It’s so human

I like it when people laugh
At a question I’ve asked
As if the consideration is ridiculous
And the question was rhetorical
It makes me smile
Because it shows so clearly
What they value
Above all other things
If they laugh
They think the answer concrete

I asked an engineer in her late twenties
If marriage and kids
and the whole family thing
Was important to her
She was getting married soon
She laughed
For a whole 2 minutes
Her friends realized I was serious
And she stopped
When she noticed
She was the only one laughing

She thought the question obvious
I loved that
It meant she thought it important
It meant she thought everyone did
Or at least should

A laugh always shows an innocent naivety
A beautiful rift
Between one person’s reality
And someone else’s

Most times beautiful
Other times frightening
Sometimes a large rift
Is a harmful delusion

I love the idea that multiple realities
Can coexist
To create a collective
And yet
People tend to not notice

It shows that collectively
People value peace of mind
And avoid confrontation
So much that they can only see
One possibility
Their own self created

I love that
Because it’s so flawed
And yet not necessarily harmful

It’s just so…


The Mighty Power of a Sermon

The Mighty Power of a Sermon

Give and it’ll come back to you
Pressed down
Shaken together
and running over

That tall man
With the great booming voice
And the well pressed suit
And the breath always in need of a tic tac
And who was cheating on his wife with…
I think?
Or Cheryll?
Whichever was first…
Said “it’ll come back to ya”

And I think I heard
It did come back
And that divorce settlement
Pressed down on him real hard
And those wives took
The church back
in some kinda coup
And no one really came to his sermons
No more
Cuz how can you hear of the holiness
of the body of Christ
From a man who’s defiling his own?

So we left that church
For none at all
My father always reckoned
He was a better preacher anyhow
He never quite said it
Boasting was below him
But we knew when he took out his
Makeshift podium
And set the dinner chairs in a row
He was gonna teach us a thing or two
About proper sermons

I think my daddy was a holy man
Cuz every holy man I’ve ever known
Turned out to be at least a little bit of an asshole
Something about a chaplain’s collar
And someone telling you
You’ve got God on your side
Makes you think
You can do anything

And my daddy
With the bigger voice
Long winded and verbose
Gave in to his feelings
Too much
But made them the only things
He didn’t talk about
With a boomier voice than the man
Sitting next to him
He gave in so much that they pressed
Him down as hard
As alimony did the preacher

They said that when he came back from the war
That he’d have to talk
To shake himself together
Or they’d keep shaking him down
Till his time ran out
And who wants to lead a life like that?

Then my mama
Who seemed to be fed up
With knowing all these holy men
Who couldn’t live straight
Or control their tempers
Said that all those men had been
Pressing on her and shaken her down
For too long
And cuz they had given so much
To the devil anyhow
That it seemed perfectly right
For her just to run them all over

She didn’t do it
Cuz she herself
Had given too much to the lord

But that just goes to show you
The mighty power of a sermon

No Conclusion to This One

I don’t properly understand the subject of death…

It confuses me.

I feel so little about it…

What’s there to be confused about? The concept is simple. You’re here, breathing, one moment and the next moment you’re gone and you can’t come back. People fear it because it’s so permanent. They hate it because it’s irreversible. And me? I feel nothing because I’m confused about the feeling.

You won’t be forever, is what everyone says. One day you’ll feel it, Faithe, and then you’ll understand and then you’ll hate it like everyone else. But will I? I feel as if I’d just rationalize it like I do with everything else. I’d rationalize the feeling, lessen it in my mind, and then again be confused by my physical discomfort.

Because in reality what am I mourning? A change in my life? Isn’t that what it is? When someone leaves me and doesn’t come back… am I not just mourning the change? The difference between seeing someone, being able to see them whenever I like, and not? Or am I mourning the fact that’s it is difficult for me? Am I mourning because it hurts and it shouldn’t? Because compared to the significance of billions of people together a single person within this group is menial, insignificant, and silly, and yet somehow such an insignificant person was important to me. Am I weeping because some part of me realizes this? Am I sad because in comparison the feeling is really quite small? Or am I miserable because I forgot to say something? Did I have something to say that I now can’t? That will forever be in the back of my mind? Do I feel guilty because of it? Overcome with guilt and stuck in anguish because of it? Or am I merely afraid of it? Does it scare me, passing on? Am I afraid that my beliefs might fail me? That it’s only possibly true?

