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Kay Reed Mar 2019
do you ever think about our old house?
the yellow one
with the red door
and uneven steps

i do

i think about whoever might live there now

i wonder if they can feel our presence
lingering in the walls of what used to be
our bedroom

i wonder if the footsteps of the ghost of our love
keeps them up at night

i wonder if they can hear the echo of the front door slamming
the walls shaking
the shatter of the picture frame that fell
the sound of your car door closing

i wonder if they found the sock that fell behind the dryer

i wonder if the door frame that we broke ever got fixed

i wonder if they wonder about us

sometimes i try and pin point the exact moment we lost ourselves
but there isn't a single moment

the ache of it still keeps me up at night
Kay Reed Mar 2019
i've spent weeks
curling up
pulling my legs in,
knees to chest
occupying as little space as possible

small enough to fit in any
empty area in your life
small enough to take up
any vacant corner
that you'd let me exist in

but i will not make myself small
i will not make myself small

i will
not
make
my
self
small

i will not make myself small
enough to be an after thought
when i deserve center stage of your psyche

i will not make myself small
just so that i can be in the same room as you

but i will not make myself small
i will not make myself small

i will
not
make
my
self
small
Kay Reed Dec 2015
I want to bleed into the creases of the comfortable life you've built, the same way your favorite pen bleeds through the page of one of the notebooks you've collected over the years,

because the thing about bleeding ink is it makes its mark on the next few pages, even when you're done and finished with the original page you wrote on.

I want to be stationary and not the kind of stationary that is the home of your to do list or the things you need from the store that always ends up tossed into a pile on your kitchen counter and forgotten about.

I want to be the kind of stationary that a tree is: rooted and solid, but still moves and flows in the breeze

I want to be a defining point you come back to time and time again,

like a bookmark in a book you can't finish, not because of lack of interest but purely because other things held your attention more than I ever could.
Kay Reed Nov 2015
He asked if I believed in God and I said I didn't know
Because its hard to believe in God when you can feel
Your heart breaking into a million sharp edges and
Tearing holes in your lungs
(or is that the consequence of smoking an entire pack of cigarettes in one sitting?)

He asked if I believed in God and I said I didn't know
Because even though I was raised in a church,
You can't recite Bible verses to cast away the pain people have caused you
And singing hymns to the cold that has settled into you nerve endings
Only makes them colder.

He asked if I believed in God and I said,
"I don't know, does God believe in me?"
Kay Reed Apr 2014
I'm sorry I don't always remember
our anniversaries or
that I often forget to tell you
to pick up the dry cleaning
but it's your fault
the milk expired two days ago
and it's still sitting the refrigerator
with the leftovers of that Chinese food
you always get that I refuse to eat and
you forgot to water the house plant
my mother bought for us
and I'm sick to my stomach
because you always steal the
sheets at night and I've become
so very cold inside.
k.l.r.
Kay Reed Mar 2014
V
I suppose you could find us caught
somewhere in the space between
"what was said"
and
"what was actually meant,"
internally debating the level of
commitment that came from
buying the other a cup of coffee
at the cafe down the street.

VI
I dated a boy once
who asked me if I thought he
did too many drugs as he exhaled
smoke on a lazy Saturday afternoon.
I had laughed and said no,
all the while thinking
quite the opposite.
I still have yet to kiss him
when he was sober.

VII
I once got lost in the idea that there
is no differentiation between lust,
infatuation, obsession and love,
that all were simply mirrors of
each other, or parts of an
ambiguous "bigger picture."
I took a left down the path the led
to Confusion and have yet
to find my way back to Clarity.

VIII
I have a bad habit of reading into the
actions of others, exhausting
the dictionary with a continuous
stream of questions regarding the
meaning behind the way he knew
I took two spoonfuls of sugar in my tea
or the amount of times he would blink
as I told him were the scar
on my left knee came from.
Kay Reed Feb 2014
you have not flirted with death until you have made love to a boy whose skin smells like cigarette smoke and whose lips taste like *****
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