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kaya 5d
i light the end to quiet mine;
i fade away, though close by.
the world dissolves behind my eyes,
as i forget how to cry.
kaya 5d
i learn to lean in,
play their game,
because it’s easier
than saying no
and watching it get ignored.

i touch like i mean it.
flirt like it’s instinct.
laugh when they call me trouble
because at least this way i’m choosing my path
instead of being forced down theirs.

i learned early;
if i take off my own clothes,
no one else can undress me.
if i say my own words first,
they can’t change what i say.

they call it confidence.
i call it staying safe.
a way to get by,
learning to hold myself up
after being broken down.

i slip beneath their gaze
in lipstick.
in lace.
playing the part they praise.
i seem so in control, don’t i?
like a girl who’s never been trapped.

but really,
i keep control
because it protects me
from being powerless once more.
kaya 5d
they say i should be flattered.
that it’s nice,
being told you’re everything.

but i’ve felt hands behind compliments.
heard the lock click
after "you’re special."

and felt my own words shrink
to fit the dress he zipped me into.
how quickly softness
can sharpen into a trap.
how a compliment
can lead you down a hallway
with no doors.

and still,
they say it with a smile.
as if it’s not happening
when it’s dressed in praise.
kaya 6d
they picked the brightest flower;
not the one
wilted,
bent at the stem,
dull from too little sun.
i never expected it to be me—
but god,
i wanted it to be.
kaya 6d
like glass glued back together,
i’m holding my pieces tight;
scared the cracks will open,
and spill out all the light.
kaya May 28
you’d cook with sleeves rolled up,
correct my chopping gently.
i’d burn the onions,
laugh it off,
watch you fix it quietly.

we’d walk in step;
you knowing the way,
me pretending i do too.
you’d point out birds,
teach me their names,
and i’d forget them
just to hear you say them again.

at night,
we’d watch old films.
i’d talk through the quiet,
you’d pause, patient,
like you always are.

sometimes i still miss
our quiet love,
even though
it lived only in my head.
kaya May 27
light dims,
slowly folding into shadow
as peace slips quietly away,
while i’m distracted
by the shadows
i shouldn’t follow.
kaya May 27
the streetlights guide me;
bright,
clear,
showing the way home.

but i only look up.
always,
for stars
that won’t
come down.
kaya May 25
i watch the faithful kneel,
  their eyes soft with trust,
  like they’ve found the answer
  to everything.
  i search for that peace.
a cross resting
  close to their chest,
  as if God lives right there,
  in the space beneath their ribs.

i wonder;
could i hold
a god in my heart
the way they do? —
strong, unshaken,
a savior,
to hold me,
when i forget how to stand.

i wonder if the light
they pray to
could ever find its way
    through the darkness
       of my sinful heart.
maybe one day.
kaya May 25
the storm came,
it always does.
but you—
you were the anchor.
    you kept me from sinking,
      from pulling into the depths
       of my own turmoil.

                       sometimes, i float
                 in the noise of everything,
             but i always come back to you.
         your stillness pulls me in,
      like the tide always pulls
         the shore.

i had never known
how integral silence could be
until you made it feel safe.
how steady peace could be,
how the weight of your presence,
tethers me to the surface,
  keeping me from
    floating away
      and losing myself
         in the storm
it’s not until you’ve chased every high that you realize peace holds you better. you were the calm i never knew i needed; while i was busy chasing what left me empty, it was your stillness that held me, your peace that made me whole.
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