Original Poetry by Jessica Katoff

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Ahhh!!!! Look at him!!!

Stay tuned, wee Beluga whales will be in the Etsy shop soon! #whales #beluga #whale #sea #cute #figurine #animal #sculpture #handmade #stoneware #pottery #ceramics #hyydraworks

03/17/22

Last night was magic <3 

Another visual representation of my mental health— totally fine and then your fucking dumbass ex reaches out, and propels you into a 5 month long depressive episode. Not that he’s responsible for my feelings, right, Mason? Anyway— Jurassic Park is trending. I hope it makes you think about me ;)

JURASSIC PARK (1993) dir. Steven Spielberg

yes, imagine that. How much do you have to epicly suck, how much of a monumental, selfish, myopic bastard do you have to be for someone to write 200 poems about you? Definitely asking for a friend... 

It’s me. I’m the friend. 

imagine being the subject of someone's poetry

https://gofund.me/5fb0792c

Hello, my darlings! I know that we are all very poor church mice up here on Tumblr, and most of us do not have a penny to our name. However, if you would reblog/share this post anywhere and everywhere that you can, I would really, really appreciate it.

My mom’s itty bitty little black car was hit by a monstrous truck. And, if it hadn’t hit the… A-frame, or whatever the hell the beam between the front and back door is called, his truck would’ve gone through her driver’s side door, and I would’ve lost my best friend. She has four broken ribs— two on each side- a broken sternum, bruising, and some minor cuts from the glass. She is in a tremendous amount of pain… but she’s alive. Literally nothing else matters. I should’ve lost my best friend, yesterday, and I will never stop being eternally grateful that I didn’t.

However, there is a tremendous heap of hospital bills heading our way, so if you’d share this post, it would really help us out. Please don’t feel obligated to donate if you don’t have the means. It be like that. And, quite frankly, I don’t even care. Any amount of hospital bills is worth it. I still have my mom. I still have my best friend. I don’t have a complain in the world. <333 Tell the people you love that you love them, and do it often. Because we really aren’t guaranteed tomorrow. I don’t know if anyone will see this post, because it has an external link. But, if you do, please share it. And then text the person you love and tell them you love them <3 

I made a poetry blog!

I made a poetry blog within which to keep all my poetry. It’s called Dinosaurs, Love, and other Extinct Creatures. I’m planning on posting thrice a week until I run out of poetry, or get a new source of inspiration. If you’d like to read your way through my heartbreak, feel free to click the link, follow my blog, and share it with your friends-- I would, but my last one broke my heart.

I hope you stay together

I hope you stay together I hope it never fails I hope you drive each other mad And off the freaking rails I hope you are the couple Who never breaks apart Married for a century With no love in your hearts. I hope that you have everything Live life, be young and free I hope she gives you all she has, Like love and STDS

I hope that you break her heart Or she breaks yours, instead then you spend 18 months devising ultimatums in your head I hope that you agonize That you had something real And now there’s just this gaping hole That doesn’t seem to heal I hope you never love completely Just to watch it ripped apart Like some kind of London blitz Reenacted in your heart I hope you don’t spend your birthday crying Sitting on the floor Because, despite what you were told Someone didn’t love you more So, sure, I wish you everything All the good the world can taunt Lord knows I couldn’t stop you Going after what you want I hope that I find healing in the end, Get to a place it doesn’t hurt. Because, when it comes down to it My darling, that’s what I was worth. And I hope you read this poem, one day And have the revelation That the way you broke my heart in two Became a point of conversation.

©Kiwi Foster, 9/28/18

I started this poem two days after we stopped talking, and finished it 6+ months later. Healing is a nonlinear process, and I am not as angry as I was when I wrote this. But, I suppose I am not so healed as to not hope that, on the anniversary of the last time we spoke, he might stumble upon this poem. I think a part of me wants him to really understand how much he hurt me. The other part of me understands that it doesn’t matter. That, I hurt him, too, and, that, ultimately, life is full of heartbreak, and dissonance, and things that don’t lie easy in our souls. In this life, we do our best, and hope for the most ideal outcome. So, I ended up with a broken heart, over 100 poems about a boy I don’t talk to, anymore, and a life lesson I’m grateful to have learned. The rest, I suppose, becomes water under the bridge. 

Part of me.

I will not write another poem eulogizing our friendship

I will not engage in fantasy after fantasy where I run into you at the coffee shop or buying plants at the nursery I will not reanalyze and dissect what went wrong between us what I will do on the anniversary of the year you ruined my birthday is take a deep breath and remind myself that healing takes time that remembering you thinking of you does not mean that i am relapsing I will give myself room to hurt and heal what I will do is admit that a part of me would take you back if you returned with a broken heart and no more girlfriend a part of me would let you back in my life the part of me that does not realize I deserve better the part of me that thinks we were all my fault the part that thinks I deserve less than the bare minimum because less than the bare minimum is what I’ve gotten, in the past that part of me would take you back in a heart beat that part of me might still love the memory of who you were and that part of me is still hurting still mourning still healing so on the anniversary of the year you text me two days before my birthday I will give myself a little grace and remember that hurting doesn’t mean I’m not healing, as well.

