this book will be no different. except it’s my best work and work no one has ever seen before.

it’s not just a poetry book, it’s an art book!!!

me??? a poet??? a girl with a book??? yes!!! my heart is beating out of my chest!!! this is a book about moving to new york city, grit, heartbreak, hook ups, nightlife, body image, sobriety, love, being so far from yourself… and then coming home.

to my publisher and @louriabooks for taking a chance on my whims and thoughts and allowing me to create something more than just a poetry book… who took my ideas and gave it a place to expand, grow, and be held.

to @janaka_stucky for being my closest collaborator, my creative midwife who helped me carry this book to this moment. who grew me exponentially and pushed me to be a better writer!!!!!!!! thank you for your generosity, wisdom, and patience. i am so lucky!!!!!!!

and shoutout to @iandelucca for the most perfect cover design!!!!! it couldn’t be more true to the spirit of the poetic wisdom in this collection… thank you!!!

holy shit you guys. my heart is still racing.

my baby, 𝓦𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓚𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷, is now available for preorder!!!!!!

her official release date is october 27, 2026 🩷

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!! my thumbs are shaking!!!!!!!!!!!

i say, “nice to meet you”
when i should’ve said, “nice to see you”

we’ve met before.

in rooms where “dreams come true”
luxury brands finally choosing you
where our gods are fashion houses
celebrities
themselves extracted into products we consume like elixirs

this must be church.
a place of worship

a hierarchical ecosystem

where we step out of our rectangular devices and become flesh
where you see me with human skin for the first time

there is no predator

we are all prey.

beautiful lambs circling
too paranoid to look anyone in the eye
stick to the script
say the line

scorned narratives of this girl and that girl
a girl /who was my idol when i was 22/ mere steps from me
and after, when we leave the event, a friend asking why i ever looked up to her
i reply, “i think at 22, i followed her for body goals”
dismissed
unfollowed
mourning a tiny god
a symbol
right next to me
i won’t say hi

the invisible confrontation
the tension
of yourself and these flesh made digital gods
a parade of nothingness
of passerbys
taking a photo
swallowing “hi’s”

doors like revolvers
energy roulette

stop fiddling with your purse
remember your line

i say" “Kitty” at the door
hold my ego in my chest
pink pony hair boots

avoiding myself

in

every

room

i imagine myself saying this in a british accent, talking around the table… there’s 6 of us here, maybe more… i suppose i have more to say. i drawl the word “suppose” and you laugh. you’re smiling right now.

my editor makes notes on my poetry. he says it’s too explanatory. he says i need to trust my audience more. “stop explaining it,” he says. “it’s a thing novice poets do. don’t say ‘i miss you,’ show me.”

poetry is flowery. poetry is weeds. it’s enigmatic. it’s riddles to the wind. i want to write something without naming it. this!!! this??? this is not poetry, this is not prose, this is not a diary entry, this is not a newsletter… it’s… it’s… i’m explaining too much now. i told you, i’m done explaining things. i take a small albino bunny out of the inside of my jacket. i stroke it. no one looks surprised. i carry on.

in the shower i paced. i swung my arms around. i shouted, “i will write an antithesis to what i feel substack should be!!!!” and the crowd goes, “WHAT?”

you ever say something in your head and know there’s no chance of articulating it in real life. see how i edited the “know” to be bold and italics… my editor says to stop doing that. to stop doubling down and explaining things. let it breathe… ok fine. one time i did mushrooms and i got the greatest and most blinding self proclamation… self manifesto… self-knowing-self momento… and still, to this day, i can’t put it in words, really.

i’m writing an antithesis to the committee in my mind who thinks i need to deliver a lesson to you all… which, when i’m wearing that hat my blood is alchemical, give me my worst experience and i’ll color it with my 64-crayon crayola with all the beautiful lessons it bestowed on me. i curtsy with it. yes, call me rumplestiltskin!

you are all sitting around the table wondering when i’ll get to the point. there is no point. i’m just babbling. i’m not manic. i hate that word. i simply get to take you on a journey. i’m laying the bricks down as we speak, are you still here? she’s doing the italics thing again… no one says it out loud but you all noticed it. i twirl.