But the way I see it, you always have to be somewhere. If I’m not here and I’m not there, then I must be somewhere else. It’s a general rule of life. But is it the same as death? Is death really just life elsewhere?

I feel like that is the only question to really worry about when considering death. Whether all of your beliefs were lies to begin with, but seeing as the conclusion will find us inevitably, it all seems rather silly to me.

Because if I’m afraid of change in my life than how is it that I’ve been living? Everything around me has changed constantly since birth, so another change seems an odd thing to mourn. I can see that it’s a significant change though, but that’s really the only difference that I can fathom and doesn’t seem enough for me to cry about.

And if I’m sad because I feel as if no one else understands the significance of this person, well… that’s a bit ridiculous too. There are many things that I value much higher than other things, but when someone says that they value them less than I do it doesn’t cause me anywhere near this sort of discomfort. Why is this so different? Who cares if the deceased mattered to anyone else? They mattered to me so that’s that. But that doesn’t seem to be so. People need people to share in their sorrow… but why? Doesn’t that seem a bit selfish, but then I suppose you’d say people are allowed to be selfish occasionally. Well, I feel a bit too selfish to begin with so…

Then if it’s just because I had to say something and didn’t, I think that goes back to whether you truly believe what you believe. Personally, I imagine that once you die you go on to wherever you go and you become all knowledgeable simply because knowledge no longer matters. The world becomes a type of long television show told in 3rd person omniscient. Now you know everything about the characters and they have no idea that you’re screaming at their situation and telling them what to do. And because of this belief, this reasoning is odd to me as well. I don’t need to tell anyone anything really because once they die, they’ll already know.

“Faithe, you need to work on that,” my friend told me once. But is it really an issue? That I don’t understand the issue?

It’s true that a lack of understanding can cause distance because of a lack of empathy, but it also keeps out pain and I see nothing wrong with that. I don’t pretend that I don’t feel anything, that it wouldn’t hurt me just like anyone else, I’m merely saying that I don’t condone those feelings. I don’t allow them to matter because I can’t logically see why they should. I suppose this makes me an empty person, but it’s not that I don’t feel! I just can’t find the significance in emotion and when someone references toward an event that stirred such an abundance of it I can’t understand why it does.

The only instance that I find particularly devastating is when a child dies in an accident or because of a disease of some type. THAT I understand because they hardly had time to live… and your child is a part of you… There’s as deep connection in that, I think. THAT I can understand.

Or maybe if one of my really good friends died… or my little brothers or older sister…

That’s still kinda messed up though isn’t it? That I only care for the deaths of children and immediate family members? The only reason being that they’re young and haven’t lived fully? That seems wrong… But I can’t see the significance in mourning anything else… People are supposed to die, right? It’s inevitable? And old people die every day…

I almost feel like sadness is a type of peer pressure thing. They say to be sad so you’re sad so you can be accepted and then eventually you really become sad. Fake it until you make it I guess. I think I missed that induction…

Ugh… What a frustrating subject.


Sorry, guys.

There’s no conclusion to this one. :-/

Leave out the adjectives, please…

I was just talking to my friend about boys; typical topic. She said that she used to be into a guy from her hometown, but now that she had returned and had seen him she wasn’t quite sure how she felt.

“It’s alright,” I said. “You can always find a dude around here.” I finished smugly.

“Eh…” she answered with a roll of her eyes, a hint of disgust present on her lips.

“Hey! What’s wrong with local boys? Humph… I’m slightly offended…”

“They’re just… Wait… I could say the same to you! You like a boy who lives in Denmark. So what do you find wrong with local boys. My hometown is IN the states. Although it might as well be Denmark…” She paused for a response, waiting with her head slightly tilted and curiosity hiding in the arch of her eyebrows. I looked. I thought. I hesitated. Eventually I spoke.

“But that… that’s different…” I wasn’t sure I wanted to explain.

“How is that?”

“It just is…” I stared at my feet. She isn’t the pushy type so she let it be.

