've had since grade 8, has been updated less and less frequently as the years go on. Nowadays, it seems like I'm lucky if I post once or twice a month. I'm not even sure how many of you still go on this blog to read what sporadic things I have to say.

That being said, there's been some new exciting things going on.

As I'm writing this post, I'm finishing up North by North, writing out the finale of this all. It's a little strange to be sitting here, putting in the final words for this journey that's taken me and G over 4 years to finish. But I think it's a good time to do this.

This has also been the year that I've gotten interested in interactive fiction. From there, I've been developing a passion for game design and development of the story kind. I completed one interactive fiction story for my final project in writer's craft in May, which was an interesting run.
However, there's a brand new game that I've been developing for the past month or so, and I'm finally ready to start the coding and writing aspects of it. It's way more complex than my first story, with different endings and exploration and themes. It'll be difficult to fit it into my school schedule, but I'm determined to finish it!
If you want to take a look at my finished game, and keep updated on the new project, take a look at my Gamejolt or profile. I'd appreciate any and all gameplays and feedback!

Finally, after some deep thinking, I've decided on retiring this blog.
It'll remain up on the web, of course, I'm too attached to this blog. It contains a lot of writing I'm proud of (and not so proud of), and it goes to show the development of me as a writer from age 13-18. In a way, this has been my somewhat public diary, filled with a lot of memories and emotions.
But I think it's time to move away from these and start anew. I'm a much different writer and person now than I was back in grade 8, and I wanted something to reflect that.
I've started a new writing blog, which is currently filled with select pieces from this blog and other writings I have. But soon, I'll slowly develop it with current pieces that are reflective of me as a person and a writer, as well as information on my games.
If you care to follow my new journey, my new blog is here.

To all of you, thank you so much for your support. There are some of you on here who have been following me since the very beginning, which absolutely boggles my mind. It has been the weirdest, most fun 5 years on here that I could ever ask for, and I will always appreciate any time you take to read the rambling of a growing teenager. You've all watched me grow up through my writing and thoughts, and here I am, now an almost-not teenager.
I still have a lot of growth to do, I think this year has taught me that the most. But I'm excited for these new steps forward, and I hope to see you there with me, even if it's to just check in once in awhile.

Happy New Year, for 2016 and onwards.
I wish all of you the best. You deserve nothing less.

Kienna (aka Kiki)

Sunday, December 20, 2015

This is Gospel For the Fallen Ones

So this is what you meant
when you said you were a child,
you’re like a party and
she threw me -

I didn’t even have to ask
“Are you insane like me?”

Cause she’s the kind of girl
who’ll smash herself down in a night,
stealing kisses from your misses and
leaving out the backdoor.

You got a fast car
and she’ll be the one
to come up to meet you,
leaving me to my own devices.

Won’t you just give me a second darling
to clear my head,
the world spins by me too fast
when all of your flaws and all of my flaws
are laid out one by one.

In a few weeks I will finally get time,
but would you know my name then?

This is more of a creative exercise than anything, since I've been trying to work around a creative block I'm still trying to pin down.
It's based off of a prompt, asking to put your music on shuffle, and taking the first lines out of the songs that come out. Obviously, some of the lines have been adapted and shifted, but the general gists of them remain.
The songs featured in this (in order) are: This is Gospel, It's Time, Kids, Party, Gasoline, Patron Saint, Girls Like Girls, Miss Jackson, Fast Car, The Scientist, Pompeii, Unfinished Business, 19-2000, Flaws, What You Know, and Tears in Heaven.

impromptu prompts: star stitched eyes

I’ve never wanted you
to look at me like I’m
the sun,
because at our smallest components
we are indistinguishable 
from stardust.

But names and
the light stitch your
eyes blind, 
to forget that we’re more than 
just lonely beings
floating in the dark.

Those sparks between us
aren’t starts
of fires,
just the shared electricity in 
our empty atomic space
that keeps us from breaking into near nothing.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

impromptu prompts: after the storm

after the storm
I wished myself to 

to meld
with the puddles in sidewalk 

I guess I was never
meant to turn myself to 

as attempts to reach
upwards were struck down by 

head ringing 
with the absence of resonating


hello from university! it's been so long since I've touched this blog...
I've been trying to write more often, I've started NaNoWriMo in order to give myself motivation to create an interactive fiction game adaptation of a short story I wrote. 
I've also been doodle/poetry journaling in a little moleskine I got over the summer, and it's been a goal to create at least one page of something every day. granted, I haven't been the greatest at it....
but they do come up with some interesting prompts, and so I'm starting a series on this blog called "impromptu prompts" which will just be expanded versions of thoughts I have in my moleskine.

