Kimmy Fae Words

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Kimmy Fae Words Words hold weight and value. This is my life journey with words.

This piece is about layers—of snow, of time, of memory. Sometimes, it feels like we carry entire stories within us, buil...
10/01/2025

This piece is about layers—of snow, of time, of memory. Sometimes, it feels like we carry entire stories within us, built on fleeting moments and powerful connections. The laughter echoing off the walls, the crinkle by someone’s eyes, the ghost of a touch—these are the things that linger long after the chapters have closed.

But what happens when those stories are both beautiful and painful? How do we carry the weight of something that felt so big but now feels so small? This poem is about revisiting those moments, holding them up to the light, and accepting that they’ve shaped us. Sometimes we celebrate their departure with a glass of champagne. Other times, we carry them quietly, like scars beneath the surface.

What stories are you carrying today? Which memories refuse to fade, and what reminds you of them? Let’s talk about the layers of our experiences—what we lock away and what we let surface. Drop your thoughts below or tag a friend who might find a piece of themselves in these words. Let’s keep the conversation going.

It’s easy to assume the big decisions are made far above us, that the weight of history falls into the hands of someone ...
08/01/2025

It’s easy to assume the big decisions are made far above us, that the weight of history falls into the hands of someone else. But the truth is quieter. It lives in the small choices—when we look away, when we stay quiet, when we convince ourselves that someone else will stand first.

Change doesn’t ask for permission. It waits for someone to notice, to speak, to move. The mirror might show things we’d rather not see, but ignoring it doesn’t stop the reflection.

Maybe it’s time to ask ourselves—if not now, then when? If not us, then who?

👉 What’s one thing you can do today to stand for the future you believe in?

Got it! Here’s the condensed version while keeping the dramatic paragraph you loved fully intact:Chess, but Make It Emot...
04/01/2025

Got it! Here’s the condensed version while keeping the dramatic paragraph you loved fully intact:

Chess, but Make It Emotional

You ever feel like life hands you a chessboard but forgets to mention you’re playing against someone who’s been cheating the whole time? Cool—there goes my knight. Guess I’ll sit here with my pawns and bad decisions.

Some people play fast and loose, flipping strategies that would confuse even Kasparov. You’re three moves ahead, setting up defenses, and suddenly—rook out of nowhere. They swear it was part of the plan. No, I saw that coming—I just didn’t think you’d do it. The audacity.

But the real kicker? Knowing the game is a mess and still playing like the grandmaster you are. Maybe you knew you’d lose the knight, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a backup strategy brewing. Let them think they’ve won—meanwhile, you’re lining up the endgame they never saw coming. Not all victories look like checkmate. Sometimes, just staying on the board is enough.

And if the game turns into chaos? Let it. Flip the board so hard the pieces scatter into someone else’s lap. Walk out like the villain in a movie you weren’t even supposed to star in. Hell, take the king with you. Dramatic exits don’t just end the game—they rewrite the entire storyline. You weren’t just playing to win. You were playing to leave a mark. And trust me—they’ll remember your name.

Drop a “♟️” if you’ve sacrificed more than you meant to—or tell me what game you’re ready to walk away from.

.

There’s strength in just showing up. I think we forget that sometimes. The world moves fast, and we feel like we’re supp...
03/01/2025

There’s strength in just showing up. I think we forget that sometimes. The world moves fast, and we feel like we’re supposed to keep up or fall behind. But I’ve been learning that every small step, every quiet effort, adds up. The pieces we gather along the way eventually form something whole.

I write because it’s where I find that wholeness, even if it’s fleeting. Each page feels like a conversation with the parts of me I thought I left behind. It’s a way to say, I’m still here, even when the words don’t come easily.

Maybe this is your reminder that whatever you’re working on—whatever feels incomplete or unfinished—has value. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Just keep going.

What’s something you’ve created recently that felt like a step forward, even if it wasn’t perfect? I’d love to hear about it. Let’s build each other up.

I had one of those dreams. Not the chaotic, end-up-back-in-high-school kind, but the kind that sticks to your ribs like ...
03/01/2025

I had one of those dreams. Not the chaotic, end-up-back-in-high-school kind, but the kind that sticks to your ribs like a meal you didn’t know you needed. I was in the kitchen with a man I’ve never met before. I remember his face—like, really remember it—but if you asked me who he was, I’d come up empty. We were laughing, cooking, existing like two people who’d somehow merged lives. And the strangest part? It felt more like a memory than a dream.

You know that feeling? Like you’re standing on the edge of something familiar, but you can’t quite place where you’ve felt it before. I woke up with that soft hum in my chest, the kind that lingers just long enough to make you wonder if it meant something. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just a fleeting scene, the brain’s version of improv. But part of me can’t help but feel like I was supposed to remember it. Like the universe slipped me a quiet little postcard from somewhere I haven’ty been yet.

🌙 Have you ever dreamt of someone you don’t know but felt like you did? I’m curious—do you believe dreams are just dreams, or do you think sometimes they’re something… more?

