Because breathing is all I can do, I exhale and inhale through my tears, forcing myself not to think because combining problems won’t fix any of them and let’s not make this cry about everything wrong in my life. She is gone. It is unbelievable, but she is. And you did get lost today because you didn’t get enough sleep and you felt like a failure and you wanted attention from somewhere and couldn’t get it. Because the internet is not a person and notifications aren’t hugs.

It is okay that you forgot your class, because messing up five percent of your grade will not prove detrimental to your future or your well-being. You feel like you can’t keep track of everything at work, but it’s not your fault the office is understaffed and you are human. Please don’t beat yourself up.

She is gone, my love. And she loved you while she was here with all she had. Do the same, to yourself.


Love your body. It is the only one you have.



My fingers smell like chicken. I just finished eating the biggest salad of my life. He was on the phone, but not saying anything (the usual) while I carried on a conversation with a dear coworker I don’t get to see often. He sounded fine, the way he usually does after riling me up for what I think is no reason at all.

No reason at all. That’s the way it usually seems to the other person, doesn’t it? It’s never understood, where “all this” is coming from and what the purpose of it is.

Love. Tina Turner. What does it have to do with anything really?

I was thinking earlier today that maybe my love is just different. Either that or I am incapable of loving others which makes me a cold-hearted or heartless human being, which I am completely fine with. Even without the ability to love, I know what I possess the ability to empathize and to feel compassion for others. I know that I care about people and that is enough for me.

I’m on google now. I’m looking up the word love – who would’ve thought?
n. an intense feeling of deep affection
v. feel a deep romantic or sexual attachment to (someone)

I look at all the synonyms: deep affection, fondness, tenderness, warmth, intimacy, attachment, endearment. Care very much for, feel deep affection for, hold very dear, adore, think the world of, be devoted to, dote on, idolize, worship.

Scratch the last few off; I don’t have such regard for anyone. Everything else seems just about right though.

Just to make sure, I look up affection.
n. a gentle feeling of fondness or liking

n. affection or liking for someone or something

What’s the problem? I have all of these. I care for him, want him to be in good health, to eat and rest well, to he happy and successful. I want this for everyone. The only thing I lack is an emotional high, which one can’t be in for an ongoing period – unless drugs are involved – and those moments do come and go, so again, what’s the problem?

I’m impassive a lot of the time.
n. not feeling or showing emotion

I don’t mind that, at all. It means I can care for you deeply, but won’t fall into a wreck if one day you are not a part of my life anymore. I’m fine with that. I don’t want to think that my sanity or emotional well-being is dependent on any one person outside of myself. I have enough trouble trying not to live off of society’s approval.

The bottom line is that maybe I love you. Maybe I don’t. I’m fine with you in my life and I’m fine with you not in my life. Either way I’m unperturbed.  I think this is a good thing. You know, self-preservation? It will help me to keep going in instances where I might become crippled.

But whatever. What do I know?


“While I am telling this man I want to live without him I am waiting for him to text me back…”

My mind is in a similar place now. I forgot that he had said he was going out to bring his cousin to her evening college classes. I have to wait for him to get back home, where there’s internet, so we can talk again. I don’t even have anything to talk about.

This is my problem, or our saviour:  I want to talk to him; I want to tell him things; I want him to hear me thinking out loud. Even though I can’t say the words “I love you”, I want him to hear me speak.

“But can you replace him as my closest friend though if I work up the courage to end it tonight?”

Except it’d be weird to have my closest friend swapped out for someone else. Except I don’t trust you that much yet. Except I don’t want to have to go over everything with you that he already knows. I’m growing rather tired of bearing myself repeatedly to one person after the other.

“Girl you can hit me up anytime.”

Joy and an aftertaste reminiscent of that hole Christians say everyone has that only God can fill.

  *   *   *

Today he gave me a compliment.

“See, and I like you for that.”

“You like me for what?”

I felt something like a 16 year old who had to tell her mother that she in fact didn’t want to be a ballerina, after her mother had invested money, energy and several years to her classes, recitals and shows.

I rationalised the complimented action, made it look like something I would have done anyway. I know it did nothing to alter his perception.

It’s been about an hour and a half; he hasn’t gotten back yet. There’s a student irritating me because she’s talking on her phone even though I told her twice to take the call outside.

