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

05/02/2025

I woke up to five missed calls. None from you. I sat on a leather couch, humming the same song until the sky turned maroon. Between those moments, I lost hours, lost time, lost the ability to say this was ever okay.

This is what it feels like to have your space taken from you. To be stuck in a day that stretches too long, in a body that isn’t listened to, in a cycle you already knew the ending to.

If you’ve ever been here—if you’ve ever watched the sun sink while you were still waiting for someone to leave—let me know. Let’s talk about it.

01/02/2025

The snake has always been a complicated symbol. Wisdom and deception. Power and ruin. Rebirth and betrayal. It sheds its skin and pretends to be new, but underneath, it’s the same. The same hunger. The same fangs. The same instincts.

There have been many years of the snake throughout history—many moments when people were told to fear one another while the real danger slithered in plain sight. In 1940, my ancestors watched as their neighbors were convinced they were the enemy. Safety meant silence. Silence meant survival. In 1973, a government fell while its people were promised stability. In 2001, freedom was rewritten while fear kept people from reading the fine print.

And now, here we are again. Another cycle, another chapter in a story we should already know the ending to. 2025 is the Year of the Snake. Strange timing, isn’t it? Another year of transformation, deception, and power plays. Another moment where history will test whether we have learned—or whether we will fall for the same illusion once again.

The warnings are there, carved into history, spelled out in every civilization that has ever fallen under the weight of its own illusions. But it’s easier to believe the lie, to ignore the fangs, to tell yourself that this time will be different.

The problem is, the snake doesn’t care what you believe. It only cares that you don’t see it coming. And if history has taught me anything, it’s that by the time the world finally opens its eyes, it’s already too late.

31/01/2025

For a long time, I thought I was overreacting. I told myself, It wasn’t that bad. Maybe I was just too sensitive. Maybe I made things harder than they needed to be. Because that’s what happens when someone convinces you that you are the problem. You start rewriting reality in their favor.

So, let’s review.

Things I thought were normal:

• Walking into someone’s house for the first time and immediately hearing “final boss” in my head like I was entering the last level of a horror game.
• Crying in front of the person I loved and realizing they were more annoyed than concerned.
• Watching every argument turn into a full-blown war, where the goal wasn’t resolution—it was domination.
• Measuring the success of a day based on whether or not I had accidentally caused a fight.
• Shrinking myself down, making myself softer, quieter, easier to swallow—because I thought that was the key to keeping the peace.

Things that are actually normal:

• Feeling safe with the person you love.
• Having emotions and not being made to feel guilty for them.
• Disagreements that end in understanding, not punishment.
• Not having to strategize every word to avoid an explosion.
• Loving someone without feeling like you have to prove your worth every single day.

An hour’s drive wasn’t far enough. Because it was never just about getting away from him—it was about unlearning the way I let myself be treated. It was about realizing that love should not be a battlefield, a strategy game, or a silent contest of who can endure the most.

I know that now. And I will never let silence be my safety net again.

28/01/2025

A single snowflake can feel like nothing. One falls, then years go by before the next. But when you step back, you realize they weren’t random—they were part of a cycle, a quiet storm that built itself over time. That’s how life feels to me most days, like I’m tracing patterns I didn’t notice until it was too late.

The memories come in waves now, playing out behind my eyelids like a personal show. I keep asking myself: do you keep trying, even when the words stop flowing? Or do you let go, accept the storm for what it is, and let it pass?

If you’ve ever looked back and seen the snowflakes of your life scattered across the years, tell me—how did you make peace with them? Did you try to connect them, or let them melt into the past?

27/01/2025

Ten years of coming back. Ten years of leaving and returning, trying to fit love into a mold it was never meant to fill. This poem is about the cycles we find ourselves trapped in—the ones we think we’ll never escape.

It’s hard to admit when a story doesn’t have a happy ending. It’s hard to let go of someone who feels like home, even when that home is built on broken promises. But the hardest part? Realizing that you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

If you’ve been through something like this, you’re not alone. How do you break free from a cycle that’s been a part of your life for so long? I want to hear your stories. Let’s have this conversation together.

14/01/2025

If I had a dollar for every time I ignored a red flag, I’d be able to buy my own damn island by now. This poem is about one of those times. A cycle I thought was love, but really? It was just a bad rerun with worse actors.

I stood at the edge once, counting trees like it would help. I didn’t jump. Not that day, anyway. But staying? That was just as destructive. Love isn’t supposed to feel like bleeding for someone who doesn’t notice. It’s not supposed to be sweet one second and cutting the next. And yet, there I was, playing the fool.

This poem is my way of sending all that out to sea—letters in bottles, full of questions that don’t need answers. Closure is overrated. Growth is better. And if you find one of those bottles, keep it. I don’t need it anymore.

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.

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?

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.

.

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.

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?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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

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!

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I'm still buzzing from my conversation with @worldpoetrycollective's founder and @jmarlowewrites, author of Perfect Strangers! Check out their first podcast episode and listen to a snippet of our chat. Excited for what's to come in future episodes! . . . . . . . . . . #kimmyfaewords kimmyfae #kimmyfaewords #podcastfeature #creativeminds #poetsofinstagram #writersofinsta #storyteller #artisticexpression #healingthroughwords #poetrylovers #writingcommunity #inspirationthroughart #selfexpression #speakingmystory #personaljourney #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig

What an incredible experience! I had the absolute best time discussing why I write and exploring different lessons I’ve learned from people in my life. Tag a friend who you think would enjoy this interview! I look forward to sharing interview six with you all! 😉😘

Halfway through April already! Tag a friend who you think could relate to one of these poems! #poemlovers #kimmyfaewords #kimmyfae

Sylvia path was one of the first 4 writers to ignite a fire in me from a young age. Who touched you and ignited your need for reading and/or writing? If you click on the video there's a place to respond. I sincerely look forward to getting to know you all and I’m hoping you'll introduce me to someone I’ve yet to uncover! I appreciate you taking a look at my own writing and hope at least one of my poems resonates and helps in some way. -Kimmy Fae

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