it’s like being /cum/ inside, when it’s really bad but it feels right. eyebrows perked up after that one. i’ll probably wake up and regret writing that in the substack but i’m tired of everyone being prudes. in the book i’m reading: Tower of Dawn by Sarah J. Maas, she writes, “then she guided him down another and another, until he was sitting up to his shoulders. Eye-level with her full, peaked breasts.”

full! peaked! breasts! it paints a picture right? these books are packed with eroticism and i wouldn’t even consider it completely smut. this book series has sold over 75 million copies. that means that 75 million people are much dirtier than we all pretend to be. my favorite paintings in people’s apartments are the naked ones. there’s nothing heinous about it. we are all naked little creatures. we all have sex. we were all born. i’m tired of the prudishness.

i take your boyish grin and i put it on my night stand. i thump my fists on the table. i stop talking in a british accent. i am more beautiful because i let you all see me without a mask. i strip it all. i’m naked!!! save for the mask… ok fine, i’ll take one off right now. the bubbly mask. next, the attractive mask. then, the nonchalant mask. here i am now left with the one who looks at you too long mask. and lastly, the one that everybody likes mask.

oh, you like that? you like when there’s less to me. more of you to assign to me. i know this game, i play this game. boyish grin. i hate the way freedom smells from a cage. prop me up. gut me. hold me. stick your hands in me. jump inside with me. i love it when you play with me.

a boy once told me he doesn’t know what i mean when i write but he likes it. poetic puzzles. i nudge you with my elbow. you lean in. listen dear, i am in on a way of seeing that can’t be explained.

you see. this is the paint. this is the modge podge. i’m throwing things on the table now. i spit when i talk now. this is when i create a spell, a string of paths and nooks— and surprise! that disgusting dead thing you thought you buried.

why would you do that?

i drop it at your feet.

sorry about that.

sorry about the way i stare. sorry about the way i kissed you on molly and pushed you off the cliff. you came for the crash. i came for the rapture. sorry about leaving with someone else. sorry for showing up at your door step high. i shouldn’t have done that. disgusting, selfish girl!

sorry, i just wanted to know what he tasted like. he tasted like wet tongue… gooey, melty. he tasted like me.

sorry i betrayed you.

you’re still sitting at the table wondering if you need to console me or say something. please, just. just stop. just don’t. just — who are you? are you a child? a man? a ghost? the playgrounds i left behind? the shoes i can’t tie? that person who won’t make it to the last line? what a party right? i open a bottle of wine. i dump it on the floor. i don’t drink anymore!

you’re halfway out the door, that’s fine. that’s fine. i’m making snow angels in the wine. good bye! good bye!

Pink powders
Tiny skirts
Blinding attention
Celebrities
It’s coy
It’s ravenous
It fills me up
It bottoms me out

I have never known when to leave a party. I would ride the subway home when my night rolled into my morning. My ripped tights my albatross. Bloodshot blue eyes. Still high.

Guilt
Embarrassment
Reality finally settling in

I’m recklessly spontaneous at 12 a.m.
Nirvana hits at 2 a.m.
I start chasing it at 4 a.m.
Following the white rabbit to afters until it’s 6 a.m.
The first remnants of myself entering my mind at 6:30 a.m… speaking in a whisper, asking if I recognize anyone around me.

Chirping birds
Strangers
We all look so tired, so ugly, so desperate, so addicted, and so fucking lost
“What am I doing here?”
“What is she doing here?”

Til I’m hollow
Nauseous
The snake eating it’s own tail

I had an obsession with wide-eyed girls from the middle of nowhere. Ones who moved to the city to chase a dream. Ones from North Carolina and a normal childhood, the NYC model pipeline to corruption. Ones who went from working as a coffee barista job in suburbia to being at the same dinner table as a famous actor. Untainted with this yearn to meet their dark side. We knew exactly how to sin. We craved this rebirth in the eye of hedonism and debauchery. I think my own reflection shocked me so much, I clung to these women like oracles… Some younger than me. Like I could understand myself more through them.

Like the French girl I met at 6 a.m. in the sauna of a wealthy night life mogul. She woke up from a K-hole to tell me I looked like gollum. I became intrigued by her honesty and eager to know how she ended up here. “Modeling contract,” she said with nonchalance. It was 6 a.m., her hair perfectly undone, little to no makeup, two-piece blazer set, poignant eye contact, clever as hell.

