These Days (An Excerpt)

I can almost feel you, you know.
The way I imagine you. I can almost feel your breath on my face as you lie down next to me, facing me. Mostly. Because every so often you notice me looking at you. You notice how the corners of my mouth seem permanently stuck into a high place, a happy place, a place of peace. Maybe for that moment you can feel how light my heart feels. So light I feel like I’m floating. Maybe you know that the feeling spreads from whatever part of me was touching you, so lightly. So lightly my skin didn’t feel it, but heavy enough that my soul caught on. You must notice, because you turn your face into my blanket. You hide yourself in it and let it catch your smile. I can feel your warmth emanate from that place. I can feel you loving me and it makes me float a little higher.
I can almost feel your hand right there. Beside mine. I’ve been afraid to reach for it because if I really lift my hand to touch it… I may remember it’s all in my mind. But if I stay still. If I close my eyes and watch you smile into my blanket, I can feel your hand in mine. I feel my middle finger stroke your index, stroke it just enough to light my soul on fire. And there I am burning, smiling, floating… All within the darkness of my eyelids.

And I can’t move. Because in that moment I’m in love. And I can’t speak. Because if I talk, you’ll disappear. And I can’t go live. Because I can’t go back to feeling less alive.
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Occasionally, I lose myself in my mind. On empty days, days left to neglecting necessity, I sometimes get caught in a somewhat meditative space that seems more real than reality. On these days I can’t decide if I see myself more clearly, or if I momentarily lost focus. I wonder if I’m caught in a dream, hoping for things I don’t truly believe in, and waiting for things I know I should move on without.
My mind knows what I should be getting on with; the long list of “to-dos” on these days I ignore. On these days, I prefer my quiet fantasies; the list of things I want but decide I don’t need. It’s funny, because these days are the only days where I question their rank of importance. Those days I much rather stay asleep.

Take a Spot

 
 Take a spot

Any spot
Stay there for a while
Claim a seat
Any seat
Validate my smile
Watch me dance 
Watch me twirl
Anything to please
Try me on
Take me off
Throw me to my knees
Swing me left
Swing me right 
Hang me out to dry 
Roll me round
Put me down
Leave me here to die
Know you’re here
Just for now
Then I know you’ll leave
And you’ll come
And you’ll go
What a sight to see

Love Me Anyway

 

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I’m always right.

You’re always wrong.

Yes.

But you should love me anyway.

 

Sometimes I’m mean.

For no reason at all.

Yes.

But you should love me anyway.

 

Will I always be the prettiest at the ball?

No.

But you should love me anyway.

 

Will I still enter chin up as if I am?

Yes.

But you should love me anyway.

 

Am I the daintiest of flowers?

A porcelain peach?

No.

But you should love me anyway.

 

Do I even fully know what that means?

No.

But you should love me any way.

 

Will every word and every action show my love?

No.

But you should love me anyway.

 

Am I what I’ll always be?

Most likely…

And please just love me anyway.

 

 

 

The Words Evade Me

bed

The words evade me

Like most things do

At this hour of day

When I lie awake

Not dreaming

Not sleeping

Just thinking

Of what’s yet to be accomplished,

Mulled over

Left alone.

Alone.

A funny feeling.

Present with company as well as its absence.

As the absence I put upon myself reminds me

So kindly

Unlike most things

It offers a silent reminder

Bias crafted by my own heart

Silence sought out

and found wanting

Yet not welcome

By me

In this place I’ve been lying

Now sitting

Waiting for something

That may never come.

Pointless Poem

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I’m not feeling very poetic.

I stare at my screen.

Feeling a bit pathetic.

Hands on the keyboard.

Music in my ears.

I blow out my eardrums.

I fight back the tears.

They’re happy.

So happy.

I still hear their cheers.

Right through the window.

Straight through my door.

I can hear them laughing.

I can hear them pour

Out their feelings!

In song across the street!

Is listening the same

As admitting defeat?

 

Jumbled Thoughts

It’s the second month of summer and I’m definitely freaking out. All these questions are rudely running around in my head and forcibly smacking into the walls of my mind. How are you paying for college, Faithe? Why aren’t you taking your online classes? What exactly do you plan on achieving in life? How are you going to get there if you can’t even find a way to pay for school? Why can’t you be a better person?

And then there goes the home run:

You know, Faithe, if you can’t get you’re life together I’ve heard the military is very inviting.

And that’s not even a question. But it is a thought I’d like to avoid…

Whenever I’m back home, here, by myself, it seems that I’m always faced with the possibility of imminent failure. “What if…?”‘s and “Why can’t you…?”‘s are always coming around to greet me, old friends reinserting themselves in my life after having been absent for so long.

