off air.
Kathryn Roark 2020 a collection of my most temporary works
Programs Used: Google Docs, Medibang Paint PRO Cover images and art done by Katie Roark 2020 Fonts: Georgia, Times New Roman
My Ballroom………………………………...1 Wandering Spirits………………………………….6 Giving Gifts………………………………….7 With You………………………………….9 Sleep Paralysis………………………………….1 0 Free Thinker………………………………….12 Friendly Rivalry………………………………….14 Chilling Temptations………………………………….16 Chasm………………………………….1 8 Paradise………………………………….20
My Ballroom  My mind is a mansion. Each vein is a long hallway covered in doors on each side, each door opening to a wide subset of memories. And then, in the middle of it all, there is my ballroom. Where people I have met everyone young and old all stay, To dance for a while each with a spotlight on them. Nana and Popop dance beautifully in the corner, their frail hands wrapping around each other, pulling their small bodies closer and closer together. My mom and dad are in their own little corner, They still dance sometimes. their dance is filled with more youthful intentions, and their light has been long burnt out, long before they both realized they just weren’t good dance partners. My mom has a new dancer, one who can always match her rhythm. One who doesn’t like dancing in the middle of the crowd,
but will dance with my mother like his life depends on it. One group of lights that flicker more than I expect, is where my grandparents stand. My dad’s mother, my Gran, cant dance as well as she used to, instead, she sits down with my Grapa, and they enjoy a nice drink. Her forever favorite, a dry, Greygoose martini with a single green olive. Gran doesn’t like any more than one, she says they use more olives as a trick to give her less vodka. She tells Grapa this story every time, and he still smiles and nods at her, like it’s the first time he’s hearing her say it. One final light remains stagnant in the sea of forever moving family and friends. My grandma carol is always right there in the center of my ballroom. Her light shines the brightest, yet I don’t know why. Sometimes, she isn’t at the ball, maybe my ballroom isn’t good enough for her.
But other nights, she light shines so bright that I forget that there are other people dancing. It’s hard to point out her face in the crowd, especially since I only faintly see her face in photos. I don’t know why she is such a prominent dancer in my ballroom. Maybe it's because we share the same name? Besides blood, my middle name is the other real connection I have with her, it is basically the only thing I know her for. I know her because I am named after her, nothing else. I have never met her, I have never heard her voice, never let her hear mine. We don’t know each other, but this forced connection with our names must mean we are supposed to be a good match. Well, from what I know she mothered her children with an iron fist, where I, am a more benevolent ruler. From her description, we aren’t really that similar,
but she is still the most important guest in my ballroom, and I have no idea why. My ballroom is the epicenter, where the most important people in my life come to the forefront of my mind, and we dance. Old friends, distant family, and people I don’t even know. Her face is perfectly placed in a picture frame on my dresser, I barely know who she is. I don’t know why her light is so bright in my ballroom. Maybe when I join her for a dance, I’ll be able to hear her voice, and ill be able to ask her if she likes what I’ve done with the place, I’ll ask if she liked what I’ve done with myself. I’ll ask if the purple hair was too much, I’ll ask if she thinks I’m funny, I’ll ask if she thinks my ballgown is pretty, I’ll ask if she thinks I’m pretty. I’ll ask if she would’ve liked me if we met. I’ll ask her is she would’ve loved me
if she got to see who got her name after she was gone. But until then, she will remain stagnant in my mind, a common guest in my mansion, Wandering the long halls until she finally makes her way back in her regular spot under her spotlight in my ballroom.
Wandering Spirits I never thought we’d do this for as long as we did. Standing here arguing over who’s turn it is to do the dishes tonight. Spending our years, only arguing about little things. Who’s more annoying, always trying to rearrange the words “I hate you” into something more meaningful, something more worthwhile. And nowas I say my final words, I look down into your casket and I wonder: maybe we will be teenagers againmaybe we can relive all of our stupid moments. Every late-night phone call, every hesitation, every smile, every tear. Maybe we can do it all again when I come to join you. Or maybe our ghosts will be able to hold hands in the afterlife.
Giving Gifts From the day the seed is planted, to the day it all burns to the ground. Sewing the threads for the farm of lost souls. Watching every person left without a meaning join you on your adventure. Sitting calmly on your rocking chair, as you watch them all get used to seeing people like them. Letting them know that they are not alone. Here in the meadow of lost souls, everybody has somebody made for them. Somebody exists for them to find. Giving a purpose to the purposeless, giving a home to the homeless, loving the unlovable. Helping them find a way to move on to the afterlife, leaving you to sit in the garden. Waiting for someone to give you a purpose so maybe one day, you can finally leave your garden of lost souls.
With You Looking at you, I feel loved. Being with you, I feel happy. Talking to you, I feel safe. Every embrace, every text, every smile, every phone call, you make me feel okay.
Sleep Paralysis The feeling of dangling something dangerously close to your face and tearing it away right before you reach it. Holding your deepest, darkest, desires, close enough you can almost taste it, and then it’s gone. Thinking about these wants, these treasures, greed seeps out of your pores like sweat. Beads of your purest emotions of want and need piling up onto your skin. Your desires looming over you, hovering above you on its hands and knees, as it’s hot breath disrupts your sleep. A foreign invader taking away the last moments of bliss you have left in the mortal plane of thought. The drool seeping out of its mouth, the scent, you can only describe as death.
You can only picture what the true face of this monster appears to be. Your eyes are locked shut. You are blindfolded, this monster is restricting your movements, inside and out. You can’t breathe, the beast is resting the weight of itself on your ribcage, you are stuck. You try pushing back with as much force as your consciousness can create, but the monster has you held down. It’s arms are shackles around your body, you can’t do anything, you are helpless. The only thing you can think of, is how badly you want to see who the culprit is. You want to see the monster who has now invaded your thoughts. You want to look him in the eyes, and try to see deep into him, trying to find his reasoning for tormenting me night after wretched night. However, your ever-growing desires slip away from you as soon as you manage to open your eyes.
