Madisen Kuhn: Young Superstar

Right now, I am not really sure of what I want to do, but I do know that I want to incorporate writing into whatever it pans out to be. Do you ever go to bed after a night of drinking, and your fingers are stained with rum, along with your lips tasting like cranberry? You are enveloped with warmth and then you hit your pillow and you’ve never felt more comfort than in that very moment? I then have dreams that night. Dreams that take me to far away places like right outside my front door. They’re full of wishes and wants of what I hope to be, and how I hope to feel. Mostly, they’re how other people see me, and how if I think hard enough, and wear comfortable clothes to bed, and wear an eye mask, theses dreams- they’ll come true. Some poets take me to the same place.

I have been following a young poet named Madisen Kuhn for a year or so now, buying her books, and following her on social media. She’s brilliant and writes about things I wish I thought of first. She writes simply yet beautifully and somehow I think every single person can relate to her pages. Her aesthetic is earthy and natural, and she hides nothing from her fans. On her social media platforms, she often talks about her days and what she has been struggling with. She touches upon how she’s been trying to remember her reusable cups but often forgets, and she feels guilty all day. Kuhn suffers from agoraphobia and often shares with her viewers to remind themselves to relax.

half-awake

i always regret the nights i stay awake

for no reason at all

except to trace and retrace every fear

that lies awake on my chest

the evening grows closer to the sun

and more unproductive

c h o p p e d

into little bits where the light creeps in

a hazy glow, lost memories that are insignificant

and not much of a loss

down feathers scattered across an orange sunrise

and pillows piled on top of piercing silence

all i wish

is to be asleep

tucked into a dreamland

where nothing can excite me

She is tremendously talented at personifying things you want to slap in the face. Fear. Fear lies awake on her chest, begging for attention and worshipping the seconds she is frightened. You can feel the intensity, the weight, and the heat that lies on her while she tries to rest. “Closer to the sun,” man have I had nights like that; where your anger and daunting thoughts become sparrows on your window, chirping at you just as you think you could get maybe an hour of ease. I love reading her work because it grabs my hands and puts silk ribbons around my wrists and over my eyes, and carries me to a distant memory that I thought was gone forever.

“I can relax, I can surprise myself, I can feel joy, I can do things that feel unrealistic, I can have highs and lows,” she says. Her poems explain and teach us about her and how she often limits herself from touching the ocean, going to the cinema, or even waking up. She is 23 now, and much less brave, less functioning, and less comfortable within her own skin than when she was 19. Her poetry often touches upon the ideology that nothing is forever. The poet lives by: “If I quit now, I will desperately want to be back where I started. And when I started, I was desperately wishing to be where I am now.” This can be applied to anything in life, and it woke me up when I scanned over it on an Instagram caption. Be comfortable with discomfort. If I keep that in mind while I write, I can go into great depth of enigmas and uncertainties that I have not touched upon before. Kuhn inspires me to push myself, and giving up- no matter how cliche- is never the right move.

She reminds her followers to listen to music, and how it helps with anxiety inducing situations. “I need to be able to walk to a coffee shop on the days when I can barely get out of bed. I need to be able to drive for a few minutes and pass by dozens of restaurants and stores and places with people. Places I can make it to on my bad days. Where I can grab some tea and remind myself that the world isn’t as dreadful as my brain likes to pretend it is. Otherwise I will get stuck inside and I’ll forget what it’s like to listen to music in my car and to love the sun and the city and the people. I have to be able to step outside and quickly be reminded of the beauty and the possibility and the good stuff. To snap myself out of the spiraling defeated internal monologue that’s meekly accepting that maybe i’ll never drive again, travel again, feel independent and sufficient again. It’s all bullshit, but so easy to believe when you’re stuck.” Someone who shares this is brave. Brave to be honest and vulnerable with 38.6K followers that probably critique her to no end or feel the exact same way or worse, but would never show it. That’s a really comfortable feeling, to see that someone who is struggling so much, trying to get through it, and analyzing her needs, her rainbows and thunderstorms, and telling us why she thinks the mirror is her kryptonite.