Never mind that. This mindfulness thing, or whatever it is I’m doing, seems to be working for me these days. If no one else has disrupted it thus far, she will not be the one to break the chain.


I’m starting poems again,
Not finishing them, of course.
I’ve begun again
To build a scattered pile
Of pieces
Of stolen time
And broken thoughts:
Sheets of paper
Parts of an un-gathered
Of my unspoken words
Bravely protruding themselves
Into the world.

I have begun to return
To what is normal to me,
What my life was
Before formal education
Robbed me
Of my time,
Of the ability
To think
At leasure
Instead of on command
With the ever present,
Always impending deadline.

I am starting again
My abandoned relationship
With my words, ideas
And inner self,
Making themselves known
By pouring forth
On paper,
Forming their shape
With ink.



Suddenly my mind is quiet, and on and off I wonder what it was that had caused me to be so uneasy. Why was it so big a deal that it had me worried and unsettled, that I thought I had to end it to feel better? Why now do I think that ending it may not be the right answer, but that continuing may not be the right answer either?

What I had wanted in the beginning was peace. I wanted peace from my worries and my unsettled feelings and he was the source of them all. I thought freeing myself from him would give me the peace that I wanted. Now my mind is quiet. My body is slightly less compacted. However, I am not sure that the peace I was after has come to me. I don’t know if peace is what I was really after or if it was freedom. Freedom to be foolish, without guilt. Freedom to be someone I am not, to try it out for a while and see how it fits. Why do I think I would have ended up regretting this though? Why do I think taking this path would leave me unfulfilled and sorrowful?

I wonder what it is that I think I need to find, what experience I need to have in order to …what? See that’s the thing. I don’t know what I want and this not knowing makes me restless and is potentially dangerous. I don’t know what I want, so I’m willing to try everything and take for granted what I have and turn myself into a fool under the guise that doing all this will make me a wiser human being, that it will teach me to cherish what is dear to me and stand firm in what I want and what I believe…

But a sea restrains me from testing out any theory I ever had. All I have is my mind and its noisy ruminations based on nothing but movies, dramas, and internet memes.


It’s not a novel I’m trying to write when I string words together in my head to describe the movement on my insides when I start to worry about my younger sister whom I think has been abandoned by the world. I’m not ready yet to publish a book about my life and how it was great in the beginning, but only ever got worse since December 2010 when I came to the land of opportunity. I never write these lines down; the ones that form in my head as I walk along the street thinking about the most recent argument I had with the man who wants to marry me. That is just the way my mind works. It makes my life into lyrics and poetic lines, distant, sepia paragraphs that I imagine would look nice in an old book to a woman crouched on the floor, sunken deep into its pages. The shortfall is that these lines never seem to develop into a full body. Instead they trail off and float away into the cool wind I hate because it always makes a warm day into one where I need to shiver.

Learning Life

I suppose today I am forced to pour my problems here; My usual collection unit is closed for some reason and I can’t force it to open. It don’t know why it won’t work. I’m trying to make this poetic and I’m failing miserably. I’m seeing eloquence where it doesn’t exist and hoping for a future that will never come to pass. Maybe not never. That’s me trying to be poetic again; to stretch things that are ugly in an effort to make them beautiful, or at least appealing, to make them grand and overarching when in fact they are minuscule and would probably go unnoticed if it weren’t for my whining. Apparently my expectations are too high and I’m too sensitive, so I’m going around hating people – or people are thinking that I am – when what I actually need to do is not pay so much attention. But I was taught to pay attention. I was punished for not doing so and I’m sick of how much I write about being taught; it makes me look like some kind of thoughtless being whose only purpose is to follow orders, but that is how I was trained! I was told what to do and beaten or chastised if I dared not to follow these instructions. How can I not get upset when everyone else is disobedient and getting away with it and I never had that fortune? So now I’m trying hard. I’m trying hard to deprogram myself – to not care so much about what other people think or say, to not listen when I am told to do something that goes against what I think I should do, to stand on my own feet and listen to my own heart and live my own damn life because it is mine. Because I am the only one who hurts when I am unfulfilled from doing what I was told, from adjusting myself to the ideas of others even when I know they are misconceived. Why am I the only one who listens? Why am I the only one who follows the rules? Why am I the only one who cares? Why am I the only one asking myself these questions? Why am I the only who can’t say no? Why am I the only one who doesn’t rebel? Why am the only one who doesn’t just cut loose and live?