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Sunday, January 24, 2010

once there was a girl who lived inside herself. by Kelly Havens

once there was a girl who lived inside herself.

when she was 5

she was on the swings.

she had just eaten bananas and peanut butter

and finger painted at the kitchen table

and she subconsciously decided

to build her own house

and on that day

she built the first floor

and the first floor was small and stored little

only a few secrets here and there

like how she tried a cigarette

one day after school

at her best friends house.

or how when she got in a fight with her parents

she cried and cried for hours in the attic

and promised to herself that

that moment, was the worst she would ever feel.

when she was 8

she built the second floor

this floor had shaggy carpeting

for her to hide her new

growing

complex mind in.

and concrete walls

that could hold the house together.

strong.

and stable.

like she needed.

when she was 9

she built the third floor.

the whole floor was a library

filled with blank books

slowly

she began to fill the books.

and she filled the books

faster than she filled the minds of others

she loved being in her library

the deep maroon walls

soothed her soul

and the gentle silence

gave her peace

she wrote for years

in this library

on the third floor

when she was 10

she build a fourth floor

an assist to the third.

this floor was all one room.

everything was black.

the floor. the ceiling. the walls.

in the middle

there were two chairs.

comfy, big, chairs.

and a dim light, hanging low,

just over them,

painting a soft circle of light

around the perimeter of the seats.

here,

was where the girl,

would let people in.

she chose only the special

only the different

only the few.

and those who she chose,

never understood,

the significance of their placement in her life.

as much as she tried to tell them

they didn’t know, that she had a whole library below them,

that she wanted to show.

they didn’t know,

that each night, in their absence,

she would tiptoe down the tiny wooden, spiral steps,

to retrieve the next book to share.

in hopes that the two chairs,

might blend into a couch.

and day after day,

she read to them.

but she never got to finish.

they never wanted it all.

they had other rooms to sit in.

they had other houses to be apart of.

they couldn’t give the girl what she needed.

they couldn’t stay,

on her black floor.

they couldn’t make her black floor white.

when she was 13

she built a fifth floor.

this floor was rainbow.

it was packed with the material world.

the door to the floors below were locked.

she had no way of entering the past,

and no desire.

she was free of herself.

her complex mind.

she was free to be a teenager.

she did not live on this floor.

she did not live in this house.

she left.

she left for the real world.

the world of parties and friends and the busy life.

but when she returned,

in the depth of the night,

she stayed in her rainbow room,

refusing to be who she was.

who she really really was.

when she was 14

it was summertime.

it was hot outside.

she was climbing a mountain.

and even though she was surrounded by other 14 yr olds

she was alone again

pacing on her rainbow floor

trying to figure out what to do

with her crooked, abondoned, house

in much need of repair

she met the other girl.

who she quickly pulled into her rainbow room.

but the rainbow room is no place for connection.

the rainbow room does not allow books.

so in an instant

she took the sharpest metal she had

and tore down the walls

colored plaster flew everywhere,

left her head in the form of rolling tears

and she took the other girl

to her black room.

the other girl sat in the chair.

next to the girl.

and listened to her read.

and told her things that she needed to hear.

her library had a few books left.

the stairs had almost crumbled

with the number of times she had climbed

up

and

down

to empty out the hidden space

in the depths of this house of hers.

but one day.

the other girl stood up.

and walked away.

when she was 15

she crawled along her fourth floor

alone

all day and all night

her eyes kept her in her life

but her mind kept her deep inside herself

nothing could remove her house from her

and she didn’t want to leave it

it was where she was safest

hiding in the

dark

quiet

4th floor.

and when she was 16

she stayed on the fourth floor.

of the royal crowne hotel.

in grand rapids michigan.

here,

on the fourth floor,

she subconsciously built a fifth floor.

in her secret mind.

this floor was different from any other floor she had ever thought of building.

this floor was unimaginable.

this floor was unexpected.

this floor was nothing but painful.

this floor was deep blue.

this floor had rising water.

endless waves.

warm, nauseating, salt water, waves.

and with each day her body spent

in the cold hotel room

that sat next to her cousin’s warm hotel room

she realized.

everything.

and as the power of the realization

grew stronger and stronger,

the water rose higher and higher.

until it was up to her nose

and she could barely breathe.

and she had.

she HAD.

to save herself.

and it was then, when she was 16, and 15 days old,

she built her final floor.

the fifth floor.

the floor of change.

the floor of fixing, healing, saving.

the floor of warmth, the floor of comfort.

but also the floor of depression.

the floor of a journey.

the floor of pain.

but at least,

it was the floor of help.

this floor was colorless.

this floor was barren.

this floor spoke to her.

told her what she must do.

told her that it was time.

to open up her library.

to someone.

the fifth floor,

spoke to the fourth floor,

of that royal crowne hotel.

and told her,

that it was time to let the third floor seep

gently,

smoothly,

into the fourth floor.

and there was only one way.

there was only one person.

and the girl thanked god for that person.

but that person.

had other floors,

had other houses that she lived in.

that person, was just like every other person.

that person, could not help her.

and so the girl,

more broken than ever,

sat on the fifth floor.

cross legged,

staring down at the dark fourth floor

that ate all darkness

but yearned for light

and the 3rd floor

that held all of herself.

waiting to be freed.

and the 2nd floor.

that had so carefully led to the building of the library

of this unique girl.

and the 1st floor,

where at age of 5,

she had began to build this house.

this house

where she lived

secretly.

inside herself.

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