I'm a writer who does some designing too. This is a bit of my work, my life, and a lot of what inspires both.

I'm on Twitter: @kalivia and Instagram: @katelanalivia. And you can find some of my work at my website.
Apr 16 '14

Hot Ass (but not like how you think)

my ass
squished on hot cement
is one of my favorite feelings
that I’ll ever feel

because you know how 
when the sun just bakes it—
the concrete—
and every sidewalk hold onto the heat like
there’s a furnace under there

and I’ve always been 
a cold person
most might agree, thinking
I mean that as a testament to
my character, 
but I mean physically

a stiff wind 
even on a summer day
it goes right through me
always has
and I’m cold through every bone
and my butt
on the hot cement is the only cure

a decade and a half ago
after a swim
in the water that was always too too cold
we’d jump out of the pool and 
make butt marks
(they kind of looked like butterflies)
on the concrete
one after the other in a row
until out bikini bottoms dried
up and we couldn’t take the heat anymore

after being stuck inside 
the blistering A/C
in an uncomfortable office chair
with no reprieve
I fled to a cement bench
while I waited for the train
It had been cooking in 
the sun all day just for me
and my butt to sit on it

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 15 '14


Free Fall

What if one day 
gravity went wonky
and the power 
that keeps us down 
on Earth
and the Earth floating 
in space
cut us off
and we all floated up 
to the edge of the sky
while the globe plummeted 
straight down
and down and down?

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 14 '14

A/N: Tonight is the first of a series of four lunar eclipses (called a tetrad), and it’s been dubbed the blood moon as it will glow red with sunlight filtered through sunsets and sunrises across the globe. Science is magic, y’all.

A Lullaby to the Blood Moon

Prologue eclipse, 
We are awaiting you patiently
Anxious, like children for fireworks.

We’re awaiting your burning
Amber glow from 
A thousand dusks 
And dawns all over.

With you shining, red moon 
We dream that we’re beneath 
The sky of a different planet
Far away from here, 
Where shooting stars really 
Grant wishes
And constellations 
Gallop through the night sky,
Reenacting the fables on which 
We’ve grown.

Under a red moon 
We’re on an orb so 
Far from the sun that
It’s a snow globe. 
And we’re inside the white utopia 
Of a place people only hold 
Onto in memories.

The blood reflection
You’ve dawned is 
so much more
than a marking of time. 
It’s an escape
However brief 
From this atmosphere
We call Home.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 13 '14


Just stay at the party.
That’s what they keep telling me,
I don’t know where we are 
Or why we are
But the music is just getting louder.

The lights are seizing but somehow
It’s getting darker
And my corner is getting crowded
With people breathing heavily
And sweating
And the music keeps just getting louder.

But they’re telling me
Just stay at the party.

Just stay with these bodies
These flailing souls
Pulsating wildly.
But I’m not the same kind
Of alive
That they are.
My rhythm is more of a 
steady one
Two, three
One, two, three.

I watch them
While the music still gets louder
And they grow younger
And younger 
To an age when music
Was our native language
And all we could do was flail.

So you see I’m getting older
Further and further from
Even recognizing my inhibitions
And I can’t stay at the party
Because I’m melting into
The walls from this inside stillness.

But you won’t know I’m gone.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 12 '14

Confessions of a Would-Be Grown-Up

I don’t own an iron.
I don’t know how to change a tire.
I always buy candy when I’m at the drugstore. Always. 
I still dream in picture books.
I don’t want my parents to find my diary.
(I’ve never had a diary. I always wanted one but didn’t have one because I was scared my parents would find it.)
I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment just by walking into a hardware store. 
I still don’t want to ruin my my dinner by having dessert first.
When I think of how empty space is and how we’re just floating in it, I’m scared that despite science, we’re going to just stop floating and keep falling forever through all that black. 
I’m scared no one will really ever understand me. 
I’m scared I’ll never really understand myself. 
No one should have to wear a bra this often.
What if I never know what I want to be when I grow up?
What if I never grow up?
I never once liked going to church or understood why god wanted me to wear pantyhose. 
I hate panythose. 
I hate the word “panties.”

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 11 '14

Holding Out

I made an impossible


One I couldn’t keep,

And it couldn’t keep


So I hope you’ll understand

Why it had to break.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 10 '14


A/N: Today is the 89th Anniversary of the day The Great Gatsby was published. So, I used some of my favorite lines from the book as the springboard for my poem-a-day. It didn’t go where I thought it would. 

We’re Not Big

"I was within and without. Simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life." -F. Scott Fitzgerald

Beneath the sky, 
The trees,
The grass, 
The soil,
The oceans, 
The sand,
And the great depths
Of everything we’ve built on top,
The earth is rumbling.

The colliding faults
And cracks continue to
Evolve into canyons,
In spite of us
And our routines.

Everything below is trembling 
With change
While we live amidst it
Imprisoned by a schedule. 
Cozying up to
Sameness, numb to
The shaking.

And I wonder if 
We’re capable of 
Loosening up 
In the slightest
So that we’re not so rigid
In the quaking.

So that we don’t just 
We might learn come home
To our smallness
And face the arrogance we’ve 
Built in spite of it.
And maybe 
Just maybe

Tags: napomo national poetry month The Great Gatsby

Apr 9 '14


Idol(atrous) Hands

My hands are a testament 
to nothing.
Only good at clicking,
I think they’ve lost their touch.