We went to the sauna after being told it was just installed. It was unplugged and didn’t work but we sat there in our going out clothes anyway. I think we just wanted to stare at each other’s reflection. A meeting of two selves. An oracle. You know.

I am 7 months sober now. These stories and experiences so vivid to me because I lived it.

I am a FREEDOM girl. I’ve always celebrated the party girl… but it stole freedom from me when I lived it.

When I first moved to NYC, when I first had the taste of a Hollywood party, the intoxication of standing at a table with a celebrity, with going home with them, the emptiness, the desperation, the whirlwind of fame, money, opportunity… When I first held the eyes of movie stars after growing up being a military brat with working class parents… it was my Venus Fly Trap. My Willy Wonka.

These are the lessons from the rabbit hole.

This is the madness I drove myself into, the people I met, the innocence I lost, and the wisdom I gained.

Open heart surgery

Hold the anesthesia

I twist my own knife

I paint scenes two ways: How you scorned me and how I devoured you

I fear of ransacking my memories with the whims of my poetic pleasure but this is how I swallow stones

I maniacally laugh when I make myself cry

The indulgence of being your own executioner

Yes, it makes me horny

I explain this to you as a matter of fact

I don’t sigh

This is not a confession

This is not therapy

This is a conversation

Between me and you

I am aroused by the guillotine. Metaphorically, of course

Humans are so funny, we hear the word “sex” and read the word “horny” and clench our crossed legs tighter

Let the world fall silent, ahhhh, the blissful indulgence of being a voyeur

Yes, this is why I write

To die with a mouth full of rubies

And to make your toes curl

ok, what’s on your mind?

death, mostly.

death?

death of myself, my loved ones. how you can be here one day and gone the next. just gone like that. and i know when you’re dead, it doesn’t matter because you’re dead. but i feel so attached to everything. i will miss life so much. i will miss everyone and everything so much.

i can’t fathom the end. i can’t believe i won’t be me in heaven. i’ll be something less, to be something more. there will be no pain, just peace. serenity.

is it wrong to think i’ll miss pain? is it wrong to believe the best and worst part of life must be death?

death puts pressure on you to live.

the inevitability creeps on you, every footstep asks, “are you really living?”

is my curiosity in tact?
am kissing slow?
am i trying?
am i forgiving?

death… let it be a sweet relief to a hard and colorful life.

ballroom dancing with the grim reaper who will come to collect one day.

so for now, savor. build a beautiful mosaic to shatter on the day of the end.

let yourself be touched.
let yourself be ruined.

the only for certain is death.

i am still trying to make peace with it.

while people murmur about the artist
the style of painting
the scene

i’m only staring at the bodies

like an equation to solve

i can’t express why
or how
or when
my mind
began to quickly analyze a woman’s body
in a way that isn’t lust
or love
or what i wish was admiration
i look at women with calculation

a sickness

how someone could enjoy their body
and truly enjoy it
their curves
their size

or even more how they could be
so skinny
so round
how liberated
how careful

are we all calculators in a woman’s body?

is this the experience?

the painted bodies became my enlightenment

their bellies are like mine
their roundness feels vital
their breasts so mammal
their ethereality so soft

another hall portrays women in unflattering positions

a man describes his choice of pose for women as “natural as an animal grooming itself”

and maybe that struck me because inside of me is something so wild and feral

another description writes about the thinness of a sculpture, critics draw comparisons to someone sickly

sickly
or beautiful

woman
or animal

my boyfriend asks me “what’s wrong”

and i say “nothing”

when did i want to be skin and bones?

the walls sigh at me

same story
i don’t think i’m a good writer
but i do like to write

i opened my notes app saturday morning
to a poem

a drunk poem
2:39 am

cute
pathetic
written from a backseat
i woke up and giggled
and then i took pity

there’s something quite sad about an unfiltered display of words
when you know the words are true

“i wouldn’t have wrote that sober,” i thought
my pride would never let me produce such desperation

something about the uber home
and being around 2 lovers in a room
that first instills hope
then a deep ache

the uber home
when it’s dark and nobody can see your face

“the bigger the issue, the smaller you write”
i’ve been wanting to use that writing tip

but i can’t bring myself to go there
to actualize the small details
to label the aftermath

what i realized about being in the right head space
is that i’ll never be in the right head space

and there’s no one on the other side to ask me how i’m feeling
i have to bring myself to feel them

and the longer i suppress them
the longer my body will grow heavier

my eyes will grow more tired
and i’ll keep waking up

to black mascara on bed sheets
a fridge filled with only condiments
and drunk poetry