©Kiwi Foster, 3/15/21

Sisyphus

Would it be uncreative and redundant to compare you to the boulder? I, of course, am Sisyphus,

and I trudge up the hill shouldering the weight of your memory like a two ton boulder, cursed by the gods or fate or the very harpies of hell, themselves to rework the same paths of my broken neuro-pathways ones that have been branded like melted paths of snow twisted and fixed into thoughts of you I have gotten so used to working around the part of my brain you live in that I almost cannot imagine having it back, again. I’ve tried to make sense of it the storage space of crap you left me with I put up selves, at least to organize the wreckage so that the poems go over here, the fantasies of running into you at the coffee shop, the nursery, showing you how much better off I am, which is more or less true, depending on the day, the conversations we’d have when you finally come crawling back realizing you made a tremendous mistake, that you picked the wrong girl and gave up the only real friend you’ll ever have all those? yeah, we put them over there in a box where the average passerby can’t see them because they are embarrassing. We display the moments of healing and acceptance on that shelf, Because they look pretty in the light and we want them to be highlighted. Yes, I wrote over 100 poems but, do you see that? On May 24th, two years ago, I forgave him for forty-nine seconds. I have let my mind become such a mess for you in the same way that I piled up everything but the Jurassic Park archway and shoved it out of sight, out of mind, somewhere I can’t see it, be hurt by it, or deal with it, and, it’s amazing that I can spend so many hours fixated on something and never process it, at the same time. I think there might always be some unrest with the whole thing some manner of ‘Unsolved mysteries’ surrounding the Black Hole and The Ghost two unlikely friends torn apart by the universe. I think I get closer to healing, every day I get closer to forgiving and moving on. I’m not there, yet. And, just as I get close, we creep up to the two year mark The seventeenth of March, Two days before my birthday when you text me “for closure.” And, of course I’m lost in thought, again. because I’m obviously not going through the boxes, just looking for something, in particular sliding back a few places shoots and ladders or is it redundant and uncreative to say that I am Sisyphus and you are the boulder I’m shouldering up that endless hill?

© Kiwi Foster, 3/15/21

Monster.

For the record, If you’re reading this, I don’t think you’re a monster.

I don’t think you did anything all that awful. You were twenty-one, And you were reckless, Clumsy, Juggling with things you ought not have juggled with-- Hearts and feelings and fates-- But you were 21. I’m not sure if I really believe you didn’t know what you were doing. But, I do believe that 21 years olds are foolish, And young, And, so, whether you intentionally broke my heart, Or accidentally blundered your way into it, I don’t hate you. My poetry doesn’t come from hate, But love. Not love for you. You are 24, and I don’t know you, anymore. Haven’t known you In two years. But, I did love you. I was so damn full of love, And loyalty , That, two years later, It is still making beautiful things Out of heartbreak. I don’t think I love you, anymore. I don’t like the idea that love, once given, cannot be reclaimed. That you will always be in my heart, Because you broke the part of it I let you in, And, in some ways, that will always be cosmic, And heavy, And real. But, in others, In a kinder, Softer way: It doesn’t matter. The things that break our hearts fade and wash away, Paid eroded into something gentler as the years go on. The kind of pain you can sleep with. I don’t think you’re a monster And I don’t hate you. And, I am sure, one day The well of ink in my heart, the well of all the deep sadness of losing you, will dry up, and I will run out of poetry to write. But, In the meantime, I don’t think you are monster, But, rather, A reckless child, Climbing on the kitchen counters, Knocking things down In an effort to get what you want. I suppose, in the end, There is something beautiful about such a determination to find happiness, Even if it’s born in the destruction of something else. I suppose it’s kind of nice, The idea that love was so worth it To you, Even if it left a sea of broken pieces on the kitchen tiles That someone would have to come along And clean up. It’s a nice thought, Happiness, Love, Being so sought after, Although, I do wish You’d been a little more careful about it Children don’t think about the consequences of their actions. They see, And they want, And they take. And, maybe I can find peace in that. That you acted, not against me, But for yourself, And the pursuit of your own happiness. And, that I am better off in a world, And a belief, That happiness, When bought at the price of someone’s else’s heartbreak, Is not worth having At all.

© Kiwi Foster, 11/19/20

Not me taking a break from re-re-re-re-writing my first chapter. #art #tiktok #video #author #novel #writing #wip https://www.instagram.com/p/CKLEIf4gPqb/?igshid=1aef86uh3bjp4

writer ask game: wips✨

🦄- what genre is your wip?

💖- what’s your favorite thing about your wip?

😊- are you proud of your wip?

📝- do you want to get published?

⚡️- what inspired your wip?

🤡- describe the protagonist through the eyes of a background character

🗣- if you could choose any person in the world to voice your wip as an audio book, who would you choose?

😅- how often do you work on your wip?

🔚- describe your wip’s ending in one (1) word

😤- what’s one thing you’re struggling with most?

👀- would you read fanfiction of your wip?

🎺- do you write to music/any specific playlists?

🌞- give a five word summary of your wip

⁉️- how many drafts has your wip gone through? how many drafts do you think you’ll need before you’re satusfied with it?

👁- what seven words best sum up your wip’s aesthetic?

🦋- do you prewrite and make extensive worldbuilding/character notes, or jump into the story?

😈- share a few lines from your wip

BONUS- if you see this post, WRITE A LINE IN YOUR WIP

The opening scene in my story was giving me trouble, so I decided to take a break and draw what Molly looked like, in that scene. I realized, after, it was the first time I’d drawn in 2 months. This is the second draft I did the day after. I’m not very comfortable with 3/4 face angles, so I decided to give it another go. The scene is still in multiple pieces, but it’ll get there. 

I was having trouble with the opening scene in my story, and decided to take a break and draw what Molly looked like, in that scene. I realized after that this was the first drawing I’d done in two months. I’d forgotten how much I really do love drawing, and how much better it makes me feel when I do. 

I love the idea of Molly and Jamie interacting at school. They’re probably 12 and 17 respectively. This was probably one of the days Jamie was supposed to take Molly and Cam home, and they’re stuck waiting for him to be done talking to his latest flavor of the week.

Nursery days are the best days. @farrandfarms #art #poetry #mypoetry #plants #plantmom #mentalillness #mentalhealth https://www.instagram.com/p/CI_u71kg_DW/?igshid=14jmzvqz02s4s