And what AM I going to do? With school and money and everything? Every night I ask God for answers. Every night He listens but never responds or rather I just can’t hear Him. Occasionally, I feel as if He’s already told me and He’s just sitting in the corner, all-knowing like, staring at me, waiting for me to get a clue. On those nights I feel really stupid. On those nights I almost feel more alone.

Alone.

I have a theory that these people that I know here, my friends in this desert I grew up in, won’t matter after college. Possibly they won’t matter even sooner. I’m thinking that maybe I’m just not meant to have that kind of best friend relationship I’ve always wanted. And I’m thinking I think I’m cool with that. Trying to keep people around is serious work especially when it seems like all you’re doing is shifting apart. I’ve tried to be that person that people want to be around that they call just to talk to but I’m just not. I’m me. Nothing more, nothing less and I’m starting to realize for the first time in my life that that’s just fine. Superb even. I’m quite fond of me. Maybe too fond.

It’s odd to say, but I think I talk to myself a lot. In time of frustration (usually any trip back home) I tend to consult myself as if I were a smarter person. I think it might be an emotional issue. You know how they say you can’t be crazy if you consider yourself to be crazy because crazies don’t know how crazy they actually are? Well, if that’s the case I’m not crazy at all because I’ve contemplated my own craziness to the point of exhaustion. I’m even a bit tired of saying crazy… I think it might just be a result of being lonely for such a long time.

This summer has been an interesting one. I’m meeting my family for the first real time. Even though I’ve lived with these people all my life I’ve never actually known them. Our family dynamic was so bad for so long that I created my own little bubble in order to hide from them. I hid my feelings and my love and grew up apart from them. My siblings have always been strangers to me, my parents enemies of war and now, after 10 years of being isolated from them despite living in the same house, they’ve somehow transformed into people. This is why I so often contemplate the extent of my maybe nonexistent crazy.

I’ve diverted from the question. As I always do when a question seems too difficult to answer. What am I going to do about school? For the last days I’ve done nothing but send in applications for scholarships. It seemed such a random thought when I thought it up and yet so practical that it could have only been God pushing me in the right direction. I can only pray. I’ve got some business ideas. Things to sell. And all of it combined must be part of some greater plan, something big that I’m missing. I can wait. I’ve waited all my life for a number of things. I’ve waited all my life not to be crazy. I can wait for this. I can work for this. Another goal to work toward. I’ve also been waiting for that.

Bring it on, summer.

Thank you, FG.

This May be a Long Week…

I spent the better half of the day listening to someone else speak.

I did what I’m good at: I listened and threw in slight interjections that I knew she would appreciate. “What? That’s terrible!” I would say. “Oh, that dickwad!” I would yell. “I know, right?!!” she would answer time and time again, visibly satisfied with my interruptions. It was normal “girl talk” and it was weird how much I loved it.

I love to be needed. I always have. But now I’m back to this place that’s supposed to be home, and to others it seems to be, and I’m just… not. And I’m not sure how to handle it.

My routine is broken. My easy routine where I was forced to eat lunch and dinner with strangers I grew to love and afterward talk about nothing until way after dark, play ridiculous games that were way noisier than they should have been, and lounge around. Just lounge. Sitting around, quiet, and enjoying the company; our own odd company, until the very end of the day. Starting toward the end of the year, on special days, which our group referred to as “Faithe & Friend Days”, me and my friend would just talk, outside of the normal group dynamic, and we’d have one of those odd conversations that I so oddly enjoyed. She would talk of her feelings, concerns, annoyances (which I found comical), and interesting life. I would listen and interject, eventually talking (eventually being the key word since I’m such a reluctant conversationalist) about my feelings, concerns, annoyances, and lack of a life. Back home. Back here. Where I am.

Back here, where I sit on my tuffet like little Miss Muffet and rhyme until words grow dull.

Back here, where I wait for my younger brother to come home to interrupt my much-too-long slumber and hold a conversation.

Back here, where I see my friends weekly, occasionally wondering whether or not I have them or whether I’ve just made them up.

Back here, where I’m physically fit, but emotionally drained and I actually have to cook food to eat it.

Back here, where I’m not really needed. Or constantly called. Or asked for. Where I have to make myself busy with various craft projects, formulating intricate schemes, and recreational reading…

Back here… where I’m STUCK.