Have you ever blurred the lines between platonic and romantic?
Like when platonic admiration manifests into romantic affection?
”He’s not my date”
​”He’s my friend”

It’s confusing I know
And it’s confusing because people view relationships as black and white
Friends or lovers
But the fact is, it’s never that simple…

I watched “Lost in Translation” once and now have a completely new idea of love, relationships, romance…

Sometimes you love someone who’s not a friend… maybe more than a friend, but isn’t quite a lover either… Some secret third thing

And I almost said “it’s confusing” ​
But it’s not
It’s just grey
And undefined
Which a lot of people can’t exist within

The love I have to give is unattached
​And maybe one day I’ll meet someone who I want to build a fence around and say “no, this is MINE”​
But I don’t
Maybe because I don’t like fences

Not in that way anyway

I like trespassing signs​
But I don’t like cages

And that’s why you shouldn’t fall for me… at least like that
But that’s typically when they fall for me
When I’m sooooo “lalala, baby don’t hurt yourself”
They eat it up
They love it
I become a fantasy
An altar to confess to
"Awwww, that’s so sweet”

“So what, you’re in love with me or something?”​
I say things like that
I’m honest
My friend flattered this guy by saying “you don’t look 30, you look 24”
And he looked at me and said “what do you think?”

I said, “I think you look 30”
Why would I lie?
People respect you so much more when you’re honest

Flattery is cheap
Honesty is hot
Cue the falling in love play again
The truth dissolves the illusion
And creates a new one
Their blood pressure rises
They tilt their head
You click your tongue
you free them with
I’m sorry,

What?
the truth

Truth:
I texted him yesterday
You know what I told him?
“What you don’t communicate with words, you say with your eyes”

Because stop looking at me like that if you’re not going to do anything about it
Confidence
Honesty
Dicey
Fuck it

Whatever

Billie Eilish has a lyric that says, “I can crave you but you don’t need to knowwwwwww” ​
I wish I could crave someone and be okay with them not knowing
Unfortunately I crave them in a way that isn’t quiet
I don’t yearn in peace
I’m loud
Look
at me

Yes, it’s okay, you can

Look at me

Like that
​
Maybe they don’t need to know
​But I want them to know​
So I send crazy texts

“Crazy”
They’re intuitive, not calculated

The fact is I’d rather say how I’m feeling
Than suppress those feelings and have it linger in my every day
Would you rather:
The pain of a slow bleed for months
Or being stabbed once

I think I’d rather be stabbed

Like a kitten between my legs
But he’s actually a dog
And I would tell you the name
But it’s the same name as my old mentor who invited his intern to stay over
(I’m the intern in this story)

And I did actually
Don’t worry, this isn’t a sad story
I wish we would’ve hooked up but he had a girlfriend
We just fell asleep on the couch
Yeah, ​
Trust me, I know
I was 20
and

well

maybe

I’m a bad guy
But I am a good girl!
Because even when I’m bad, I’m innocent
So it’s fine

I won “Most Likely to Get Away with Anything” in high school
And I still have
I’ve gotten away with it all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I blur on the lines of holy and hedonistic…
A divine sin

It’s funny how my pink nails & pink phone case & pink journal give like I’m not having the most fucked up thoughts in the world.​
These people are so funny, they think in order to have depth
​(I’m about to project so hold on tight)

They think in order to have depth… you have to give depth
Like I need to have lived in makeup, ripped jeans, leather, a beard,
And look like I’m in a state of dishevelment

They see bleach blonde and mini skirt and think “too sweet” and not lethal

But that’s the best part!!!

I’m a tea cake at the bottom of a rabbit hole that says “eat me”
Welcome to Wonderland baby, I’m so happy you’re here!!!!!!!

And that’s the thing about the Mad Hatter
He’s manic and whimsical and dark
Just like me

Only difference is I look like Alice
Who?

What?

Wait, which way do I go?