Some memories don’t leave, no matter how far you drive. You don’t get to pick the moments that stick—the echoes of laugh...
02/01/2025

Some memories don’t leave, no matter how far you drive. You don’t get to pick the moments that stick—the echoes of laughter, the silent pacts, the unspoken words buried under layers of melody. Maybe we were too abstract from the start, subtracting instead of adding, painting plaques on blank walls that no one ever really reads.

I think about how we all try to arrange the truth neatly, bagging it up as if it’ll stay hidden. But it doesn’t. One day, it spills out—sometimes soft as a feather duster, other times crashing down in red flags that aren’t really flags at all. Some codes weren’t meant to be cracked. Some stories never stay on track.

But in every car, with every playlist, I still hear you laugh.

✨ If this hits you somewhere you can’t quite explain, drop a 🖤 in the comments. Let me know the song that carries you back. I’ll meet you there.

Episode 2 is out! It was amazing chatting with Clay from , , , and for this episode. We dove into some of personal stru...
01/01/2025

Episode 2 is out!

It was amazing chatting with Clay from , , , and for this episode. We dove into some of personal struggles, shared some poetry, and just genuinely had a good time.

I look forward to more discussions!

I don’t think I want a clean slate. I used to crave one, thinking if I could start over without the scars, I’d be better...
31/12/2024

I don’t think I want a clean slate. I used to crave one, thinking if I could start over without the scars, I’d be better—lighter, maybe. But the scars feel like home now. Proof I was here. Proof I made it, even if I tripped the whole way through.

I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to wipe the slate clean of the people who shaped me, even if their fingerprints smudge the glass. They were part of the story, and I’m tired of trying to erase chapters that taught me how to write the rest.

If you’ve been scrubbing at the past like it’s something dirty, stop. Let the ink stay. Let the memories breathe. They’re part of why you’re still standing here, even if some of them left bruises behind.

🌙 What’s one part of your story you’re learning to live with instead of erasing? Let me see the parts you’re not hiding anymore.

Tonight I did a reading on the podcast. Due to this, I’m resharing my “Kids Without a Home” Series.This poem with all i...
31/12/2024

Tonight I did a reading on the podcast. Due to this, I’m resharing my “Kids Without a Home” Series.

This poem with all its typos, grammatical errors, and unpolished look is and always will be a favorite.

I wrote this in about 10 minutes sitting inside of my car on a lunch break. It was inspired by my first chance to meet two souls that went through similar experiences. The man whose edges were sharper than a razors edge grew up in foster care and never got “picked”. The other man was adopted at birth and keeps everyone at arms lengths to keep him safe from wounds he swear doesn’t exist.

This is my story. This is their story. This is hundreds of thousands of other people’s story’s.

If this resonates with you or someone you know, drop your story in the comments. Let’s discuss what society doesn’t realize needs a discussion.



























There’s something about the way feedback sneaks into a track — subtle at first, hiding just beneath the melody. You can ...
29/12/2024

There’s something about the way feedback sneaks into a track — subtle at first, hiding just beneath the melody. You can compress it, throw on EQ, even isolate the frequencies… but sometimes, no matter how much you tweak the mix, that hum lingers. It bleeds over the layers, an unwelcome guest in the final cut.

That’s where this poem lives — in the static between what should work and what actually resonates. It’s about trying to remix parts of your life, piece together memories, and smooth over rough edges with a little reverb, only to realize the timing is still off. The harmony still fractures. Some things can’t be mastered into perfection.

I think about how often we try to “fix” things — turning up the volume on the good, panning out the bad, stretching and clipping parts of ourselves to fit a sound that was never meant to be whole. But maybe some songs are supposed to hum quietly, imperfect and raw, reminding us that not every track needs to hit the charts. Some just need to exist.

If you’ve ever scrapped a project mid-mix or walked away from something you couldn’t quite fix, I’d love to hear your thoughts. What’s the project — or memory — you keep coming back to, convinced you can still get it right?

There’s a reason they say let sleeping dogs lie. It applies to ghosts, too—especially the kind that pop up in your head ...
28/12/2024

There’s a reason they say let sleeping dogs lie. It applies to ghosts, too—especially the kind that pop up in your head just as you’re about to fall asleep, reminding you of that one text you sent three years ago that still makes you cringe. Closed Doors is basically me politely asking all the ghosts of my past to stay put and stop rattling the doorknob like they’re headlining their comeback tour.

I mean, let’s be honest. Some ghosts? They’re like those random apps you forgot to delete—taking up space, draining your battery, and sending unnecessary notifications at the worst times. This poem is for the exes who text “Hey, stranger” at 2 AM, acting like they didn’t emotionally ghost you first. It’s for the friendships that should’ve expired three seasons ago but keep coming back like a cancelled TV show nobody asked to reboot. And, of course, it’s for those decisions that refuse to fade quietly into the night—because why wouldn’t my brain replay every mistake right before I’m about to feel good about myself?

Writing this felt like finally cleaning out the attic of my mind, and let me tell you, some of the stuff I found up there? Questionable. Nostalgia had me holding on to memories that should’ve been donated to the emotional thrift store ages ago.