I don’t drive. Which is ridiculous only because I live in a place where you literally have to drive to get anywhere because walking would take too long and basically means death for everyone involved: meaning me. But it is also somewhat extraneous information because if I were to drive… where would I go? Who would I go with? Most likely I’d just pick up my brothers all day and then my life wouldn’t even be self-productive, so that’s not even really an issue unless I get a sudden craving for frozen yogurt.

I told myself that as long as I’m here, bored anyway, to make this as productive a week as possible with no social media or promises of people who would eventually disappoint me. Just reading, writing, learning to type, scholarships, and finalizing business venture ideas. And now I’m thinking to myself…

This will be a REALLY LONG WEEK.

That is all.

– Faithe

Thought You’d Like to Know

To You,

I like it that you read these. It entertains me slightly. I like that you take the time out of your day to learn about me, to listen to me, even if I’m not directly talking to you or about you. It makes me happy or at least a version of happy.

Actually, I’m not entirely sure that you read these… Do you?

Maybe you just stare at them and wonder how I could possibly write so much about nothing at all. But still, I appreciate it. It’s a sentiment that I don’t really understand, filled with a type of feeling that I don’t really get either. I mean you don’t really know me all that well, right? I don’t know… Maybe you know me better than a lot of people… Or maybe you just want to and that’s why you read all my random blurbs.

I honestly don’t care why you read these. I just like it.

Is it ok to be so oddly happy about something so ridiculous? To be happy because you want to know me?

Did you know it makes me smile? Not the fake smile either. Not the kind I have plastered on my face all day to make people feel good about their lives or the kind you give to strangers, but the kind of smile that conveys real happiness. The kind of smile that you want to stop, but can’t help but give in to. And it’s not a common thing, I swear, but they’re the sort of things you remember. The sort of thing you appreciate.

So I guess I thought you’d like to know that. I’m not really sure of my feelings most of the time and this is no exception. I’m vaguely confused about my feelings right now. You see, I very rarely have them and very rarely pay attention to them when I do soooooo even thinking about thinking about them makes me uncomfortable. I’m sorry you picked someone so odd to find interesting, but I still like that you did.

And I thought you’d like to know.

– Faithe

I can’t believe I said that…

Shame!

Have you ever been really bothered by something that you know you can’t tell anyone because you know exactly what their reaction would be? For instance, you said something idiotic to someone. It was soooo ridiculously stupid that it bothers you every time you think about it and, of course, the only way to relieve yourself of this torture is to admit your stupidity to someone else. But why would you do that? As soon as you tell that extra person what you said they’ll stare at you funny, laugh, and say, “You said that? How ridiculously stupid!” You already know it’s ridiculously stupid. Why would you want someone to confirm that? So if you’re like me you try to put it in the back of your mind. It works for a while, but when you think of something related to that person who you told that stupid thing to, it all rushes back and you’re embarrassed all over again. Why do silly memories have to provoke so much feeling? Why can’t unwanted memories just stay in the back of your mind where you put them? And why are you the only one who ever seems to remember and be bothered by them? They remember and they laugh. You remember and you want to jump in a hole, but you’d have to go dig one and, honestly, that would take too long and getting out seems like a hassle.

So what exactly would be the solution to this reoccurring issue?

I figure we just have to live with this feeling, acknowledging it as a part of life, accepting our flaws as merely a humanlike quality… but I’m also open to brain surgery, fantastic forgetting machines, magic memory erasers, and time machines so I can go slap myself before I say/do something stupid <— Most Practical.

Well, if you ever find a good one let me know, yeah? 😉

Right words

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She was crying again. The girl in the passenger seat was confused. Why did this woman cry over everything? She was obviously overly emotional. The girl couldn’t even have a six minute conversation without the woman bursting into tears. She could sense the tears coming, the silence reeked of them. She could feel that the woman was holding them back, catching them on the brims of her eyelids. Maybe she was ashamed of them herself. The girl did not understand this woman, a realization that made her feel even guiltier. She flashed back to the last few minutes, reviewed the exchanged words over slowy in her mind. What she said, in retrospect, wasn’t so bad. She hadn’t even elevated her voice… but she had rolled her eyes… She supposed it was a bit rude, but not blatantly, just slightly, so why did it upset her so? The girl stared at the woman awestruck. She had so many feelings! Unprecedented feelings! Or so she thought… Then why did she feel so immensely guilty? She attempted to apologize, but words were not her strong suit… The words came out wrong… Always wrong… She had meant to sound sincere.The words never came so instead of apologizing she chose to ignore the moment. Move on. Pretend she had accepted it and kill the awkwardness with pointless conversation.