Something

I think I might want something sweet
To counteract the blandness of my life
I say before I take a bite
And realize the sugar cookie
That cost too much
But was decorated with a pretty blue owl
Is too sweet
And that the owl
Wished me dead
I tasted his distaste of me
Somewhere in the icing

I also might want something kind
Or someone
I say almost always
Before I tell my brother
The guy I met this morning
Was too nice
So kind
It bordered on simple
Like he had no thoughts
To discuss
So he complimented mine

I can’t stop it from hurting me
When I realize I really want nothing
But to satisfy an aching wish
Of having something
That gave me something
I think is worth having
But that I can’t possibly have
Since I don’t know what that is yet

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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…
human

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

It is interesting to me

It is interesting to me

It is interesting to me.
Very interesting to me.
That I can be me
Just me.
The me that I have
Searched for
Fought for
Tried to be
Since the moment
I realized
I should start trying
And yet
Somehow inexplicably
Still be less
Than I should be
Can be
Want to be
Because I stand here
Proudly
The best version of me
That I have ever been
And am still somehow
Inadequate
Not the type that promotes self deprecation
Not the type that gnaws at me viciously
Through me
Until my nerves are numb
Just the type that’s noticeably
There
Not sneaking
Not ambiguous
Unambiguously blatant
But calm
Like a child tugging on your arm
Unharmful yet annoying
Because you can’t swing brutally at innocence
Because you can’t make an idea bleed for your satisfaction
It is so interesting to me
Very interesting to me
That you can move in the direction that you wanted
And yet not have anything you want
That the decisions I made
Brought me here
To this place that I want to be
And yet sit here unsatisfactorily
Not understanding how everything can be right and wrong at the same time
Not understanding the yin yang balance fully
With all of me in line to it
It is interesting
So interesting
That I can understand so much
That I can know so much
And still know nothing
At all
So interesting

Are You Dreaming Again?

Are You Dreaming Again?

Tell me
Are you dreaming again?
I know you only dream
When something’s on your mind
I know that every other moment
Is usually met with silence

What are you dreaming of?
Is it of something easier?
Something greater
To you
But still mundane?

I know you dream of common things
Common wishes
That to you feel
Amazing

I know how softly
The morning wakes you
Even reality wishes
Simple kindnesses for you
Even though they remain
illusionary

Did you spend the last night
Missing lost treasures?

Were they less dulled in the dark
Than noticed in the light of the morning?

Did you spend the last night
Conquering fears?

Did you conquer the fears
That lost you your dulled diamond loves?

Can you tell me what they were?
Do you even know?

You always speak of yourself
So highly

It took you awhile
I know.

But is it still yourself
That you’re afraid of?

If you’re not afraid of being you
Then what more is there?

Because that has to be
The biggest fear there is

Amidst
Everything
Ineloquently stated
And most other things
Conquered in dreams

Where I Find Myself

Where I Find Myself

I never have time to myself
Yet I’m always by myself
I usually stretch myself out
Until little pieces tear off
That other people tend to keep
Then eventually forget about
There’s usually a greater obligation
Expectation
Use of me
There’s usually a gaping hole
Where supposed to be me
Is supposed to be
But that’s not true of me right now
There’s no one to give to
but me right now
No one to take care of
No one to pretend
My life is all about
But now I’m so lost in myself
I’m not sure of what is myself
Left to myself
By myself
I’m left with all these dreams
All these dreams that seem
So spectacular
And so miraculous
So spectacular
And so miraculous
I sometimes wonder
who I dreamt them for
Because now that I find myself
by myself
I have so much time to myself
And I feel my dreams inching toward me
But now that I’ve found so much time
for myself
I find myself
by myself
And I find most often
In quiet moments
When I can see my reality shifting me
To that supposed to be me
I always said I was gonna be
There
I find myself
By myself
Dreaming much simpler dreams

The World’s Grace

The World’s Grace

“The world will astound you with its grace if you let it.” – 5 to 7

I watched a rather confusingly sweet movie the other day. I watched it, fell into an awe filled stupor, and watched it again the following day. It had the heart of a romance, yet was bridled with the conflicts brought upon by social standards. It made my heart flutter a bit with the beauty and grace of it all, leaving it saddened by the loss of love. I fell into a wishful longing once again, the kind of feel only achieved through watching incredibly touching rom coms.

There was a beautiful, charming woman. Her face lit up the screen. Had the movie no substance whatsoever, it may have still caught an eye or two by her smile alone. The young man who approached her was enchanted by her and I by his enchantment. She was married with children and he was her lover. It was an agreement known by all, including the husband who had a mistress himself, and even mentioned by the children. The man was distraught by his love for this older woman with the dazzling smile and the conflict in his heart that felt strangely like eternal damnation. How odd it was for them all to be so happy in this situation. How odd it was for him to feel at place. He often expressed his confusion and discomfort with it all to which she replied with the smooth accent of a French native:

“Let go of your ideas of what you think life should be. The world will astound you with its grace if you let it.”

The words spoken silkily and with a charming confidence have been floating through my mind ever since.

I have not known the world to astound me with grace. It has often surprised me with it’s cruelty and knack for disappointing circumstances, but grace? I’ve rarely known. So the words dance back and forth through my mind as I wonder if I have ever let it.
Has the world astounded this woman because it itself was taken aback by her charm? Or did she relax against the world and let it charm the smile onto her? Have I let it? Would it make a difference? Maybe we should all just let go?

