Plain

Plainly, I want to say that I adore the sound of eggs cooking in a skillet on a Saturday afternoon and this big blue dress, and there is a bubble burst of sunlight along my peripheral eyelashes, and I want to say that your confession shattered me like a glass vase on concrete, like all the daisies fell out and the water trickled through broken glass into a stream down the road and were forgotten, uncared for as you ran to escape the shattered sound you'd heard so many times. Plainly I want to say that I want to be the way the sun illuminates colors and makes them bright, I want to be like fresh, crisp morning winter air that greets your sleepy lungs, invigorating boost of day. And I want to be valuable like the sunset, undeniable purpose and beauty. And I want you to be the stars that clasp together the sky to keep night friendly, that keep the night beautiful so morning can rest. And I want you to be tall grass in the morning, greeted by the enthusiastic sunrise and dew. Plainly, I want to say that the years have been released and you can be the stars. I'll be the sunset.

Injustices

The systems are flawed. You can't take her away. She's ours now. We've welcomed her in. I deal with hard things in humor. In the past week, I've done this twice, and twice, it's been misunderstood. I deal with sad things in grumpiness. Sometimes I isolate myself. It seems easier to bear with The Killers and Balmorhea, curled in a circle on the bed or taking the neighbors' dog for a walk in the crisp air.

You can't take her away.

We race across the yard. She wins, of course. She promises me a picture, a bracelet.

The more you live, the more sadness there is. The more happiness and joy, too, but we tend to focus on the sad.

My Burt's bees chapstick is running out. My body decides at 10:23pm that now it wants some of that root beer.

I haven't had the chance to cry about it yet.

One week, it was the bad news of a friend, and now this. One thing after another and we have to cling to the joy in between. The donuts for breakfast, the walk with the dog, the family puppet show.

................................................................

Isaiah 9

I'm still writing poems about cauliflower.

I came here to write a story, but I wrote lists instead. Do you see the words I wrote in my notebook? purple, asylum, ice cream, universal. I hate good byes. When I am old, along with wearing purple, I will learn to paint. And I will paint oranges in wooden bowls illuminated by the sunlight. This day is supposed to be a feast. Full of sweet things and sturdy things, not sorrow. If I had girl I would name her Hazel because I think it is a strong name. I have poetry in my blood but I can’t get it out. I’m too afraid of what I’ll say. Or that it won’t sound like poetry at all. Or I’ll try too hard and it won’t sound like poetry at all.

How to (Not) Cook Cauliflower

The sun is setting. She sits in the grass under a most scraggly tree with ants crawling over her legs and children throwing dry grass in her hair. A man still mostly boy and his friend stands before her, tosses a bag of soggy cauliflower in her direction. A question for you, he says. How to cook this vegetable. Boil it, she says, not so hard. The translation takes far too long and the snickering far too much. You can help me. You can sit on the couch and watch the news and I will cook it. For you. The sun is setting, bringing relief from this hot July day. No, she says, half a laugh tucked between her teeth and panic simmering slightly under her skin. The sun is setting and it is time to go inside. She stands up as the man with the hat with his friend stomps off, dejected. The sun is setting. She takes confident strides towards the building with the four doors to unlock. A strong giggle rises in her throat to be let loose in the echo-ey stairwell, because what else is there but laughter? The sun is setting and the story is told and retold. Boil it, she says, it’s not so hard. Apparently there are connotations, euphemisms, Apparently cauliflower means less honorable things, as if going with him to cook his soggy cauliflower at night could ever be honorable. She has been taught to trust no man. It is wise advice. The last sun rays slip behind the horizon, laughter echoing this room. Because what else is there to do, but laugh?

i'm watching sparse snow flurries fall through the steam floating out of my black tea.
i'm listening to the new testament in dari.
i have no motivation.
for three hours i've sat here and i don't know what i've done. no motivation.
if only my assignment was finding words in dari.
but it's not.

All I have

All I have is honesty.

I value people more than doing my work.
(I always get the work done, at odd hours here and there.)

Oh,
so
many
thoughts
today!

I'm not angry!

I am not angry. I used to be quite angry a lot of the time. I do still, sometimes get angry. Sometimes I have a good reason and sometimes I do not.

But on the whole, I am not angry.

A LOT of people have made remarks about how they think I'm angry. I don't know if that is because I don't have a happy looking normal face, or because of something else. Maybe it is because I try to tame my exuberance because that is what people want, because if I didn't, people might be angry with me.

But I am going to try and throw all caution to the wind and let the bubbles out. Then people will surely think I am crazy, and maybe in love with them, but at least not angry.

Such a fine line, and I have no idea how to walk it.

Meyers-Briggs.

Meyers-Briggs. I think that if you are using the four personality letters to understand yourself better, then they're helpful. I think that if you are using them to understand other people better, that's completely wrong, awful, stop. Even if my four letters are the exact same as yours, we're going to have different personalities, and that is SUPER COOL!! 

I first took this personality test (assessment, do they rather call it?) in college. My letters didn't match up with the way other people saw me, and they were questioned. They're always questioned. For four years now, I've always ended up as a certain four letters. But every time I revealed them to other people, the people were incredulous and surprised.

So I started justifying myself. "Well, I'm like this..." or "I know it doesn't seem to match your expectations of this letter, but I always get it..."

Recently I've been buying into the lies that either A, the letters define me, or B, since I'm a quiet person I should enjoy being alone all the time, at home. These both sound irrational and stupid when I write them down. In fact, they are. But this is the reality of what people say.

Recently I re-discovered what I've known for quite some time, that I really enjoy being busy. I really enjoy being around people most of the time. (I also really enjoy being alone sometimes, but honestly, who doesn't?)

People put "quiet" in such a box. Stop doing that. In our society, we often treat quietness as something to be fixed or changed, but I have come to appreciate mine. Quiet becomes a problem when I'm not saying something that needs to be said, not sharing myself with a group, or being shy. But generally, I think it is really wise to listen more than I speak.

I don't really care if I'm an introvert or an extrovert. Again, if it helps me understand myself better, it's great. But don't try to understand me through these two simple letters. Quite honestly, I don't believe I'm either one. I can go weeks being alone and love it. I can go weeks being alone and hate it, and vice versa. It's dumb. Stop analyzing other people. That's not fair. Don't say to me, "You're an introvert, so..." Don't say to me, "I'm not extraverted like you." Stop. I know that sometimes, being with people rejuvenates me, and sometimes it drains me dry.

All this to say, don't analyze me. Don't assume four letters describe me.