Sometimes, the best way to “find closure” isn’t some profound, tearful moment of enlightenment. It’s double-locking the metaphorical door, throwing the key in a lake, and taping a handwritten sign that says “Do Not Resurrect. Ever.” Will it keep them out permanently? Maybe not. But at least I’ll have tried.

What ghost are you still trying to evict from your head? Don’t be shy—drop it below. No judgment here. We’ve all got a few unwanted tenants refusing to break their lease.
’tPayRent ’tAnswer

On Christmas Eve, I had the amazing opportunity to sit down and speak with Clay from World Poetry Collective and Justin ...
26/12/2024

On Christmas Eve, I had the amazing opportunity to sit down and speak with Clay from World Poetry Collective and Justin Marlowe. We got to learn more about Justin and his new book, and I had the opportunity to read a poem for you. It was a great night and we all had blast learning about each other. Link can be found in my profile!

Some doors are meant to stay closed. Not because of anger or resentment, but because reopening them means losing pieces ...
26/12/2024

Some doors are meant to stay closed. Not because of anger or resentment, but because reopening them means losing pieces of yourself you fought to reclaim. Closing the Door is a reflection on those endings we often resist—the ones that ultimately lead to our growth.

This poem came from a place of healing. I hope it reaches those who are standing at the threshold, unsure whether to stay or leave. Trust that walking away doesn’t erase the past; it honors the future you’re stepping into.

If you’ve ever struggled to walk away from someone or something that no longer serves you, you’re not alone. What doors are you choosing to close as this year ends? Share in the comments or save this for the days you need a reminder to keep moving forward.

“I focused on my goals, repairing each broken routine, and pieced my life together like a seamstress sewing seams.”This ...
24/12/2024

“I focused on my goals, repairing each broken routine, and pieced my life together like a seamstress sewing seams.”

This line speaks to the quiet work of healing—the part no one sees. When the dust settles, and the outside world thinks you’ve moved on, there’s still so much left to tend to beneath the surface.

I wrote this poem in reflection of that process—the seasons where I rebuilt not because I wanted to, but because I had to. There’s something both exhausting and beautiful about starting over. Each stitch feels small and insignificant at first, but eventually, you step back and realize you’ve crafted something whole from the broken pieces.

I think we often underestimate the weight of silence. The absence of closure, the lingering what-ifs—they don’t just disappear. But over time, they become part of the fabric of our story. Not as wounds, but as reminders of the strength it took to keep going.

I used to believe healing meant erasing the past, but I’ve learned that’s not the goal. The goal is integration—making peace with what happened and allowing it to shape you, not define you.

If this resonates, I’d love to hear your thoughts. How have you navigated the process of rebuilding? What’s one thing that kept you grounded through it? Let me know in the comments, or share this with someone who’s in the middle of their own quiet rebuilding.

Your story, no matter how unfinished, is worth sharing.
kimmyfaewords

You ever wait so long for someone to show up that you forget why you left the light on in the first place? Yeah. Same.Pa...
23/12/2024

You ever wait so long for someone to show up that you forget why you left the light on in the first place? Yeah. Same.

Part one was soft. It left room for questions, for maybe’s, for “what if they’re just running late?” Part two? Part two doesn’t entertain that nonsense. It’s the part where you turn off the light, lock the door, and politely remind yourself that you don’t need anyone sneaking through the window at midnight.

This isn’t about bitterness — it’s about boundaries. And if you’ve ever spent too long hoping for someone to show up, part two is for you.

✨ The second half is here. ✨
Tag someone who needs to hear that the window isn’t the only way in.
kimmyfae

He flew. He always did. And I stayed, cigarette burning down between my fingers like I thought smoke could fill the spac...
23/12/2024

He flew. He always did. And I stayed, cigarette burning down between my fingers like I thought smoke could fill the spaces he left behind. Spoiler alert—it didn’t.

The other one sat at the edge of the bed. Never too close. Just enough to let me know he was there. That’s the thing about some shadows. They don’t need to scream. They let the silence do all the heavy lifting.

I wasn’t sure who I was waiting for longer—the boy who kissed me between flights or the one who kept my head underwater just long enough to make sure I didn’t try to follow.

Ever wait for someone just to realize you weren’t actually waiting at all? Same.

Tell me—was it the one who left or the one who stayed that left the biggest mark? Drop a ✨ if you’ve been there, or tell me which shadow you’re still trying to shake.

A well-loved story doesn’t always stay part of your present, but it’ll always belong to your past.💭 What’s one memory yo...
21/12/2024

A well-loved story doesn’t always stay part of your present, but it’ll always belong to your past.

💭 What’s one memory you cherish but wouldn’t revisit? Let’s talk nostalgia in the comments.

Medusa was never the villain of her own story, but history made her one.The snakes weren’t the curse—they were the proof...
14/12/2024

Medusa was never the villain of her own story, but history made her one.
The snakes weren’t the curse—they were the proof she survived, evolved, and embraced her truth. She didn’t ask for the world’s fear, but she didn’t need its permission either.

Who decides who you get to be? You do.
Let this image remind you: even when the world turns its back on you, there’s power in standing alone, crowned with the strength of your survival.

What’s something about yourself you’ve had to fight to embrace? Let me know below—I’d love to celebrate it with you.

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