Thieves of Love

By Kitty Norton

Thieves of Love is a collection of poetry and prose about surviving and thriving amidst the harshest of climates. It takes the reader on a journey of self-acceptance and love among the betrayals of life; grief, pain, abuse, heartbreak, violence, eating disorders and a struggling self-image.

Author Kitty Norton's words are a heart wrenching yet inspiring exploration of what it means to be human in a world of unreal, to be vulnerable in an age of screen and plastic, and the challenge of finding true love amid crippling loss.

This debut collection is a testament to the unbreakable strength of the human spirit, a celebration of beauty found in the mundane, and a lullaby of the lingering sweetness found after the pain has subsided.

A must read for anyone learning to let go of a painful life event, moving on to the next chapter, or anyone still stuck in the painful throes a broken heart. This is a story of finding a meaningful life of joy and rebuilding with purpose...in spite of the Thieves of Love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norton Family Publishing
• Release date: Mar 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393588160

Kitty Norton

Kitty Norton is an Emmy Award winning author of steamy romance stories. She’s also an audio artist creating spicy audios and audiobooks. She created a publishing and production company called Jack and Kitty After Dark with her best friend and soulmate Jack (who happens to also be her husband).Jack and Kitty are popular vloggers and enjoy sharing quirky videos of their everyday life together.Kitty is proudly bisexual and is a strong supporter of the LGBTQ+ community. She also volunteers her time at a local animal rescue shelter and with several environmental organizations.Kitty Norton lives with her girlfriend and husband. She enjoys animals, travel, raw vegan food, gardening, yoga, pilates, reading, making music and spending time in nature.

Book preview

Part I

And I, in her womb, fed on ache.

As a little girl I used to disappear and explore for hours on end. Hidden nooks in forests, abandoned warehouses, drainage ditches. It always fascinated me that the most beautiful objects were often the ones discarded, forgotten. Decaying tree stumps that looked like beef stew, junkie mosaics of broken beer bottles littering alleyways, upturned ice cream cones painting the sidewalks in cotton candy madness.

The broken. The forgotten. The dirty.

My mother used to scold me. How many times do I need to tell you to stay away from all that filth? Don't you know you'll get sick?

Grimy nails covered in dirt and goo. Scraped knees and stubbed toes. A jungle of curls snagged in Maple leaves, eyes drenched in adventure.

I've always loved Mother Earth and all of her misfit creatures. Maybe that's my problem.

- Dirty Curious

Love will meet you at a place you understand,

until you understand it.

As will longing.

There was once a girl

who could see things that most couldn't see.

She saw polka dots and circles,

where all the stripes should be.

She canceled out all the noise

surrounding in all directions,

and shifted focus to her mind,

changed her intention.

She closed her eyes with open heart

and began to see,

that the lines aren't really lines at all,

but the dots, reality.

She focused even harder all night long

and through most of the day.

She knew it wasn't what you add,

but what you take away.

Stripped of all the layers,

broken down to dots,

the world was there to be moved,

not conquered, feared or fought.

For in her mind was power,

in her thoughts was might.

She could not be controlled,

if she controlled her mind.

The little girl lay down to sleep,

a bright smile on her face.

Knowing her destiny

was in creating a beautiful...

flowing...speckled...space…

- Dots

Let's go on a journey to free our minds:

opening imaginations, closing our eyes,

growing in curiosity, shrinking in size...

We'll roam the broccoli forests,

use straws for our skis,

down drinking fountain waterfalls,

across punch bowl seas.

We'll sail on bottle cap boats,

with puddles for lakes,

go on chipmunk horse rides,

firefly lanterns guiding our way.

We'll build a popsicle house,

climb tall shoelace vines

over curbside cliffs,

and sidewalk crack fault lines.

We'll raft down street gutter rivers,

on Cheerio inner tubes,

we'll cuddle in maple leaf blankets,

under the flashlight moon.

We'll climb the pine cone mountains,

light matchstick fires,

roll down drainpipe roads,

on Lifesaver tires.

We'll fly on dragonfly airplanes

through cotton candy skies,

ride striped candy cane sleds,

down snowy marshmallow piles.

Don't tell me I'm crazy,

what's real is what you perceive.

You can get lost in the magic,

if only for a moment,

of miniature make-believe.

- In Miniature

I know your soul. But what's your first name?

Punks and black Labradors on rope leashes,

tricked out bikes,

bombed-out minds &

freegan ideals

paving the road to nowhere.

Backpacks, anarchy &

rugged boots combat our fears.

We conform,

shaping our darkness.

SHOUTS!

Retreating…

Why do we tiptoe in the night,

knowing they can't hear us anyways?

- BMX Dumpster Revolution

I feel 100.

Even as a small child my favorite people

were at least eight decades old,

and several lifetimes, I think.

- Zeitgeist of Numbers

Sometimes I wonder if I'm an alien.

Other worldly. Different.

Although I've traveled the world,

met an assortment of beautiful faces,

read a lot of pretty words,

and traversed vast distances & places,

there is still only one thing I truly understand.

Love.

It's the only language I speak.

Everything else is just syllables,

letters on lips and pages.

Love, however,

love speaks to my soul.

The only thing I can feel.

When I was little they used to ridicule me

and I just didn't understand why,

for when they saw lighting storms,

I saw gods coloring in the sky.

They saw old ladies,

and I, wintry queens,

regal gray framing face,

crowns of splendored sheen.

When they saw limbs with bulging veins,

I saw hearts pumping zest,

crimson rivers running through my dreams,

fueling movement and happiness.

When they saw spots and wrinkled skin,

I only saw a map,

the touch of long-forgotten lover's hand,

tracing remnants of his path.

When they saw hateful minds,

I saw passion whipped to submission,

and when they saw blinded eyes,

I saw heightened vision.

I've always been different,

they used to call me whiz kid or freak,

they'd beat me up and pound my flesh,

to change the way I think.

They mocked what they didn't understand,

told me I was broken,

but their syllables were drowned out,

by everything unspoken.

Everything unspoken,

was something I could feel.

Something rippling in the air,

the only thing that's real.

These kids thought I was mute, weird, blind,

and I guess, in a way, I was blind.

For when they see love I see nothing at all.

I know love cannot be seen.

Love cannot be fathomed,

nor can love be identified as anything at all.

For