Dreams

Dreams

When you’re at your most vulnerable, do you find yourself in places that you once knew?
The places you feel like you spent your whole life?
Last night I found myself on Plaina Rd. Looking at the old forgotten rocks that my father placed for desert decoration and running across my old forgotten driveway. It was a simple enough setting. I can’t remember where I was going or who I was with, but I remember when she showed up. Her hair bleached once again, short enough to touch her shoulders. Wearing that green coat she always wore with the furry hood, a somewhat cheap looking edition. She wasn’t the girl I remembered, but she was the one I saw in pictures back when I was missing her. She walked passed me while I was running and I smiled and turned around in her direction. I always knew she would reject me once again, but I always did it just in case she smiled back and I could see my old friend again. She was walking with someone and didn’t stop to talk, but as I always have done, I ran after. She did smile at me. She always does accidentally and I guess that’s why I never stop coming back. She smiled at my silly remarks despite herself while I chased her down, but when I finally caught up to her she turned around and looked at me solemnly. We were stopped in front of my old wire gate, the one that let into the backyard. Nothing but dirt and a swing set, but somehow lovely all the same. And as I smiled at her, a joke hanging at the corner of my mouth, she turns to me and says, “I’m not yours, Faithe.”
I had always told her she was mine. That my world and everything in it was hers because of it. That it was me and her until the end of forever. We’d fight off the world together, and when she got tired of fighting I’d fight for her. And when she got married, to whatever man she chose, I would regale stories of our adventures, smile and give her away. But she had said it. Finally and completely. Words I always knew, but I filtered out of my reality. She started to turn away again, hands in her pockets, she’d walk into a backyard sunset. But before she turned completely, I spoke out.
“Hey,” my voice rang out, the entire front yard was silent as she looked at me the last time. “I wouldn’t want you to be.”
I was surprised at how much truth reverberated in it. I was surprised at my own calm at her words, but I had let her go a long time before and had just never said it. There was a lot of pain I could remember but none of it was present then. I rather her be happy away from me. I rather she love her life in the way she pleases. I rather she feel that love I had always given from the person she wishes it from. I rather let her be ok so I can be ok too.

Broken Pieces

I think I’m attracted to broken people

Broken pieces scattered by fate

Ignored and left in supplication

In desperate need to be repurposed

I am in love with these broken pieces

And the possibilities they contain

If loved in just the right magnitude

If given just the right amount of effort

Yeah, I’m in love with those broken pieces

And the artful jagged nature of their edges

That can be smoothed or left alone

A tribute to their inherent grace

I am so in love with broken pieces I count their imperfections so as to properly admire their beauty

Their beauty incandescent

Yet, somehow hidden by the cruelty of circumstance

Broken pieces
Broken people

I cling to them as if magnetized

I find them in crowds as if guided by compass

And they find me too

Neither of us with conscious intentions

Neither of us expecting favorable outcomes

We associate and contemplate our existence together

We contemplate the meanings of our lives

We ponder the words people have told us

And their mantras of association

They say:

Be around people you want to be

And those words resonate with us

Be around people you want to be

And the sound rings loudly in our ears

Because do the people we want to be

want to be us?

To be near us and broken pieces?

To be near us and our jagged edges?

And it wouldn’t matter for me anyway

See, I’m so attracted to broken people

I am so in love with broken pieces

The artist never discards of possibility

The lover in me never neglects need

My need

My need to be affected as well as effective

To be a stone washed over by a sea of broken pieces

To be in a sea of broken pieces washing over a stone

Smoothing over its rough surface

Creating a safe space for it to mold itself

Because I have been buffed

I have been burnished

I have been smoothed

I have been polished and made ever better

And then I have been left

To contemplate it all

You see, the sea of broken pieces

The sea of broken people

My sea of broken pieces

My sea of broken people

Understood

That sea, that glistening sea

Doesn’t want to me

That sea of broken pieces

That sea of broken people

Want to be freed from their own brokenness

And I admire and I am so in love

With the nature of their being

And I admire and I am so in love

With the resilience of their hearts

Their hearts that continue beating

Despite being left in pieces

Their hearts that keep loving

Broken pieces like me

But I am not what those broken pieces so desperately want to be

I am not whole, or unblemished, or unscarred.

But I am in love with my own broken pieces

I am in love with the light reflecting off the shards

I am in love with the beauty broken people rarely see within themselves

And I am in love with their fervent need to be whole again

Whole again

Unlike my incandescent, glistening sea of broken pieces

Whole again

Unlike a buffed, burnished, and smoothly polished me

Greatness

greatness_-_Bing_Images

“But I don’t want to be good, I want to be Great.”

I say those words. I say them often, and every time I feel them deeply enough to sense the liberation between each slight break, I also feel them bounce back at me moments later, rejected by the very world that inspired them.

It’s an interesting thing, greatness. No one truly knows what it means because of its immense relativity. We could ponder it all day and only ever get a one-sided understanding. Like viewing artwork or reading poetry, it’s meant to bring about opinions, not convey them. The thought has stumped me more than once.

I want to be Great.

There. I said it again. And I think I might say it too often.

“Great people don’t sit around pondering about what makes them great. They lead by example and just… are.”

I said that too. Because I thought I was thinking too much about it. What I should be, who I should become, how I should act, whom I should favor, are all ridiculous questions to ask. I’m roaming through life trying to make it into something. I’m trying to mold my life into what I think it should be, but I haven’t quite figured out what it should look like yet so I’m just blindly creating something. When people walk past, they see it and are just as confused about it as I am. Only thing is, they think I know what I’m doing.

I’m just trying to be Great.

Ah, there it is again. The relativity. What do I even think Greatness is?

I don’t think you should have to think about it. But is there anything that I haven’t thought about?