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.

There is a heaviness in my shoulders
when I pull into the complex,
a seeking sense I can’t seem to shake.
I park but don’t move;
There must be something inside a note
or lyric
that has some answer,
but it falls short,
just like every night that preceded this one.
I turn off the ignition to hear a silence
that screams too loudly.
I journey to the door,
and the passing of my feet across the threshold
is my emotional “off” switch.

For now
it is out of my hands.

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.

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.

Time is a devious creature.
With every passing year
I am smothered by the legitimacy
of the idea that
the older you get,
the faster time flies;
Yet,
paradoxically
I feel my life move at a snail’s pace.
It’s getting increasingly difficult
to remember that
God’s silence
does not mean
God’s absence,
but here I am,
folding my hands anyway,
because if there is any chance
something better is on the horizon,
you better believe I want to be here
to see it,
and even further…
I want to feel it.

I’m 28 years old,
staring 29 in the face,
and I still go to bed every night,
pretending the pillow next to me is a warm body.

I’m not sure if that makes me
pathetic
or just human,
but I do know
I’ll be elated
the day that pillow gets a face.

That name still stings
when it reaches my ears
like the bite of a snake
whose venom is slowly
slithering its way
through my bloodstream,
venturing to each limb,
each digit,
each piece of me,
until suddenly,
completely,
and unwillingly,
I'm paralyzed.

Apparently, two years ago today
I bought a home.

I lived in the same house for
twenty-six years
eight months
four weeks
and one day.
Let’s just say
I was ready
for some freedom.

I thought having my own place
would fix me.

It crushed me instead.

I never realized a dream could betray you.
I thought cheating was something only
humans could do.

You’d be surprised how different you can feel
with a little bit of time,
a moment of blind faith,
and a fresh coat of paint.

I am the last step before you reach the end of the staircase,
the one you push against to climb to the top.
The grime from the bottom of your shoe leaves me filthy and dark.
Sometimes, your weight is so heavy that I crack.
I am the one for which you aren’t ready,
the one you trip over but are too insecure to fall for.
I am the one who makes you want to be better
(even though I never asked you to be),
just not yet.
I am the crutch you use to pick yourself up
from the broken bones that haven’t quite healed,
the bandage that holds your wounds together until you are restored.
I am the sandpaper that scrapes away pieces of myself
until you are left smooth.
I am the rough side of the matchbox, the one you strike to create the flame.
I am just a girl you used to know.
A meaningless,
distant,
forgotten
memory.

But I am also the phoenix,
not the ashes.

The problem
with learning how to
repeatedly
"put yourself out there"
is also having to learn
how to
repeatedly
get disappointed.

If you're going to hold a knife to my chest,
at least look me in the eyes when you press down.

Hi, I’m Kairee.
I have anxiety sometimes.
But am I really allowed to say that
if I’ve never sought help for it?
I googled the definition of “anxiety” today.
Google told me it’s self-diagnosable.
That reassured me.

To be honest,
I want help,
but mental health isn’t so important to our society,
and my insurance won’t cover it.
I can’t afford a hundred dollar appointment
once a week or every other week,
especially if it’s going to take months
or years
to crack me open.

Basically,
when a piece
or many pieces
of my life feel out of my control,
I can’t breathe.
I feel like everything inside me is going to explode.
I feel crazy.
I need something to latch onto
to stop my head from spinning.
That thing is usually work.

Today,
I went to work.
And now I feel okay.

I guess that will continue
until  the next time this happens.

If I’m being honest,
all I’ve wanted from my social life
over the last several years
is to have a number one
who also sees me
as their number one.