Not dainty enough to be delicate,
Not stable enough to be strong,
They’re neither seasoned nor young
Too small or too large.

They have no 
story-bearing scars
Or freckles
Or bruises.

Just skin over knuckles
And nails topping prints,
Sprawling from the ends 
of my wrists.

Tags: napomo national poetry month hands poem

Apr 8 '14


I once said things 
people cared about.
Really big things,
tremendous, worthy 
of plaques and painted walls. 
Crowds worshipped 
my words loudly, devoted,
arrogant just because 
They knew the syllables.
And I was proud.

But as quick as the words 
had grown,
they began to shrink.
And I ached, plagued 
with the idea that I’d run 
out of big things
as my words grew 
smaller and smaller 
contained by mere slips of paper 
and whispers in passing.

But the whispers, 
They spread like weeds
sprouting up when 
no one was looking.
Sneaking their way into 
the crevices of people’s days.

They crept into bedtime stories
And grew while you all slept,
And I fret no more.
I’ve become quite at home 
in the infinitesimal,
because I’m convinced.
That is where legends go to die.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 7 '14


Summer: A Manifesto

We stopped counting down the seconds
Because we knew 
We were only breaths away 
From an infinity of breaths.

Moments away 
From that first bit of smoldering 
Sun that wouldn’t be pinched out 
With the next Monday.

To hell with all Mondays!
Because there were only 
Weekends as far as
The eye could see.

Impromptu sleepovers,
Late night bike rides,
Beer cans off bridges,
And broken curfews.

All in the name of the sun.
In the name of lightning bugs,
Gnat-bitten ankles,
And love-making locusts.

All of that rejoicing hindered
Only on time. 
On breathing in and out
Those final breaths of inside air.

I wonder if I’ll ever know again
A hysterical, panting, 
Wild happy 
Like the last day of school.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 6 '14


Gone Extinct

Until we’ve reconciled
Our fate,
Let’s live 
Like we’re a dying breed.
Ignore what it means
For everyone else
And be the most 
triumphant thieves
Stealing days 
No one owed us
Until we just run out.

Tags: napomo

Apr 5 '14


Not So Young and Not So Old

Remember when we could sleep 
On a floor hard and creaky
And wake without bruised bones
And muscles tied
In sailors knots?

Remember how we’d leap out
Of bed, like from a tomb
Where we’d slept for a century?
With flames in our bellies
And a glowing in our eyes,
Every sunrise looked like
Infinite New Years Days
And so we’d celebrate all of them.

Remember how we didn’t know 
It was all changing
Until it already was.
Til days became habits
We couldn’t break
And even nostalgia 
For those limber, lustful, luminous
Times, got exhausting?

I wonder how long 
We were running on fumes.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 4 '14


My Gallery of Unlost Things

There are two thousand
Five hundred
And eighty nine things
That think I’ve lost them.

Twenty-three solo earrings
Forty-one wash and dried 
pocket dollars
My favorite black shirt
And all the single socks
Oh, oh, oh the socks

A handful of shells from the beach 
that one time
All of my favorite pens
And my luck penny

You’re merely misplaced,
But I love you all 
my little unlost things

I assure you
Distance has made my heart
Grow very fond indeed.

I’m looking forward
To the festivities 
When one of you is found
And I realize I wasn’t,
I couldn’t 
Have been happy
Without you.

And with only
Two thousand
Five hundred
And eighty-eight things
Left to unlose

There will still be much more 
to celebrate.
I’m sure of it.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 3 '14

What’s Cookin’ (Good Lookin’)

How you look when you look good
Is different 
Than how I look when I look when I look good.

When you look good,
The auras are in your favor.
From inside you, your chakras
Or something
They warm up like cozy fire embers,
It’s no wonder everyone scoots closer.

When you look good
Every mistake is a miracle 
Or is every miracle a mistake?
I don’t know. You mix me up.

But I do know
You’ve mistaken your own embarrassment 
For rouge
And your own tears for extensions to 
Your lashes
And damn it 
If your curls don’t just survive all odds 
and catapult from your cranium 
Like the most elegant halo of tresses 
Anyone’s has ever seen
Especially me.

When I look good
I’ve pulled, poked and pushed my skin
To smudge pigment powder 
Into all the creases.

When I look good
The ebony doesn’t stay on my lids long 
Before its created dark moons 
Beneath my eyes and onto the bags.
Damn the bags!

When I look good
I’ve smashed my hair 
this way and that
Until it looks at least

Intentional is my finish line.
Your finish line is red carpet
It’s photo shoot, lights flashing, 
Important people swarming
While the rest of us in the race for intentional
Dream of how life feels 
When you look like you do.
Over there looking good
Like I’ll never know how to.

Tags: napomo national poetry month

Apr 2 '14

Who Needs It?

Alright, ok. 
So this is what’s left.

I tried to put it all back together 
"the way I found it."
But you can still see all the seams.
And you don’t need me to point out
the glue oozing from the cracks
and the hole in the shape of Georgia
there on the side. 
I couldn’t find that piece. 
Maybe it’ll turn up. 
Who knows?

But, you know I tried. 
Things break, and you know
maybe they’re meant to stay 

Tags: napomo national poetry month