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The apartment is quiet tonight. No shouting outside, no gunshots, No cars honking their horns. I wonder where you are. I love the silence in these walls. The condensation collecting On the outside of my wine glass. I love the soft glow of the lights in here And out there, the faint city lights So close, yet so far away.
“The Quiet Lonely City” by Radha Kistler
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New Things
I wanted to wait until tomorrow to post this-but I can't. I am so excited to share the news. I am working on my next project: recording a spoken poetry album on audio for band camp to share with you! I feel like listening to a poem makes you feel completely different than reading the words. I've always loved spoken word and I want to explore that auditory world. Thanks for being on this journey with me. Keep an eye out for updates!!
{Radha Kistler//floatinginthethoughtstreams}
What They Do Not Tell You Is This
Most of us who are good at anything, really good at anything are good because we want to be better. But this isn’t enough, we are truly good because we have practiced for upwards of ten thousand hours and this is why we can survive enough in what we are doing to get past the barriers of doubting ourselves every single day. We’ll still have doubt of course, it’s important to be humble, and the best people are. But we have to get past this initial rain of doubt, flooding our consciousness by continuing to do it enough times, the thing we are terrible at. I’ve heard this advice before, but I seem to constantly be forgetting it, when I have my lazy moments, when things are so hard and I forget that sometimes they’re supposed to be this way, as my lover reminds me. A life that is too easy isn’t worthwhile; it doesn’t have any substance to it. Beauty is born from struggle. Life and beauty are not always the products of struggle, but they often are. When we get to the finish lines and we connect with something worthwhile perhaps, something we have built ourselves without any help from anyone else, or without some cheerleader in the background screaming at us, “Yes! you can do this!” because we have to be our own worst critics and our own cheerleaders somehow. We need it, in order to work harder. We have to maintain a balance of both, because otherwise it becomes all too easy to give into despair. To give into that pessimistic mindset of “Is it really all worth it?” and instead pushing through somehow into, yes, yes it is, if we make it worth it. If we do things for our own reasons, because we want better for ourselves. We want deeper, we want more, we want to cut past the barriers, all the bullshit, all the words. Words can be ugly and beautiful, but they can often get in the way of what we really need to achieve. This isn’t easy. None of it is. But as we miscommunicate, and as we struggle, we grow. We become more, greater than the sum of our parts.
{Radha Kistler//floatinginthethoughtstreams}
MY BOOK. I took it out at a local coffee shop as I've done with many other books many times, but I've never before done it with my book that I wrote. So humbled, grateful and happy. It sits calmly next to a cup of espresso. :) {Radha Kistler}
You told me once That you wanted to die In your 50s So that you could go While you still have some Sort of dignity. I scolded you. Forbade you. Said: I need you. To live longer with me. To last Longer so we can be together. I pictured nurturing you When you grow old. I had never fully imagined That before with someone else. There is nothing but truth Spilling from my mouth In endless waves when We talk. Sometimes I still need you.
"Old Together" by Radha Kistler {radhakistler.com}
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I couldn't text you back yet today Because I don't know how to Act like I am just your friend. Like I have not been more Intimate with you in some ways Than I have been with anyone. Laid my heart completely open For you all over Your bedroom. I want to be able to have a Normal, nice healthy conversation But I want to ask you Why I do not intrigue you The way I used to. I want to ask why We couldn't be happy together. I want to call your phone and Leave a sad poem I did not Write onto your voicemail so You will feel What I feel. Or perhaps Soon you will feel Nothing for me any longer And that will feel Like relief. You do not look to me To soothe your ache. I want to believe it isn't me That friends and lovers do not Run away screaming because They finally see my darkness And so I appear to them less sane. I thought our demons could Play together And that I could have Your children. You are an illusion I believed into being.
"I Wanted So Much To Believe" by Radha Kistler {radhakistler.com}
I had a dream last night about two different men who at one time, moved the span of my entire universe. One made love to me, but at some point I ran from him trying to find the other one, the one I really wanted. He was nowhere to be found. I looked for him. He was the one I wanted, I wanted to give everything of myself to him, only to be emptied again and again. He was the one I wanted. I had lost him again.
"Lost Again" By Radha Kistler
This is the time of the night Where I would normally text you “I’m so tired, honey.” As though you are the only person I can share my thoughts with. As though only you Can soothe me in some way. Now all the texts I would Have sent you Get caught in the rain Soaked streets and city lights Get caught between Discarded cigarettes And the ravings of a slurred Man’s speech as he exits A bar Stumbling into The crowds of eager tourists It’s Saturday night In my mind. I can’t find you anymore. There is no more Seeing you As my home.
"I want to text you but I swore to move on" by Radha Kistler