sunday, april 23rd

the panic begins at night

and it follows me through

the day,

anchors me to my bedroom

floor when everyone begins to

shut their doors and turn out their

lights

my ceiling doesn’t look like

a galaxy, or even just a

ceiling, it feels like a hand

lowering

itself, slowly,

until i’m stuck beneath fingernails

i change my sheets, bathe my dog,

it lingers inside my throat

my twin mattress feels like i’m

drowning in a bathtub

there are tan lines on my

shoulders where your arms should be

in my house, i’m not alone,

but when the moon is in the sky,

and my friends are in their beds,

and these incessant thoughts

are in my head,

i might as well be

I really like her use of punctuation and lack of capitalization. It feels like you’re reading your own handwriting and in no way is she talking down to you, or maybe even think her writing deserves big letters (which it obviously would). This poem really resonates with me; it reminds me of loneliness, which I often find is the most undeserving and powerful emotion. This is such an anxious poem, and her posts lie true- she does suffer. Watching a hand lower itself onto you and squash you into oblivion, alone, and your thoughts chasing you around street corners leaving you sticky and rugged? No thanks, but damn do I feel ya. She talks about simple things, and chores even, that everyone finds ease and annoyance in, but for her, she loathes it and it vanishes her to yet another day of silent asphyxiation. Something really odd about my childhood was that I had a horribly difficult time sleeping over at friend’s houses. I would always have to call my mom at three in the morning, and have her pick me up in my pajamas, hushed by the annoyed mommys of my friends who I crawled next to while they were dreaming of sugarplums. This happened for years. This happened well into my older years; it was really odd. I would be petrified of these strange houses; but I figured out that the biggest fear factor for me was that I hated being the last one awake in the house. I knew their parents went to bed hours ago, my friend fell asleep 30 minutes into the movie, and the film ends and I have to figure out how their stupid television remotes work to turn it off. Then I’m alone and I can feel the creepy house breathe. What if something bad happened? No one is awake to help me. Kuhn’s work makes me feel so normal in those situations.

Kuhn shares her conversations that she had with her therapist, and how she overcomes challenges with creativity, and to remember that life isn’t always work, but play too. She writes: “I think sharing about my mental health on here helps me to not feel like it’s some deep dark secret I have to keep, which is nice.” She continues about her procrastination issues, and that everyone is doing the best they can. In her work, she is candid and vulnerable, and it sounds like she’s talking right to you, a friend she’s known for years. Her use of diction and repetition lours you in and tucks you to sleep. Kuhn is a 23 year old who explores taboo subjects like sexuality, identity, and mental illness. I want to be capable to put my heart on a page someday. In a way like she does- a non cliche feeling and genuine ode to life and all of the hurt and magic it provides. Her work talks about wants, and how they’re natural and okay to have. Just don’t get stuck on them she tells us. She personifies things that we have always wanted to come to life. She makes things that no one feels comfortable talking about, okay to blurt out to the world. She embraces her uniqueness and anxieties. I look up to her because she inspires me and when I read her books, it catapults me into a new love for words. Each page feels like you’re looking under a rug that artists sweep mindfulness under. When Kuhn was little she wanted to be a journalist, just like how my mom was, and pushed me towards. Her dream and mine quickly faded, and she found her love for poetry after watching Like Crazy where Felicity Jones read her piece “I thought I understood it.” Later down the line she “winged it” and started the process of publishing her own book through Kindle Direct Publishing, and commissioning an illustrator for the cover and doodles inside her books. It was all her. It was always all her. It inspires me and reminds me to push myself and not to be afraid of doing things on my own. Find courage, take chances, and be confident in your work. On one of her posts, she encourages her followers to reach out to her and send their poetry over for her to read. I love this because she is so personal and parallel with her fans. She doesn’t think she’s better than anyone else, and she acknowledges that we are writers too. She says something that I love: “Poetry is so healing.” And it is. It is my center of gravity. I often find myself jotting ideas down in classes because I am inspired by the gum I feel under the desk, or the obvious republican white cis male saying there’s no room for change, or the couple I view on church street kissing in the first snowfall. I write it all down. It’s my inner voice reminding me that my creative thoughts don’t deserve to be banished by the productivity of daily tasks that are seemingly more important. Kuhn reminds me that after a long day, I should pick up a book or a journal instead of just watching other people do things they love.