This Chapter is Entitled.....Letters from Utah....

Okay folks, I stumbled across this little ditty about a year or so ago. It had been saved, somehow through umpteen moves, and still in one piece. Amazing considering the penned date. I had to take a second look, did my eyes deceive? The right top corner read... Kate C. 1/97. This is a 13 y/o poem. Doing the math quickly I realized where I was at the time of this creation. I was in rehab! Yes... thats right rehab. Suuhweet! (sarcasm)
I was reluctant to read through. I remember those 4 mos. being some of the worst of my life, and some of the best. I had graduated High School a year early, with a 3.8. through independent-home study. I was 17 years old, doing my own thing. In college already-a year ahead of my piers. I worked to jobs-so an overabundant amount of money was at my disposal, I ran my own show at that point in time. I had just finished up doing some hard time in the Cupples Family Detention Center, CLEARLY I earned my booze filled, drug laden life style. Or so I thought. Apparently my parents had been keeping a closer eye on me than I thought. One night I went to bed in my bedroom at 20 Moraga Via, the next morning I was in a car being driven by three very large Mormans, 2 dudes and a lady who threatened hand cuffs- with any funny business... to La Verkin UT. WHERE?
My parents had, had me "kidnapped" in the night, by strangers, literally- and shipped off to detox and 90 day. Fan-fuckin-tastic! I was 97 lbs and 5'8".... I think my parents figured it out. So as I lived with the fact of where I was at, and who put me there....(p.s. it wasn't my parents)
 I started to write. I would free write all the time. I had nothing else to do. When the rest of the girls were in school, since I had already graduated,  I was cooking or writing. Sounds glamorous no?...... picture beach front property in Malibu, Life Coaches running around every where, disallowing any back pedaling or episodes of self destruction, massages and yoga....organic food, cleanses...
No No... Not La Verkin Ut. When I say writing and cooking, I spent long hours opening industrial size cans of the mass produced CISCO...dumping them in heaping/ we are feeding 223 girls tonight vats. Spraying down those vats, and starting over again. The head chef weighed 320 lbs and made the already seemingly small kitchen even smaller. He looked and smelled like John Goodman in Raising Arizona after the jail break..and I think he liked little girls... ughhhh! Anyway... so if I wasn't with Chef Goodman sweating my ass off in a kitchen, I was in my room writing.
As you can see, I wasn't sure if I wanted to open that can of worms... More than likely it would bring a flurry

of hemmorhagic emotions and memories. However, something sparked my interest...

I remember it being one of the lengthiest pieces I have written to date, so with this intrigue I read it,




The Woman Inside....Kate C. 1/97







She if powerful like the waterfall, deceiving like the eclipse. She runs with the wind, and sleeps under a blanket of mist. Her tears are the dew that adorn the brush, her laughter is sweet

songs of the Morning, being sung in choirs of birds.

Her anger is the thunder that rolls across the plain. the destruction of many storms,

proclaiming her pain. "Ahrora" she whispers, "Ahrora Ahrora live on the beauty of the night

sky"




She Dances northward with a symphony of color, an array of elegance and masterpiece. At

the end of her journey, she dismisses it all. To fall in to a hibernation of melodic mull. Once

again she rises at the break of dawn, regains her strength to carry on. One more day, and one

more night, she will harmonize and take it all in with flight. Over and Over the seasons turn

round, the soft sweet scent of spring, and rich taste of warmth. She realizes her time has

nearly come, to leave the past and enter the present. To live for tomorrow, and resurrect the past, to redeem her being.




She resides to the East and hesitates towards the West, drifts towards the South, but takes a

last appeasing glance towards the North. She envisions a life of freedom and piece, one where pain does seem to cease. " Alas, Alas...." she whispers ..." For this life is done, all of it's

treasures I have won."

The symphony of color the elegance and masterpiece.

"But will my pain ever cease? Or is it true..that as the world spins on it's side peoples pain will still reside?"

Young women know this tale world over, where there is pain, there is always sorrow...

but this makes for a better tomorrow.




Written at age 17, I had been writing since about 13 or 14... this was in fact my chunkiest

piece of poetry written. However, I never did share it with anyone because of the nature

themed metaphor. I was worried it went against my tough girl image :)

I now enjoy reading it, I allow those memories to flood back, if they even do...

I enjoy how the 14 year old blue ball point pen is faded and washed out on the yellowing

paper. It is a piece of 17, my 17......