To You and Your Bloodless Heart

I wish your heart bled for me.
I wish it just bled blood
But it’s as dry as desert air
I know
I grew up there
It’s the kind of dry your skin bakes under
Even mine
With my brown skin turned auburn
And with lips that crack and bleed
More than your heart does
And possibly ever has

I wish you wished me dead
I wish my life made your skin boil
I’ve wished myself dead a time or two
Hoping that you’d cry
That your guilt would eat through you
Then you’d see me differently
I hear grief brings out buried feelings
I wonder if you’ve buried me alive
Maybe I’m dead already
Or possibly just still screaming

I wish you thought of me
I wish I didn’t wish that
I think of you occasionally
Whenever I pass by a feeling
And take hold of it
Letting it drag me a different way
I rather feel something than nothing
But all my feelings
Lead a pathway to you

I wish that path were rougher
I wish being dragged there
Made me bleed like your heart does not
Maybe I’d stop wishing
With a heart too pained to wish for more
I’d be forced into acceptance
A place as barren as my desert home
But I’d reside there
Stroking the auburn skin I used to hate
Lovingly without you
And your bloodless heart

Not Quite Forgotten

Not Quite Forgotten

I fall in love just a lil o lil bit every day with someone new
And every day I fall in love
I forget someone too

I forget you quite often
Your face disappears
Just like you wanted it to
I guess
Just like you said it should
Small things make me remember
Gestures
Face twitches
Stupid laughs
Remind me again
Of what I almost forgot
I smile
At a sweet memory
Untainted
Because I sucked the poison out
The poison made from
Red eyed tears
That you were using
To make me forget
But they remain sweet
Like the sugar cubes
I argued didn’t belong in tea
And that you dumped in yours
Like you didn’t believe in clogged arteries
And I remain fond of them
And you
Though I forget about you
Often
And your face is marked
In the attic of my mind
With cobwebs
It’s still a picture
I find myself fond of
When I remember
That it’s there
And my picture may not
Look as sweet to you
But it did once
And that’s the you
I like to remember

To You: Sincerely

To You: Sincerely

It wasn’t love
that drew me towards you
But uncertainty
I didn’t see everything I was
But instead
Saw things that I could be
It seems the same people
Are always on my mind
And you are one of three
I don’t understand
How rejection
Could be so attractive to me
I was fascinated by you
Because your world
Seemed so
Easy
You seemed to
Ebb and flow
With the current
Of the simplest simplicity
I could see the waves
Were tainted
Streaked with colors
Of anxiety
But I pulled your finger nails
Gently from your teeth
And kissed them lightly
At least I did in my imagination
I’m not sure
I did really
It seemed
A scary thought
To pull into my
Reality
It sounded
Too concrete
A little unfair
Of me
To present feelings
Of importance
When I couldn’t
commit fully
My thoughts were running
ramped elsewhere
But you pulled them down
right there next to me
I was too entranced by you
To be astounded
Of your interest
in me
I didn’t know you long
But you changed
My thoughts
Completely
I found that I
Became more present
When I focused
On blatant honesty
I was a little lighter
With you
Than I ever thought
I could be
There was no hushed, dark
Sense of revealed secrets
Just pristine
Vulnerability
I may have ran
Too fast toward you
Possibly a bit too
Eagerly
I tend to chase
Beautiful things
Beautiful feelings
Especially
You opened up
my heart
And left a spongy
Piece of you
Inside of me
My intentions
weren’t malicious
Though possibly
Presented poorly
I would love
To say things to you
But I won’t
Because you seem
So happy
And I hope you
Accept my best wishes
Because to you
They’ll always
Be sent
Most sincerely

To You: With the Eyes

I admit, no one has ever looked at me quite like that. I’m not sure I have ever hated a look more.

It’s a look that says: Hey, I’m obligated to make conversation, but you know what? I’d rather be anywhere else. No, really. Pick a place. Especially, with your hot friend… Do you think if I stop trying to be friends with you she’ll stop wanting to screw me?

It’s so weird! I hear people talking about you and I hear, “Have you seen his eyes? He has gorgeous eyes.” And I hate your eyes. But mostly I hate how they look at me.

You know that way you speak to me? Do you speak to everyone that way? I admit, I’ve never quite paid attention when you speak to others. Just me, really. I suppose you could call that self-absorbed… It’s almost like you’re speaking to a child. A very weird child, whose parent you’re getting involved with. You speak to me as if I’m an obstacle. In this weirdly condescending manner and I don’t quite understand it.

