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 itch.io 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.

Sincerely,
Kienna (aka Kiki)

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.

impromptu prompts: after the storm

after the storm

I wished myself to 

water

to meld

with the puddles in sidewalk 

cracks

I guess I was never

meant to turn myself to 

stone

as attempts to reach

upwards were struck down by 

static

head ringing 

with the absence of resonating

thunder


-----------

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.

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

constructed 

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.

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 

falling

crashing into a million pieces of ceramic

BECAUSE I WAS FUCKING PERFECT

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.

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

listened.

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 

alone 

where sleep doesn’t reach

because blue is the colour of 

the hospital gowns and bedsheets

that my veins

accentuate, 

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 

because 

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 

scars

and the taste of 

loneliness thick on my tongue