But I knew exactly why it was different. Why couldn’t I bring myself to explain my preference for foreign boys? Why was it that I couldn’t simply say that it was what it was? A racial issue.

It seems that I have never known an American boy to think of me as anything different than “the black girl”. To everyone I’ve ever known it’s always been “Oh, it’s my only black friend” or “the black girl who lives across the hall”. With men it’s always worse. How often have I heard, “You know, Faithe, you’re really pretty for a black girl” or the infamous “Faithe, you know that if I were ever into black girls you’d be the one I’d want? Right? Seriously though…” Oh yes, I knew you were serious. That’s what makes it worse. Why is it that I can never be just a girl? Why can’t they ever leave out the adjectives? Why is it that my race matters at all? Besides that, I’m mixed… Why is it that people think it’s as simple as boxing me up into one category anyway?

Because of my standing in the world, however, I’ve gained enough experience to be able to categorize boys in my own way. In the dating world, boys seem to come to me in three categories; black, non-black, and foreign.

“Black boys” are most often the ones that approach me. They’re drawn to me by social standard; “black boys” date “black girls”. To them, I’m just their type. I’m a decent looking “black girl” and they’re black as well so, somehow, it must mean that we share some type of unspoken bond that gives them the upper hand on all other races. Ugh… No. That’s ridiculous. I’ve never appreciated that mindset. It just never feels genuine. There’s a very big difference between being seen as a “beautiful black girl” and being seen as a “beautiful girl” and, to me, it seems that with black boys I can never be seen as just a girl because of this weird bond thing they think I share, and that’s not a relationship I prefer. They never understand this. “You don’t like to date black boys? Well, that’s just weird. I don’t understand… aren’t you black?” Sigh… You’re right about one thing: You can’t possibly understand.

“Non-black boys” hardly approach me. I find that there are three types of these as well. There is the type of non-black who wishes to make a statement about him not being racist, the type that just aren’t into “black girls”,  and the type that just don’t want to defy social standards. I’ve met them all. They all equally annoy me. But the last two types are the hardest to tell a part. In a lot of situations you can be as charming as you want and still lose the boy to a white girl of lesser standard. Sometimes there’s a vibe you get when you know a boy just doesn’t find you attractive and that’s alright, but the problem is when you know they do. Then you know that either they “just aren’t into black girls” and only think you’re good-looking for you’re race or they simply refuse to admit that they like you. How ridiculously heartbreaking is that? Knowing that you’re losing a boy merely to the race you’re associated with? Talk about a self-esteem crusher…

“Foreign boys” will always be my favorite type of boy. These boys are from either out of the country or simply don’t follow regular American boy standard. They look at you as just “beautiful”, no other descriptive words are needed. It’s the exact categorization of that Denmark boy.

Usually you can see it in their eyes, you know? You can see what they think of you. Whether they think they deserve you or whether they hold reservations about you can be seen in their eyes. It’s something about the way they speak as well. It’s always very apparent. When Denmark boy first talked to me I knew he was simply charmed by me. Just me. Me and my humor. Me and my charm. He didn’t want me to make a statement, nor did he think that I was his birth right. He just wanted me because I was a “beautiful girl”. No other adjectives. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. That’s why it’s different.

I just wish I could have explained it to my friend earlier…

Who does it really help?


We were all born with brains.

I think that’s the real anomaly of a spiritually based life. As a Christian I believe in God and that He created us and all of the world and yet I cannot deny the fact that I have brain. That I can think for myself, react for myself, and question God, His glory, intentions, and existence as much as I so please. It’s odd to think that something He provided us all with and encourages us to strengthen could be the ultimate source of our race’s distrust and lack of faith in Him. That it is the intelligence that He blessed us with that promotes all these conflicting spiritual values.

But it is.

And the more I realize this the more confused I become. If I were an all powerful omniscient being who wanted to be loved and respected by my people, I would give them no other choice. It would never cross their minds to question my love for them and never in a trillion years would they doubt my existence. But then I suppose there is a type of shallowness associated with a forced love. A sort of emptiness that’s always with you, constantly whispering in your ear, don’t be fooled… it’s not real… I would imagine there’s a guilt that haunts you too. The kind that haunted Merope Gaunt while pregnant with Tom Riddle’s loveless child. And where’s the satisfaction in that?