Free Thinker The feeling of deja vu you get whenever your mind begins wandering. The mind slowly drifting away from you at a moment you will never be paying attention, you’re preoccupied with other things. Standing in the shower, hot water sliding down your back the soft bullets of steam relaxing you. These moments are spent recollecting on your thoughts, reminiscing on the past events. Every thought, every “what if” staring down, you see all of these thoughts slowly pooling at your feet. Trying to reach down and grab at all of the memories, that seem to be escaping you by the second. Stuck watching all of them slide through your fingertips, slipping agonizingly slow in between the cracks in your hands.
Just slow enough that you can feel every word slide through your fingers, almost like you had just said them. You can still hear the faint sounds of your friends laughter, as today’s memories of them slowly seep through the desperate attempts at trying to make them stay. You are forced to stand there as you watch them all slowly get washed down the drain.
Friendly Rivalry My soul felt like a Christmas tree. The kind of Christmas tree that your arms fit perfectly around, each of the pine needles giving you a rough hug back. The kind of tree your dad would always add more to trying to out-do your neighbor. Eventually, putting so many lights on, he ends up blowing a fuse due to petty competition. The cartoons you were watching turn off, leaving the tv screen covered in a sheet of static. Leaving you with a perfect Christmas tree, sitting on the driveway. No more lights, nothing to show for it. The tv is still warm, But there’s no point in watching mind-numbing excuses for a happy Christmas Eve to replace the reality of how your perfect day was thrown out the door without a second thought.
Chilling Temptations Standing next to everyone else, you are a cometblazing, screaming for attention. You are full of fire, bursting at the seams. Your hands are like coals after a fire, still warm and comforting, not too hot to touch. Everyone else is a blizzard, there is still light in their eyes but it isn’t yours. Their eyes are glossed over, cold, looking into their eyes, is bone-chilling. I can feel my ribs cracking under the pressure of looking into the eyes of anyone but you. My joints are frozen, I am unable to turn away, I am foreign deep in these frostbitten pools. Cold light forcing its way into my eyes, I can see my reflection in the glossy lenses that cover the magic underneath.
Because hiding in these frosty windows of betrayal and despair, sits a one-way mirror looking in at a comet. Burnt out, no longer warm, the physical beauty now gone. You will soon become one of them. Every comet burns out at some point, usually before it ever makes a lasting impact on anybody. Every comet needs to be replaced. Glossed over with cold, meaningless pools of light, behind this soul-chilling facade, sits nothing but a pile of coals after a fire, burnt out, not even warm enough worth holding.
Chasm. You know you don’t have to take her clothes off to have a good time on the moon. You don’t need to be sitting in a house, all you need is the dark vacuum of space bringing you closer together. You don’t have to see her face to know how she feels. All you need to do is listen to her voice, and hear her smile. You can sense her hands grabbing onto the collar of your shirt. You can just barely taste her lips as they graze over yours. You can feel her underneath your hands. You can grab at every remaining inch of her body, as you try to pull her closer to you. filling every blank void of space with her very being. Her breath hitting your cheek in short bursts, and there is nothing left to focus on. There is nothing else worth seeing, when all you need to do is feel her.
Paradise Silence. Floating upwards in the darkgiving the sky a kind greeting, looking at the calming face in the moon, and all of the stars you’ve become far too accustomed to. Above water, is the sound of pure, raw existence. Waves hitting the slowly eroding rocksthe sound of soggy seaweed washing up on the shore. The patient sound of wind slowly passing through, letting itself travel through your lungs, filling your body with the salty aroma of the skyGetting a taste of familiarity taking in the imperfections of the surrounding terrain. The algae-covered edges of the fishing dock that has been jumped off of numerous times; Times of hanging feet off the side looking out at the ever-expanding horizon of the sky. Looking out towards the infinite abyss of the unknown. You lay down in the water
making sure your ears are covered, as you take in the pure bliss that is incomprehensible silence. Eyes barely closedlaying in the dark, warm, salty water. The gateway into the mysteries of the depths below. Nothing to do but listen. Hear the sounds of the gossiping fish underneath you. The screams of the sand being thrown up into cloudsfilling your ears with static noise. White, blank, static, noise. Feel the weight of the unconfined water Feel the liquid coldly flow over your body, softly bobbing. Up and downfeel you. See the human being that is practically just a floating corpse laying in the sea breathing at a pace just fast enough to keep the brain working.
Realize who is laying down in this warm, weightless dark. Understand that here, you aren’t alone, but you will never be watched. Out in the middle of the darkcompletely detached from reality. When you finally fully bring your head under the water, take a breath, and pass the final threshold into paradise. Reach out into the deep, the dark, the unknown. Reach out into the horrific depths of the completely unknown, and search. Find the version of you living out there in the blank, noiseless depths of paradise. Take a walk with her back to her house. Pass by the gossiping fish, the screams of the sand, the loud bellows of the sharks. See the soft glow of the angler fishthe closest thing to a familiar sight down here is the blank light coming from this creature.
The one thing you can even possibly begin to comprehend out in this abyssgiving you a sense of comfort. Spend some time with this alternate version of yourself, until you finally run out of breath and, like always, you will have to cut your visit to paradise shorter than you had hoped. Pulling yourself from your blissful sensory deprivation as you slowly return to reality. You greet the moon once moreyou see the friendly faces of the stars, as you allow the salty aroma of life to pass through your lungs with short, staggered breathsas you slowly return to the numerous, never-ending thoughts that come with your return to normality.
