Katelan's Blog

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.
Jul 23 '14
Loving this cover design. #vscocam #lastbookstore #dtla  (at The Last Bookstore)

Loving this cover design. #vscocam #lastbookstore #dtla (at The Last Bookstore)

Tags: dtla vscocam lastbookstore

Jun 25 '14


Arts I made on hitrecord



Arts I made on hitrecord

(via hitrecord)

Jun 2 '14
Am I dreaming?

Am I dreaming?

May 26 '14
All short stories should end with a discussion question. Thank you for tackling real world dilemmas with such grace, @picturesoftext.

All short stories should end with a discussion question. Thank you for tackling real world dilemmas with such grace, @picturesoftext.

Apr 20 '14


Everything is happening

All of the time.

How are we ever 

Supposed to grab hold

Of any of it?

Tags: napomo National Poetry Month

Apr 19 '14



I helped an old woman

Cross the street

After I lied to her 

About being a Christian.

Only because she seemed so

Prematurely excited to wish me

"Merry Christmas,"

And then right away, “Happy Resurrection Day.”

It’s April.

She was confused.

I was too when she asked

So blatantly.

And I paused for longer than is natural

Before I decided to

Reassure with a Yes and a grinning nod,

Not patronizing.

I was aiming for reassuring.

But her knowing me 

As someone I’m not is not something

I’m proud of.

Tags: napomo National Poetry Month

Apr 18 '14

Pen Pal

Tell me you’re

On the other side

Of this

And I’m not just

Screaming out echoes

Onto the walls

Where I’ve inked my hopes

And my dreams

Because that’s what

people do when

They can’t live them.

And you told me I couldn’t 

Right now

So I should write them

Down instead and

I guess

Wish on them 

Like stars

And now they’re

Galaxies away

And I’m shouting up at them

Only to be met by my

Own meak voice

Leaping back.

And I sound fucking


Smaller than I’ve ever been

And getting infinitesimal

By the second.

I don’t know why words

Sound better from a stranger.

Perhaps because talking

to yourself

Can make a person feel the most


If not, insane

But your gospel is

What cast me in here

From the start.

Tags: napomo National Poetry Month

Apr 17 '14

Up Next

Is waiting
For anything. 
We are dying right 
And that’s all 
I can think of
While we’re waiting
For a table,
For it to stop raining,
For the right moment,
For love to feel different,
For our lives to look like
How we imagined
Before we realized the only
Thing getting in our way 
Is the waiting.

Tags: napomo National Poetry Month

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