Kairee F

Kairee F Aug 2016

There’s tranquility in the way
our star slowly hides itself beneath the horizon
before tucking our hemisphere into bed each night.
I ache for that view sometimes
to an extent that concerns me,
but I still live for its solidarity
alone under a blanketed sky.
Sharing it with anyone else has always
ruined its preciousness,
but tonight
hundreds of humans no different than I
gather along this pier,
unified in our attempt at peace,
quiet among the backdrop of a world
that has become so corrupt with hatred and violence.
For a few moments
I forget about the malice that causes me
to fall to my knees each night,
praying that we find a leader that can help us escape.
We are the cult,
and the pier our sanctuary,
but in this world
that may actually be more safe.
If but a few minutes here can briefly salvage
the hope within us,
I see no reason to walk away
until the sky falls fast asleep,
and I fall quick with serenity.

Kairee F Jul 2016

Chasing Sunsets

I’ve spent the greater part of the last decade
nuzzled in a driver’s seat,
fixating on the horizon,
while mellow tunes from my iPod
serenade the muscle in my chest
so that my breathing might stay steady enough
to control my impatience
for just enough time to see beyond this highway.

You see,
I’ve been chasing sunsets for as long as I can remember,
but I still recall the tranquility that rushed over me
the first time my feet touched the ocean floor
with the tide’s white noise silencing my cares
and a rainbow-canvas sky mirrored in sparkling waters
blinding my responsibility.
I’ve never been able to find it again,
because every time I greet the skyline,
I fall short.

There is something missing within me,
a piece of myself I never quite found,
even after the chaos of orchestrating my own
death and rebirth.
I know everyone finds the ocean sunset peaceful,
but there is a key in that fiery heaven
that only fits the crevices to my brain,
and no soul could match its sanctity,
so I will keep running to that shoreline
until I find a sky that can fix what the locksmith broke
and the waves that will put my reeling mind to sleep.

Kairee F Jul 2016

Wasting Away

You tell me repeatedly that I am wasting away,
that my arms are too slim,
my waist too cinched,
and my chest too boney,
but the only thing I hear
is your insecurity making me its mirror,
and in actuality
I have never been more proud of my progress.
Instead of concern for my well-being,
all I feel when that sentence slips from your lips
into the stale air that creeps into my ears
is a knife in my gut.

I am not wasting away,
I have already wasted.

I wasted away my breathlessness when he told me he cheated on me.
I wasted away the utopian idea of who I ached to be
and what I strived to look like.
I wasted away the pressures I gave into
when he wanted to force himself on me.
I wasted away the insecurities and trust issues I harbored for five years.
I wasted away his manipulations,
his deceit,
his pathological lies,
his slander for my name,
and the guilt I felt for cutting him out
and clawing my way back in.
I wasted away the anger and depression that almost consumed me.
I wasted away my lack of knowledge toward myself.
I wasted away my blank path,
and I wasted away my restlessness for the next chapter,
because I am the next chapter.

So, the next time you feel the need to tell me that I am wasting away,
The next time you think it's okay to say something like that to me,
I want you to not look at me,
but see me.
I want you to feel the curve on my hips and the stretch marks on my thighs
that I am okay with having.
I want you to look into my eyes
and see the fire I reignited in my soul
to warm the blood that pumps through these deep vessels
which carry each piece of the shattered self that I put back together
like the mouth of the river that flows straight into the heart of the ocean.

No, I am not wasting away.
I’m not wasting another day.

Kairee F Apr 2016

Losing the High Road

Mind so jumbled,
I’ve forgotten how to speak
words that can complete the thoughts
that fill each lobe of my brain with
terror.
I got so comfortable
in this new existence,
I forgot there are still hardships left.
A lump in my larynx makes breathing stiff,
Unsteady beats pulse in my neck
through a throat that’s quickly closing.
I should stop being surprised by
the chatter I hear,
the defamations,
the deceit,
the dishonesty,
but I don’t know how to comprehend
a human being
who acts so inhuman.
We are supposed to be a complex species,
unique in our ability to show love and compassion,
to place others ahead of ourselves,
to act from a heart that can understand
the immensity of a tear shed
out of sheer benevolence,
but all I’ve experienced
from the spectral bluster
of a web where the spider lies
is an animalistic need to please
one’s own desires
to the point of pathological nepotism.
Dear Lord,
just steady the drum in my chest
as I fold my hands to pray.

Kairee F Mar 2016

False Start

For a split second
I believe in the glimpse of my past self
with muscles swelling
to the pounding of pavement,
comfort in my skin
and breath flowing freely.

I snap back to a present
stamped “Handle with care”
for the feet that stumble stay fragile.

Maybe this glimpse
is a vision of the future,
the possibility of granting
of a year’s worth of wishes.
“Patience is a virtue,”
I’ve always heard.
Give me the sanity to see through.

Kairee F Feb 2016

If you were a poet...

If you were a poet
and I the words,
would you wrap me in metaphors
to keep me warm?
Would you sprinkle my edges
with hope and love?
Would you warn me when judgment
comes far too strong?
Would you claim my existence
to those who abhor?
Would you flaunt me in cultures
all over the world?
Would you edit my errors
to hide my faults?
Would you give me syllables
of beautiful awe?

Would you twist me to fragments
of vengeful lust?
Would you scribble my ink
to darkened blood?
Would you tear through my home
and throw me away?
Would you burn my stanzas
to ash and ****?
Would you strip me naked
to bare my soul?
Would you forget the stories
you lost in my hold?
Would you laugh at the lines
between which you see?
Would you shadow the shivers
so eloquently?

Would you care for the letters
you etched into me?
Erase me?
Erase
Era
E

Kairee F Feb 2016

A New Kind of Anatomy and Physiology

They say a torn muscle is forever weaker in its function, even upon healing, and can easily be re-torn in the same area. They also say bones never break in the same place twice. Their breaking point repairs itself to even more immense strength.

The heart is a complicated ***** with hollow chambers that pump us full of life. It is made of muscle…

But mine isn’t.

My heart is fist-shaped, covered in scars and dry blood, and every attack has left a new finger broken, each inhibiting my ability to perform at my best, but when the soreness bids farewell, so does my weakness. People like to tell me that I am strong. I am strong because my heart is always clenched and ready for the next fight. Even those who manage to open the hand will eventually be crushed by my grip. I don’t have any issues with this. As far as I’m concerned, no one will get a chance to start breaking knuckles for quite some time. Maybe by the time I’m risk-ready, I’ll relax just enough for someone to fit their fingers through my heart-spaces.

Until then, I’ll keep chipping away at the pieces of blood.