Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kairee F Feb 2
If relationships were a book
and I was a chapter,
my title would be
“The Learning Experience.”
Kairee F Dec 2020
I used to do anything to drown out the silence,
a silence that cradled every missed opportunity,
the bad timing, and the ache that accompanied it.
I have tried to build many sculptures on top of the faith
that gets me out of my bed sheets every morning,
each work more beautiful than the one preceding,
but too often it’s either left a swollen mound
with a fist imprinted upon it,
or I run out of clay,
trying to cement the shattered pieces back together.

My worth is not a broken promise
nor a plea to be bargained.
I am not a locked, teenage diary
for which you have to find the key.
My skin is the cover of hardback book –
strong, durable, thick.
I may seem daunting or closed off,
but open me,
and I’ll spill countless words full of the
stories and life experiences I wish to share with you.
All you have to do is ask.

Lately, the silence feels like home,
a place where I can exist peacefully
without desires or expectations.
I used to find my enemies here;
They nearly strangled me.
Today I’m enamored with my own ability
to not only survive,
but live,
without trying to find the reset button.
For now I’ll reside here
until I can figure out how to finish a piece of art.
Kairee F Dec 2020
There are certain lessons I’ve had to relearn
a million times in my life,
the greatest of which is that

I am not my trauma.
Kairee F Nov 2020
It’s been a rough year– especially this month and, furthermore, this week–
but there is a single, irrelevant moment that my brain has been playing on repeat:
You were making dinner in the kitchen, music saturating the room –
most likely some smooth jazz ballad you’ve crooned a million times –
and you took a break from the stove to try to dance with me.
Embarrassed by my inability to dance socially without being awkward,
I swindled my way out with an excursion to the bathroom.

There aren’t many things I would change about the last few months…
not the inebriated tears I couldn’t trap behind my eyes,
nor the hours I spent listening to you ramble on about
everything that excites you,
which is everything.

It’s the simplest moment I regret the most…
I just wish I would have danced with you.
Kairee F Nov 2020
I used to start fires with gasoline, sometimes with caution and other times in haste. Either way, the quickest light of a match could smother my darkness with light. I had myself convinced it was so much easier that way, a routine way to manage my soul. It took me a little too long to realize my burns were caused by my own explosions.

I’ve learned to appreciate the slow kind of burn, the smallest smolder that gives way for your sight, the lingering echo of crackling power, and the fragrant tenacity in a glow that grows. The beauty of a flame is that it has the ability to ignite other fires without diminishing its own. My only wish is that we as humans could figure out how to do the same.

For now, all I know is that a single spark can ignite the flame, and the smallest, most seemingly insignificant flame, can light fireworks across the sky in celebrations and calls for support. I just hope no one summons the rain clouds before then.
Kairee F Nov 2020
There are little moments
I would do differently
if I had the ability,
moments whose memories create obstacles
for me to trip over,
obstacles like
my past
or anxiety
or my insecurities in myself.
I can’t blame them for the fall,
but I can tell you
I’m learning how to dodge them.
Kairee F Oct 2020
Your eyes greet mine with unsettling enthusiasm,
their gaze beginning a dance that pirouettes around my chest,
strokes my rib cage, and caresses my waist
until they linger at my hips for a little too long.
I see the corners of your mouth begin to turn.
A sly smile emerges from your lips,
but before any derogatory lyrics sneak through your teeth,
I look away, begin walking, and breathe silently
until my muscles relax from their quiet shivers,
and my heart rhythm slows to a steady beat,
hand still clenching the pepper spray anyway.
Next page