• kay-anne

Your white noise

There is nothing left to say but to

name the slim shavings of my

anxiety, cut from a slab that used to sit on my chest.


in my tidy room, I discover

self, accumulated. a foundation that

does not disappear —

hundreds of choices, thousands,

millions. I have already made them. I

am here, I was here, I am here.


You cannot dispute me.


I, was, here.


You are for show.


This is how I know to love: picking

up stories like clovers,

pressing them between your pages. Crushing

the layers of your emotion into my tea, stirring

them inside the stillest part of me.


I will forget you inch by inch and all

at once, I will force you from my stomach

up my throat and out of my body. quietly.


I hope you find your own explosions. I have found mine.


Your tears meet me at my open door

and I leave my body for a minute,

searching for the borders of my

softest &

slowest

rage.


All of it cut like a movie scene I

should’ve seen coming.


I made sure the water would run in silence,

made sure I could hear myself think

while the traces of vinegar made their

way into the cracks in the soles of my

feet. Made sure you were ashore

before I pushed off, made sure you couldn’t

love me before I broke down.


The day passes and it is well lived. I

lose myself in the mundane, rock on the balls of my feet and yell, yell — I am alive.

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