Have you ever met a goth with pink nails?
What should we call her?
​A whimsy goth? ​”

I mean seriously,
The girls that love pink and wear ribbons………….

…….

…….

…….

​
That’s what makes life so exciting!!!!!!

​
There’s something in between good girls
And bad girls
That wear little pink bows…..

They’re a little mad...
mad girls??????????????
Hahahahahahahaha, that made me laugh.

Hope this helps.

With love,

And a little pink bow,

Kitty

Author’s note: It’s been a year and a couple months since I initially wrote this and so much has changed. I found someone to build a fence around… classic. And maybe all that talk about the grey was a defense mechanism. I don’t know. She kind of had a point. I like her. And her attitude. Still talking in riddles. Still wearing pink bows. Still mad… in a wonderland way of course. xo

when you talk to people that have been hardened by their experiences, rigid with their grievances, their advice beckoning you to keep checking your shoulder and you begin to think, “fuck, maybe you’ve never felt what i feel though.”

you don’t say that though. of course not. it becomes a series of sympathetic nods and sifting through the nuance.

you feel your insides smirk… and only to yourself. and it feels dirty.

love has become your secret.

and one day, that same friend will be blossoming under a love that makes her anew. she’ll have learned your secret too. how it softens, how it listens to rigidity without taunting but it knows. it hums. it doesn’t speak, tell, or pry… it just is.

in an algorithm that rewards misandrist content, embarrassing boyfriends, and scandals, my love became a secret.

last february, my love became requited and i grappled with an identity shift. before i surrendered to love, i let girlbossing and independence rot inside of my identity. i embodied a contradiction: a lover girl who chased.

one who fled the scene in the morning,

one who ignored the boys who liked me,

one who wanted love so desperately, i protected myself by avoiding it.

there’s a lot of anger, grief, and hurt on the internet. the scorned lover is a viral story and its butterfly effect is fear. the fear wrecks havoc in a form of spiritual warfare. it’s silent but it infiltrates. somewhere along the way in 2025, boyfriends became embarrassing. love became a secret.

i think i’ve always believed in love. even before my relationship…

i knew these truths:

1. i exist

2. i am love

3. i am infinite

and if i exist, then love must exist!!!!!!! it must, it must, it must!!!!!!!!!

and for the entirety of my life, it went like that. my confessions to crushes were constant, i was always courageous with love. the first time my boyfriend kissed me, i dared him to.

my *in* for 2026 is relationships. it’s love!! it’s that courage.

in a world bombarded with content about infidelity, nasty 7-part breakup series, videos geared to showcase red flags, ones that shame women for having a boyfriend like it’s something to be ashamed of… be counter culture.

when everyone goes right, get curious and go left.

relationships will transform you. don’t be so scared of the person who likes you because you keep chasing the one who doesn’t. stop expecting bad outcomes. try. and for the love of LOVE, stop listening to dating advice online. write your own story. fight your own battles. get the scars that wisdom bestows and live your own truth. not someone else’s.

and one more thing, your art won’t suffer when your heart starts to mend, when it meets love. that’s the part that shocked me the most. i met the belly of my own beast in the cradle of my relationship. i no longer had the distracting and superficial pain of crushes and hook ups to latch on to, i dealt with the wounds up close. i quieted all the noise to hear a greater truth beneath.

your art, your writing, your creativity is only softened by love. i always thought a relationship would distract me but instead, i was met with a deeper and more meditative concentration. love enlightened me.

my wish for 2026 is to stay still. when the world convinces you to run and your wounds tricking you to chase, stay still. surrender.

i fell in love with my best friend that way.

the veins in my hand scare me. i have rivers on the tops of my hands and glittery pink rocks on the tips of my fingers… which look like long pink hot dogs. yes, i said PINK! because my skin color has that reddish hue to it.

i hear about the red in my skin at least once a day. it makes people worried. always telling me how fair i am. how careful in the sun i should be. all that sort of stuff.

it makes me laugh. in school, i couldn’t hide my embarrassment… or my attraction. everybody always knew i liked them because i’d blush. even writing and rereading this is making me flustered! i’m turning red right now!

oh well, what can i say? God made me this way! (i’m going to refer to God by calling them they because that feels the most appropriate for my beliefs. i’m not sure if God is a man or a woman. i’m not sure if God is a person or whatever it, he, she, they are. i love them despite it all. anyway…) they made me a blushing blonde, they put my heart in my fist! and i put it on a leash.