It dawned on me recently that for conversation to work, all parties have to be interested in each other’s company. But here we are. You think I’m hard to speak to and I think the same about you. I think you’re boring, and maybe you think the same, about me? It wouldn’t surprise me.

I get it though. We don’t have much in common and I think I have so much animosity towards you because you don’t care if we do. Not really. And I hate that I can be even the slightest bit affected by whether someone else believes me worth conversation, but somehow I am. I care less than I would normally, but still, I care.

I’m annoyed by this. Which makes me annoyed by you. I have no real reason to dislike you other than, you seem bent on disliking me. So I just dislike you on principle. And there it is.

I almost want to call it jealousy, but it’s more like that word that means “pushed away, forgotten, left out”: the word I can’t remember.

And I guess that’s that. I just don’t like you all that much. Or your stupid eyes. Eh.

That’d Be Good

I need to write about you

I need to tell you things

About how much I miss you

And maybe even about my day.

You usually listen.

Or maybe you just pretend?

I liked the thought that you

liked the sound of my voice

speaking to you

regardless of the content.

I used to write really well.

It always sounded nice.

Sweet. Silky. Saturated?

But those were words that

meant nothing.

And now they do.

And I can’t even make them rhyme.

They just don’t flow through me.

They don’t resemble anything even slightly

poetic.

Because I don’t feel poetic.

I just feel…

Left.

Lonely.

But not lonely. Just alone?

I feel…

I feel…

I feel…

Like I miss you.

And I’m not sure what it is that I miss.

I find my face contorting in ways that yours does

And it makes me smile.

For a second.

And then it makes me sad.

Because I just can’t see you do it.

Because right now it’s just a memory.

One I hold really close to me

but also somewhat far away

So it hurts less.

Because I realize that if I felt the pain

If I let myself actually feel it

It might actually hurt me.

Like nothing ever has before.

Because no one has ever quite mattered to me.

Like you do. How you do.

I might just be delusional.

Lost in the feeling of loss.

Anchored by pain, possibly imagined.

Maybe I like it.

Maybe it’s my own type of sanity.

And I’m trying so hard!

I like to say…

But I’m not sure I really am…

Not really.

I like sinking in the thought of you.

Letting myself drift on the surface of feeling.

Within the small possibility that you love me.

In whatever way fits you.

And you care somewhat.

And what I want isn’t just in my mind.

But actually possible.

Just possible.

That’d be good.

Thank You for the Discomfort

You have given me the best idea that I have ever had in my life and you don’t even know.

I understand now the looks you give me, the awkward feeling. I get it. Now I truly do. Finally. But you fail to see my intentions.

I feel like everything so far has been going toward this moment: The moment by which my bold move would cause us to fall into an extremely uncomfortable situation. I would fall so hard into discomfort that I couldn’t sleep or go a second without pondering about it, searching for ways to make it better. It would hurt; the discomfort, and I would talk out loud about it, maybe to God, maybe to myself, sometimes I can’t honestly tell the difference. I would watch romance movies and pretend that I’m in love and drown myself in the feeling. I would sink. I would sink. I would sink. Until that too hurt and then I would find new ways to occupy my mind.

It always comes back to the internet doesn’t it? Horoscopes and surveys for mental illness. What’s wrong with me? What can I fix in my life? Therapy. Well, that’s always a great answer and one I will definitely ignore… School. Oh, I can fix school.

And this brilliant idea came upon me. “Upon me” seems the only way to say it. It was a rush. An epiphany. My heart beating too fast. The blood rushing to my head. The discomfort birthed a brilliant idea. And I knew it would work. I KNEW it would work. Like it had been waiting for me to uncover it. Sitting there, lonely at the back of my head, waiting for the blood rush to flood it out. It was an incorporation of everything I had ever done. A hint of everything new and old as if all things had brought me here.

Here now. Sitting, uncomfortably. Because of you.

It could only be God, you know? An odd turn of events such as this. And you a part of a brilliant plan that is not yet over.

I have this strong pull toward you. I wouldn’t expect you to understand… I have no idea what it actually means. Maybe we’re meant to be together. Maybe you’re supposed to give me the best advice of my life. Maybe you’re just supposed to recommend me a really great sandwich. I don’t know. But after this great epiphany things are just not the same. My intentions toward you are just to figure out this great, great plan that you seem to be a part of. It’s like a really uncomfortable game of Clue.

