Lia Kilcup – A Collection of Poems


in the winding street

i watch people forget

what they hated before

and made them upset

because who can ignore

the trees that grow out of cracks

in the warm cement 

see apartments in stacks

warm steam blasts from a vent

the coffee shops you know

you cant resist

go see that musical show

youre not really a pessimist

the smell after the rain and fog

makes you realize 

you really didnt mind it at all

here, the longing for freedom dies.


i love you and you know that

but how can we stay together

how can we be real sisters

when we are both helpless and frail

destined to turn out just like them

we cry and cry and cry

but i make a promise to myself

that once i can, i will

i will without fail

because i wont let that happen to you

i wont let that happen to us

walking silently i wonder 

just how long it might take

because when they say they love us

it feels like a lie

so they can hurt you but keep you

but i can stay dormant for only so long

i know you trust me because i understand you more

than anyone else ever could.


one pair of shiny silver scissors

mean nothing to some

so use as you may

to open a gift 

to void a credit card

to give a new haircut

to slice clean flesh

whos to say what it means to you

but i imagine a pair of scissors

as a damaging healer

because they are the hurt 

that they mean when they say

it gets better before it gets worse

so why cheat the process?


the moments i lose myself in feel like warm rain,

drzzling on pink roses to make the world smell sweet and pure.

its so nice to indulge your senses in those things

when the bad turns to worse without cause

why will nobody explain it to me? its all i ever wanted,

a reason. when i understand divine purpose, suddenly

I no longer quarrel with my own curiosity and acceptance blends into ignorance.

something new may arise from the depths of my doubtful conscious

and i will let it, creeping up on me like sharp winter air in my room

seeping through the pained windows of my own being 

it embalms me, the new idea of regard for existence

for who is not puzzled by the circumstances they so strangely stand in.

they say art is up for interpretation, whatever the eye of the beholder feels,

so what is it that really ties the feelings together?

to some, art is a beautifully composed oil painted tree. maybe it is lonely

art could be the bricks dutifully laid down on a potentially doomed wall.

it could be the words angrily spat and claimed to later have no meaning.

otherwise hurtful and maybe, a stem of something objectively more beautiful.

i carefully observe the loops i fall into each night, wishing they would lead somewhere.


each night i let warm water seep into my skin

as i harshly scrub a delicate layer of my skin off

to feel smooth and clean.

my face burns with the satisfaction of it.

i walk into my forever dark room and observe

the shadows on each dimple of my face

the shell of my once glowing body destroyed,

revealing my nearly dead complexion

why is it here i feel so naked?

i know this is truly me and yet 

i am so embarassed.

but i cannot even bring myself to show myself this way

so do everything i can to evolve past it

im told it doesnt matter but i know it does

it hurt the most when my own friends didnt recognize me.

if i gave up on this fake show i put on

i wouldnt even know how to function.

i will be pretty or die trying

self awareness

maybe i know myself too well.

to well for my own good

so well that i even forget that i am me

i feel as though i am observing myself

from a birds eye view

seeing as i make mistakes

and yet i jusify them

because im just too young

too upset

too stressed

but im sick of using my voice as a weapon

maybe i dont know myself at all

am i still self aware?

best friends

It feels like wind on my face

when im covered in sweat

so refreshing and yet comforting. 

being wrapped in a blanket

reminds me of talking to you

and reading over conversations

again and again and again

the cooler the air,

the more peace i feel

may the winters of before 

never find me again.

together we know that small thing

that binds us together like twine

and you watch my favorite movies

they become your favorites

which reminds me of just how

happy i am

just to know that you get me.

we dont even have to talk

the silence is perfect for us sometimes

silence makes most people uncomfortable

it almost feels telepathic how we know

the jokes we whisper will never make sense

to anybody else

because we both waited so long

to have someone like this

to know someone was your best friend

and that you were theirs.

Scrap// ignore

i miss you 

and i roll my eyes at the fact

because both of us hate being corny 

but sometimes i want you to know how much i miss you


you made me forget most things 

which was nice 

and you said we would still be friends

which is hard for me

i had grown past that a long time ago

i thought about you and 

for awhile there was nothing else 

months go by after our last vague message

you tell me how much you appreciate me

and that means more than you know 


not a care in the world 

not a bar room closed

music and dreams fill the air

with an unmistakable pride 

rolling hills and lakes

the kind you only wish

to spend your summers on

views that sound like the lyrics of a song

whos to say where you could roam

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