my vulnerability is a pet. she barks when she’s anxious. she sniffs around. she lets people hold her. which reminds me, i know this cat named Dandelion. she hisses and purrs at the same damn time! that’s how being vulnerable feels and that’s why you must treat it as such. like a pet. like a flower. if i had a pet, i’d name them Flower.

i’ve been thinking about january… january my dearest, i’ve been thinking about you so so much. she sounds so pretty when you talk about her romantically. anyway, i’m sitting here thinking about what seeds i want to plant this year but i’m goofing off about it. i’m sitting at the Home Depot in the aisle for gardening and i’ve made it to the rotating display of all different types of seeds and i’m spinning my options around.

and i’m missing the absurd Christmas decor.

especially the nutcrackers. honestly, don’t get me started on the nutcrackers.

they followed me around this season. listen, i promise i’m not crazy when i say this but one even ambushed me in my own apartment! i received a package from my aunt, right? sweet and innocent, right? wrong. i opened the package and gasped.

i screamed. i scoffed. i smirked. i shook my head left and right. i BLUSHED! they’ve found me at last. i put him on my mantel and paced back and forth for a while before i accepted the fact that i’ve indeed been ambushed in my own home. in my pajamas of all things. i still can’t believe it.

yes, this is him. the face of an intruder!!!!!! just kidding. we have made amends. he told me his name is Perry Winkle. which, i thought was odd. i told him my name was Kitty and he thought that was odd. so, we are sort of at a stale mate…

my affinity for nutcrackers happened this season. i’d walk down the street and there, a cheeky little nutcracker just staring at me. i mean, how silly… a tool used to crack nuts and they made him into a man dressed in a marching band outfit with a tall hat and a beard. so whimsical. i clap my hands. i squeal about it. i full on SQUEAL about it. i saw them in LaGuardia Airport and yes, i started squealing and clapping my hands. i even asked for a picture.

like i said, they sort of followed me around this season. the other day at Penn Station, i got into a 10 minute staring competition with one of them… undecided who won because his maker sort of cheated the game. i giggled at his silliness in an admirable way and he just stood there… all stoically. unfazed. it made me laugh even more. i look around to see if anyone sees what i’m seeing and i know i probably look crazy but it seems like everyone else is crazy to not laugh at the absurdity of these guys. i mean seriously, they’re some real sickos and i’m telling you the truth.

i know i need to wrap it up but i have a couple more things to mention.

the nutcrackers sneak on you. i mean, you have my story… but haven’t you seen them hide in corners? little tables? the check out counter for God’s sake. you’ll stand there and think, “there you are again!”

you’ll laugh through the check out experience because it’s just pure comedy. the cashier will look at you crazy but it’s only because she’s trying to ignore the nutcracker because he gets her in trouble at work. she didn’t have to tell me for me to know it’s true.

so when the season ends, the troops of nutcrackers get sent on leave. it’s almost like they disappear overnight. poof, gone. i mean, think about it. i’m sure they’re ready to go after keeping watch so diligently all winter.

they go on vacation, or to the training grounds, or maybe even to sleep. i don’t know where they go but i miss them when they leave. i thank them for the giggles in quiet rooms and for keeping my secrets.

i wish i could send them a post card.

p.s. i’m tired of think pieces so here’s a sugar cookie with sprinkles. or maybe it’s a piece of toast with butter and jam. but you were supposed to be eating that when you read this, remember? i hope it was delicious.

in so many situations
i used to let go of the bar
have a drink
or 10

become the life of the party

free fall into nirvana
where thoughts seized
and recklessness lived

a complete descension into chaos
into turmoil

and then i’d hit the ground

shattered
broken
picking up the pieces
dealing with the consequences

and while i’m still holding the bar
my grip so tight
my eyes so wide

there’s a deep sadness i feel
when i know the ghost of who i was
would be the most sparkly thing at the party

and although i don’t miss her
there’s a longing for relief

while she used to flutter
unconscious and unnoticing
broken and pretending

here i am now
in the corner

broken and bleeding

she taunts me while i stand there
at my public execution

“it’s humiliating,” i tell her
“i’m fucking humiliated,” i scream at her

i’m disgusted
at my ghost
at the party
at the people
at the person i thought i was when i was pretending to be okay
at the relief i no longer will abandon myself to feel

i resent her and she haunts me
and i’m
so
glad
she’s
dead

i can’t hear anything
because i’m screaming so loud in my head

i know it’ll get easier
the unease
the grit
this is the path to the hard earned wisdom, grace, patience

but i’m not there yet

i’m on the way
still fighting
still seething
still frustrated

but still still
i guess

i write to you after finally cutting the cord on someone who was draining my energy for the last year...