I suppose I understand that.

I brought this up to a religious friend of mine once. “How blessed we are then,” she replied. “How blessed we are to be able to praise Him given the fact that we have such a huge chance of failure!” a part of me found this to be ridiculously optimistic and comical. “Hahahaha that’s why I love you,” I replied, but nevertheless there was a significant amount that spoke to me. A great part of me admired that response. So what? it said. The point is to love Him not find fault in everything. What does it really matter? And who does it really help? In that way she was right to completely disregard my reasoning. Who does it really help?

On a different occasion I asked another friend why it was necessary to do stupid, potentially harmful things just for “fun”. What was the real point? Who are we helping? “Faithe, what is the real point in anything? Exactly. There is no point. Just be happy.” Well, that was simple, I thought. Forget about always trying to “help your fellow man”. Just relax and be happy. What a ridiculously difficult thing to do when you’re as uptight and analytical as I am. When you question everything.

However, I think they were both right. God may have given us all brains, but that doesn’t mean they need disrupt our whole lives. I don’t need to question everything, even if everything is questionable. I have free will. The ability to do or think anything I please. Another thing God blessed us all with. I think that’s the real point. That I should focus on that and let my heart relax. Which is why we were given brains and encouraged to use them. So that our love could be clearer. So we could believe in the impossible and give ourselves away to it. So that I could relax and find solace in the fact that I cannot and will never be able to understand everything. So why should I be conflicted by it?

Who does it help anyway?



It’s an odd thought…

In one way we believe that everyone has the right to live, that we’re all unique and valuable, and yet at the same time we celebrate and thrive on the fact that every person is just as expendable as the next.

Think about it.

The Constitution states that we have a right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness and as Americans we feed on this. We tell our children that they could be whatever they want. Live your dreams! Reach for the skies! Subliminally preaching to every child of every American generation that the point of life is to live and love. We say that they’re important. That everyone is equal. And that no one person will ever be above or below another.

But then we grow up.

We coin phrases such as YOLO! and paste it on every social networking site, hinting to the public that the point of life is not to live and love, but to live because we will one day die. Our government sends patriotic men off to war like pawns in a chess game, knowing that, just like in chess, the pawns, our frontline, aren’t vital to our country’s welfare as a whole. We “sacrifice the lives of a few to save the lives of many” in more than just war, but in everyday life with our words and with our actions, sacrificing one another at work and in life for our own greater good. A person lies in the workplace, we fire them so our business can thrive. A person steals, we send them to jail so our lives can be easier. A person kills, we kill them so we don’t have to live in fear. With every action, with everyone law, we show each other how expendable each one of us is. How unimportant our lives are compared to the collective magnitude of the world, all the while somehow backing the whole ordeal on the absurdly hypocritical notion that we are all equal and none of us worth more than the other. And it’s an odd thought to think that those lies telling us we are all equal, the lies that we still somehow believe and uphold, the lies our government was based upon; that we are all equal in life and in death…Are actually keeping us from crumbling into chaos. Because without these lies holding us together, the lies that we were born into, the ones that somehow tell us that everything is fair and equal or at least should be, and that we firmly back every action against, we’d all realize what madness we live in and destroy each other from the inside. The world would break apart and we would break with it. We are all expendable after all.

So maybe… In the midst of all this potential chaos we can learn one thing: Lying to children. Yeah, that’s a good thing 😉

Marriage is a Selfish Practice


Why anyone would want to be married is beyond me. Values, I suppose. The fulfillment of some kind of hidden agenda forced on us at an early age… Definitely, maybe. Religion. Power. Bragging rights. Peer pressure. Children. None of which affect me. None of which I care about. Love? Marriage has nothing to do with love. God says to love everyone. I can love the world without having to tie myself to it semi-permanently. It’s just something to do, really. Like a public announcement. A display. Egotistical, actually. To tell everyone as if they have to know. As if they want to. No one needs to know about my private life. If I just know I’m fine. Good. Happy. Satisfied. Content. Why want anything else? Needing more is just being showy. Rude. Pushing your life on others. Telling them of what you have so they’ll want it too. Greedy. Selfish. Yes, marriage is a selfish practice.