Monday, July 6, 2015

tourist thoughts - dream/landscape

smog the colour
of tourist romanticism
in yellow and pink and orange 

sunsets found
in cigarette smoke hearts where 
the stubs and ashes still glow

hot waves against
pavement and pylons

dream/landscape of 2 tonnes of
white lego block 
towers built up by many 

hands reaching up with 
cameras and iPhones to grasp 
tightly onto something fleeting

fast passing moments
carried by taxis 
and idealism

Hello! (This blog has been very quiet, along with all of my other creative things, oops.) I'm currently in New York now for a vacation with my mom, and I've had a lot of fun just letting myself be a tourist here. It's also gotten me inspired for the first time in forever. I'm going to be here until Saturday, taking photos, and maybe writing some more poetry.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

imperfections: (im)perfect

The final part of the anthology.
This piece was written as a slam poem, and performed at a school poetry slam.
Paired with this poem.


in elementary school, 
I learned to
be perfect at grades, 
to choke down 
instructions in pills 
made of chalkboard dust
that dulled crayon colours 
on the canvas
into black and white numbers
on the lined page,
to accept that less than 100% was to be 
less than perfect
less than whole. 
and I was addicted 
to the taste of empty praise
so I could forget 
the pill got stuck in
my throat every time I got A’s and 
smiley faced stickers on my homework page with
“great job as always”

because I was perfect

in middle school, 
I learned to
be perfect at socializing, 
to spend hours in the bathroom 
staring at my reflection fixing 
my hair, skin, teeth
until my face became the mirror itself
so I could parrot my classmate’s words and their laughter
and slot myself in their numbers 
to never be the 
odd one out.
I anchored myself
to a social structure
and sank into the deep 
of conformity
weighed down by the burdens of a million smiles 

because I was perfect

in high school 
I learned to
be perfect at hiding things,
to stifle sobs behind doors 
and bury shaking hands underneath long sweater sleeves, 
to grit my teeth and lie
“I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine”
but my heart was the eye of a hurricane 
made of procrastinated essays 
and report card grades
pushing me off a pedestal I had made 
for myself
and I was trying to convince everyone 
that I was just flying not 
crashing into a million pieces of ceramic


a few days ago 
sitting in earth and space class 
I learned
that when a nebula lets go 
of its restraint, 
all stardust and void colliding 
inwards in the flux of its own gravity
it does not die - 
it changes into stars,
into galaxies.
so I took a breath
and let perfection go

because I am imperfect.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

imperfections: bow

Part 2 of "imperfections"
Paired with this poem.


my heartstrings are strung
too tight 
and every chord 
plucked threatens 
to break
to snap

my first lover played
me like his piano
ribcage bruised against
the pedal 

so when he left 
the steel strings 
were frayed 
and I never thought 
I could be played again

but you learned 
instead to pull
across gently 
with your bow.

and you don’t expect 
the notes that 
come out
to be beautiful 
and you don’t flinch when 
it screeches instead 
you just keep 
on playing and 

that’s enough. 

I have never been 
my favourite song 
but you have always


Friday, May 29, 2015

imperfections: variations on the colour blue

I had forgotten I had written this.
This is part of an anthology of poetry called "imperfections" I had to compile for writer's craft, in which I had to juxtapose my poetry with a published poet's work.
This is one of the 3 pieces I wrote, meant to be paired with this poem by Andrea Gibson (a slam poet who I greatly admire).


blue is the colour of 
3 in the morning 
where sleep doesn’t reach

because blue is the colour of 
the hospital gowns and bedsheets
that my veins
lying beneath 
memories marked with
the scars of IVs 
dripping chemotherapy 
and the remainders 
of surgical thread 
running along my shoulder blade 

because blue is the colour of
the forget-me-nots 
in my hair 
whispering in my ear 
to always be thankful 
for being a survivor 
you’re not expected to win
against the disease 
if the disease is made of 
your own cells

because blue is the colour 
of the ink that 
slips out of the 
hollow in my throat 
onto the page in 
scrawls that 
bruise my fingers 
and dyes my bones
in words that I don’t 
know how to say other than
Mom Dad
I’ve never been afraid of dying
I’m afraid of living with it again

because blue is the colour of 
the lake, the ocean,
the waves that pull
at my feet
trying to lull me to 
the peaceful deep,
but I am afraid of drowning
myself along with the thoughts
the demons
and so I stay awake with the sting 
of salt on my scabs and 
and the taste of 

loneliness thick on my tongue