Articles written by Kahlen Ryba

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About me - Kahlen Ryba

I am a 24 year old graduate of Kansas State University. Five years in Manhattan, KS was a bit too much for me at the time, but I miss it now like you wouldn't believe. Of course. Now, however, I live in Belton, MO. And never in a million years would I have

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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Abstract poems: 66 of 517

Wait. Weight... i wait. and that is me. i wait and it burns in me and eats at my stomach and tires my eyes and i wait and i wait for something that seems it will never be mine. how lonely. i stand on my porch and smoke my cigarettes and i wait and i burn and i writhe in self-hatred and regret and i wait and i die and i wait ...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Prisoner of the world: 21 of 121

His Feet Keep Moving... I lean out the window into the cool breeze smoke my cigarette look at the sky I look at the house across the way. A light turns on in the window directly across from mine. Did someone once look for that light? wait for that whisper or the dimness of a face to appear? a young girl in the home of her pa...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Struggle in life: 209 of 383

Tree On Fire... she is tall, but her nails are not long. her knees hurt when the weather changes. she does not become physically ill easily, but she is quick to become moody and sad. it is because she knows she has inflicted pain on others. and that they do not understand it was not on purpose. she feels as though a stand-st...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Time: 378 of 686

Barefly... It is cold. It clutches at my chest, exposed by the low cut sundress dress in which I am clad. He sleeps on the bed in the corner, the dog on the ground. The calming flows of the music barely playing its sad-sweet melodies. The rememberence of warm pasta on a hot day kisses my thoughts and snaps me to the realizat...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Dark poems: 636 of 1148

Giants In The Air... what is it? what do you want? you who come through the shadows like a killer in a film noir. i cannot see you, but i feel your presence, behind me, lingering at my back like a bad habit, inside me, haunting me because i let myself be haunted. the smell of burnt leaves fills my nostrils, and i breathe in ...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Subway diaries: 19 of 19

Goblin Train... The train from hell clatters noiselessly through the French countryside, carrying its stinking inhabitants with it. The toilettes, with the hideous smell of too many uses stored underneath until the train reaches its destination wafts up from the back of the carriage. A strange body odor seems to hang over th...