i write to you after being in LA for the last week... after being around people who make me feel so vibrant and more myself... or maybe that’s just because i have a new degree of presence after finally severing a connection that was draining me.

i write to you after 14 hours of sleep. after choosing a night in versus a night out because my body is simply begging me to rest... and the JOY i feel on missing out. (FOMO = fear of missing out... JOMO = JOY of missing out...)

when real love slaps you in the face... it becomes blatantly obvious what is not

listen here closely my sweet.

i am currently developing a list titled HOW TO LIVE A MAGICAL LIFE. it is a work in progress of course but i want to dial in on number 2:

2. only surround yourself with people who make you feel the most vibrant… people who allow you to discover more parts of you

pay attention to who allows you to discover MORE parts of yourself. who makes you feel more you than ever before. who you’re not afraid to stumble in front of. who you can be embarrassing in front of. who you can say sorry to and they accept it warmly and ask how you want your tea after.

people who make you feel perfectly okay being FLAWED.

people who love you and see you and understand you in a way that allows you to be vulnerable.

dear reader,

please, please, PLEASE.

stay close to people who cultivate a youer you. when you say things like “wow, I’ve never actually articulated that before.” when you say a piece of wisdom that you didn’t know you had but that person in front of you helped dig it out of you.

like a pirate searching for a treasure chest except it was just a simple conversation with open dialogue and warmth and no judgement. powerful.

one time i was down bad in a situation with the same boy who is now no longer in the picture, and i honestly had run out of people to talk it out with because they’ve understandably grown to get tired of it.

i remember my friend read through all my messages with him... and babes they were embarrassing. i’m talking double, triple texts, whiney texts, texts of desperation... at least to me.

you know what she says to me? “you’re so vulnerable, i love it. if i was him receiving these texts i’d be kicking my feet.”

it was her words that really allowed me to sift through my feelings without judgement. usually people are quick to judge and say “how could you be so stupid?” “he’s obviously just a 30-something-year-old guy who has no idea what he wants” “he’s so emotionally unavailable”

but those words, as true as they are, don’t ring as powerfully as they do when someone almost validates your expression, says it’s perfectly safe to express how you feel, and doesn’t make you feel bad for expressing it. it allowed me to actually examine the situation from a completely different angle.

environments and people that say “if you want to do it, i’ll do it.”

and environments and people that make you think “if they do it, i’ll do it.”

there’s this boy i see sometimes and whenever i growl at him he loves it. sometimes i threaten to bite him and he’s like “do it.”

EYES THAT SEEK YOURS. AND SEE YOU. that say “yes, i’ll come with you”

my favorite friendships...

one of my girl friends and my closest guy friend, i separately “wrestle” with.

no, we are not brawling. we debate and challenge each other with perspective and ideas from a place of “what makes you think that?” “can you explain why?” “but if this, what if this?”

my favorite thing about myself, and something i look for in others when developing friendships is, i am very quick to change my mind.

listen i have very strong morals, values, beliefs, but my mind is so open and so is my perspective. if someone tells me a piece of information that impacts my initial perspective, i am quick to say “yes, i actually agree with you.” powerful stuff.

decenter your ego in a way that allows you to change your mind, watch how expansive your conversations become.

how to know you feel bad in a friendship

i worded that interestingly BECAUSE if you’re anything like me, you’ll guilt trip yourself into thinking it’s not that bad... when it is.

friends that make you feel anxiety, stressed, and the conversation feels like something you need to escape. OR the flip side, a conversation you’re a part of that brings out the WORST side of you.

have you ever hung out with someone who talks very negatively about someone and the first few times you don’t allow yourself to stoop so low, but then ONE DAY you say something mean about someone? and you ask yourself... who am i?