So sorry… but you might have to deal with my weirdness a bit longer…

On a side note: Would it be odd to say Thank You?

To You: Politeness

To You,

I’ve been thinking about you. Yes, again. About whether I like You or merely the idea of you. You know, don’t you? That all-consuming idea of you that keeps me up at night. All night. That idea that’s keeping me up right now.

I’ve been thinking that there is a difference between someone who is genuinely nice and someone who is polite. You see, being polite is a learned trait made habitual through practice. Polite people smile when things are supposed to be funny, they agree when things are meant to be agreed upon, and say what they believe should be said. However, rarely do a polite person’s actions or words mirror their true thoughts. Those are hidden, unspoken, tamed. On the other hand, a nice person says things because their good heart compels them to. Their words are their thoughts. Although they have polite traits and do not always speak their minds, there is a conspicuous difference between the driving force behind their words. It’s pure. It’s loving. It’s just different.

You may be a polite person, but I’m not totally convinced of your niceness and that does make me like you less. And it does slightly disappoint me.

You know that girl is quite the same way actually; polite, I mean. Which makes me think that your attractiveness to her is based deeper than you realize. Disappointing. I’m also not sure she likes you much. I feel bad about that. Maybe she too sees that you’re probably just polite. Ironic isn’t it?

I have somewhat depressing love songs on repeat… Oh my…

The problem is your face is stuck at the forefront of my mind, but then so is your politeness, causing me to want to see it less.

I want to get to know you better. I want to see which one is true. The problem is, in the moment I probably wouldn’t notice. Next to you, close to you, I forget that you may Just be polite.

Sigh…

It’s all very confusing…

Signed with love or something,

Faithe Y.

During the Last Week

StocktonBack when I was younger and my mind was free and I appreciated the world for exactly what it was; flawed and beautiful, I used to get up every morning before school started, sit in the rocking chair at the front of my house, and watch the sunrise. It was the one time of the day where the world was calm and peaceful and I could remark upon it and say, “Wow. How amazing…” It’s the only time of day where everything seems perfectly alright.

Today, I woke up early to watch the sunrise. I couldn’t see it. Stockton is so full of useless buildings and the sky is inconveniently blocked by this school’s trees. I sat there anyway, on the grass, disappointed, but serene and thoughtful. I sat there and thought of time gone by, a far away yesterday, when I woke up those early mornings for school excited, happy, and eager to face the world. Now I’m sitting here on the couch in my dorm hall, after a long, depressing walk around campus where I listened to music and picked leaves from the trees, facing the world unhappily just as I have ever since.

My playlist is on repeat. The music is soft, sweet, and slow. Just as slow as my feelings are realized and just as slow as I wish time went by. On a good day full of hope and promise. Like the first day of freshman year. Where is the promise now? I’m not sure where my hope has gone…

In high school, my soccer coach used to rally us up in a group after practice every day and say, “See ladies? Here we are once again the first to come on to this field and the last to leave it. One day you’ll look back at these practices and realize that some of your best memories happened here. But, most of all, you’ll remember that: Look,” he’d point at the sky. “There goes another sunset.”

There goes another sunset.

He was wrong. I don’t look back and think of practice when I think of good times. I think of the friends I made in high school and the relationships that lasted beyond graduation and mostly I think of this past year and my time here. But he was also right. I do think of the sunsets and all the days I spent visibly happy, in spite of my buried feelings. And now?

Now it saddens me that I’m leaving here. That I’m leaving the friends that I found accidentally, the friends that love me, and that I love more than I thought possible for me to love. It makes me sad that I’m leaving the buildings that first welcomed me here and even the trees that continue to poison me! Because, honestly, I’ll miss it all. The classes, the class discussions, the class arguments…

And if by a strewn mess of unfortunate events I’m not able to be here much longer, then this is a love letter.

This is a love letter to you, my friends who force me to hang out with them, who go to long lengths to try and please me, who listen when I speak (mostly) however mumbled and jumbled my words are, and whom I would do anything for. And it’s a letter to the school I love, which structures I’ll miss passing every morning, which brick pathways lead me to contentment, and which foliage continues to make me cough and sneeze. It’s been a wonderful year that I’ll cherish forever.

Please know that your heart remains wherever you leave it and mine just happens to be with you.

Love,

Faithe Y.