Email Poem

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Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Hey.
I’m Kacie.
Five feet
eight inches
of insanity
trapped in a fifteen year old body
with too much ambition
crammed into the seams.

I’ve got hair darker than obsidian
and eyes deeper than black holes
so trust me when I tell you
not to look too closely.
You’ll drown.

I was born in a generation
that thinks it is cool
to say they want to die
which leaves those of us
who have given up
as background noise to a song
stuck on repeat
which is terrifying as it is.
But look…
here I am.
Still going.

I’m terrified of everything related to
love, hope, and trust,
but have no problem
letting you whisper
your darkest secrets into my ears.
Perhaps that is why
these shoulders I carry
are heavier than the sky.
And yet here I am,
still struggling
to hold them up.

I’m a sucker for blue eyes
and messy caramel hair,
long eyelashes
and goofy smiles.
I fall hard
and fast
for the people who tend to
love me the least,
but hey.
At least I learn my lesson.
Sort of.

My fingers are full
of the words I cannot say,
my feet
the songs I cannot sing,
and my head
the voices of thousands
trapped with nowhere to go.
Which means
I am a poet,
an author,
a dancer,
a daughter,
a friend,
an enemy,
and a hopeless romantic.

I like typewriters
and old country music
and paperback books.
So technically
I’m an old soul,
born in the wrong generation,
and have been left
utterly confused
since the very beginning.
Of course.

I am not the type of girl
people expect me to be.
Which is to say,
I’m not the girl
who slathers on a fake face
to hide insecurities
drilled into her head by society’s
rampant “reality check”.
But I am the one
who hides behind a smile
so people don’t see her bruises.

I’m afraid
that if I show you my scars,
you’ll hand me the razor
and tell me to keep going
while you laugh in the background
and get high
off the scent of my blood.

Hi.
My name’s Kacie.
I enjoy libraries,
dancing in the rain,
and stories without endings.

I have an impenetrable titanium
wall built around my heart
so no one else can shatter it,
but I don’t allow myself
to tear it down
as often as I should.

My hobbies include
listening to sad songs,
hoping for silence,
and trying to convince myself
that I am someone worth loving.

I don’t know much,
but I do know this:
I’m loud
in times when I should be quiet
and I’ve never stopped fighting
despite all the people
who told me to quit.

And I have taught myself
the meaning of love,
of belief,
and of hope,
without even trying.
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