friendships that put pressure on you. friendships that can’t hear the word “no.” friendships that are attached. i always think friendships that have this energy of “she’s my best friend and no one else’s” are definitely indications that something could be ...off.

love is not possessive. love is not controlling. love is loyal. love is kind. love is also letting go.

letting go

pressed unfollow on someone i really liked.

but. he just made me feel consistently horrible about myself. to paint a small picture of my desperation i’ll show you the last texts we shared... and i really don’t care to share them because no one would ever know who it was and this is the kinda shit that allows people to learn from me. raw, real.

text i sent from the plane 8/16/24:

to which i didn’t receive a reply... but he was the first to view all my stories...

so out of pure audacity i sent this on august 18...

after being left on delivered...

like... you guys...

after being with one of my best friends in LA, flying and staying in LA completely accommodated on work, doing interviews with one of my favorite clients, booking a commercial that i had to film in a few days, shooting for a legendary magazine the week before, incredible fashion week opportunities on the rise, my family finally accepting me and encouraging me in ways i never imagined, a support system that cheers for me, management that texts me every day to make sure i’m on track and supported, an audience that reads what i write and encourages me to write more,

WHEN EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF MY LIFE IS SUPPORTING ME AND LIFTING ME TO THE SKY MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I COULD EXPLODE FROM LOVE... i somehow found myself staring at this text wondering...

“what the hell am i actually doing”

and so i sent:

and that was the end. and i pressed unfollow. and it feels petty. honestly, these last texts were so petty but you (reader) know me well enough to know i’m long winded... SO IMAGINE HOW PRESSED I’D HAVE TO BE TO SEND A TEXT THIS SHORT. why would you push a poetic and romantic girl this far!!!!!!!!!!!

ok but seriously... if you’ve watched my “august interlude... HEARTBREAK” youtube video or even read my poetry, it is so long overdue. i think part of me held on for so long because i had developed this perspective that it felt embarrassing to be so affected by someone i had to unfollow them.

but baby when half of our lives are on social media, you better curate that space. and if curating that space means getting rid of people who make you feel desperate, insecure, and not enough... clean them out. with love.

because that was the one thing holding me back from focusing on all the abundance and love in my life. and it became so obvious one morning when i looked around and decided i can just decide.

and lastly... i’ll leave you with this

HOW TO KNOW WHEN TO LET GO: (friendships & lovers)

1. When your energy is halted, not expanded

2. When being around them makes your nervous system feel panicked

3. When you voice how you feel and are met with silence

4. When it doesn’t feel good

5. When you feel grey and not technicolor

6. When you can’t see the love around you because you’re drained on what isn’t

7. When they make you feel exhausted

8. When you’re begging for it

9. When they know exactly how you feel and don’t change... after the 1st time, the 16th time, the 20th time

10. When you don’t know what to say

11. When you’re constantly defending yourself

12. When you’re over-explaining yourself

13. When you’ve lost you

because you deserve a love that feels like sunshine, love that makes you feel silly, and giddy, a love that sends you post cards from the city you live in, a love that ties your shoes, a love that loves the way you wake up in the morning, loves your music, the way you dance, the way you walk into a room, the way you look for them and they look for you...

and the longer you hold onto these friendships and relationships that don’t light your soul on fire and make you ecstatic to be alive and express yourself,

the longer you resist real connections... and the euphoria of a human experiencing LOVE.

and you deserve that in this life time. you really do.

i love you!! (why am i about to cry rn lol)

with love,

kitty lever

i’m so excited to finally be on substack!!!!!!

i’ve had a newsletter for a little over a year (maybe around 2 years) and absolutely loved it. HOWEVER, i found that my emails were landing in the promotions tab of people’s inbox and the newsletter didn’t allow any retroactive emails to be sent or posted.

i have around 40 newsletters i sent over the last couple years that i will be posting here… my substack will now be a home for the newsletters from before.

this is an open journal for the deep feelers and thinkers.

a love letter of weekly musings, learned lessons, thoughts, experiences, advice, and encouragement.

this substack will serve as an extension of myself... a tender curiosity for the outside world.

thank you for cultivating a safe space for me to share my thoughts.

thank you for accepting my vulnerability with such grace.

thank you for making it to the last line.

yours truly,

kitty lever