INFJ - T

I grow exhausted at the exuberance of crowds.
Not able to ignore that nagging voice that whispers the evils of them
Feelings of fear overpower the simple formula of conversation
Jutting into remind me of my appearance compared to theirs -
Too weak to fight against it.

It’s not easy to speak my mind.
Never daring to even introduce myself
Following a very strict line
Just taking each day step by step -
Thinking someday I’ll be able to explain.

Inside, I judge everything.
New situations make the feelings shake
Fear and turbulence expand within
Jaw clenched and sweaty palms -
Thin skin begins to bruise.

Introverted and intuitive
Nervous, yet calm
From day to day
Just a puppet -
To a never-ending nightmare

Budding with excitement and seemingly pointless fear,
but I held a new life in my hands shown through a *** of all my savings.
My eyes dart wildly in awe of all the different cars,
big ones, small ones, new ones, and foreign ones.
Everyone smiled at us - the dealers and the other buyers who walked out with
shiny, new vessels as if it were nothing.
Nobody knew this was our fifth dealership, even we pretended to lose count
maybe this time we’ll leave with something.
I know they can see how badly I yearn for a car of my very own
that I can say is mine,
that I worked for it,
that I can watch age through the years.

(imitated from Patricia Lockwood’s **** Joke)

The woman joke isn’t something you choose.

The woman joke is something you get used to.

The woman joke it almost becomes your livelihood.

Remember when you were little, boys had cooties, but so did girls. Imagine what would happen today if you said boys had cooties-

Nothing.

You’ll hear the woman joke when you’re way too young. The ones telling the joke probably won’t realize that the joke they’re telling isn’t a joke at all. But girls have cooties and they always will.

You’ll grow up, but nothing will change.

The woman joke is now commonplace. The norm! How can a joke be so common normal? The only people who think the joke isn’t normal are women.

The woman joke is when even the President can make the joke without consequence.

But you can’t.

The woman joke is that if you make one, it suddenly isn’t funny anymore, men will look away in disgust, and other women will say you’re degrading them and yourself.

It’s just a joke, you’d say. Even though you knew it wasn’t.

The woman joke is an expected icebreaker at a party that you learn to laugh at. When you go home at night, you shake with rage but know there’s nothing you can do about it.

How can such a joke exist? Because you do.

How can I, a source of such exuberant energy, look so startled?
Black, sunken eyes with a wide, gaping mouth that can **** you, but also bring things to life.
Hunched against the wall, I pale in comparison to the pretty polka-dot paint,
just a hard, blank shell covered in dirt, grime, and dust.
Come to me only when time is on the line, with forceful, shaking hands.
to fill my deep, dark void with a surge of passion,
only to abandon me for hours at a time, while I exert all my energy just to bring you joy.
I hum and buzz until you rip away my nutrients until I’m ****** and drained,
with my surprised expression returning to one of electrifying horror.
But still, I’m the lucky one to give you a glowing light, always full, to destroy the darkness.
I’m not one that gets lost in dusty shadows that might never be found,
who sits in silence, with that shocked face, waiting to find out his powerful purpose.

Multiple eyes glisten under the scalding lights
with hooded lids like a blood-thirsty spider stalking its prey

Yelling in the spotlight where the words fail to come out
locked behind gates of enamel shaking in the cold, wet dark

Full-fledged failure alerts the signal which forms
salt soaking stains against the burning, red hot flesh

Empty and alone, unaccepted and frozen like the
scrawny polar bear that wasn’t good enough to be the mate

Annihilation takes its course through the inside
resembling a death-eating disease stealthily flowing through veins

Reduced to nothing more than a fast-fading memory
gone as fast as a rollercoaster disappearing into the loud, tight tunnel

Silence that used to be comforting now is as deafening
as a tree falling in the middle of the forest, but nobody is around

cheeks fill with the fiery heat of an embarrassing fire
eyes close so tightly a pounding ache sprouts from the skull
teeth lock together and lips bleed the more they fight to stay closed
hands press and are drenched in soaking salt as they hide the guilty pain
ears strain at the sound of stupid love songs mixed with ugly cries
lungs struggle to catch a breathe feeling like they’re running faster than they should be
heart alone in its shallow shaft knowing that it shouldn’t be sad when it feels so much love

But the head knows it was better to suffer now than to bleed all over a white dress.

It is sudden and total
distinguishing and dangerous
fluctuating and gives no warning
occurring frequently but is always present
relatively a much more complicated phenomenon
the initiation is dark and repeated in very large numbers
different members fracture from the tension
gradually the level strain will yield
but then time can and will vary
until we’re static again.


Source: Richard G. Budynas and J. Keith Nisbett, “Shigley’s Mechanical Engineering Design”, McGraw Hill, 2015

I know you’re scared,
What is it, the 4th school now?
Time to make new friends just to probably leave them again.

You’ll be mad about it soon,
I mean, why wouldn’t you be?
Soon you’ll be overcome with dread each time the alarm rings.

For the first time, you’re shy,
How can you be shy after all this time?
You’ve had to do this more times than most this isn’t hard.

So you’re the new kid,
It’s a nickname you know well, right?
Trust me, it’s better than nicknames you’ll be called later.

I’m not trying to scare you,
Isn’t it obvious I only want the best for me?
Don’t forget how strong you are and what you’ve already accomplished.

Keep your head up, kid,
Do you really think life won’t get better?
Well, I can tell you first hand that this isn’t even that bad.

But it will shape you,
Just remember that at least, okay?
This 14-year-old hell won’t be nearly as tragic 9 years later.

Dying Sun

Warmth on my eyelids welcomes a new day
and you, create a reflection against my skin
pink carnations sit on the window sill
soaking up the sun, but desperately begging for water
I kiss you gently and grab the vase
my fingertips brush against you while the birds wish us good morning
I remember how much you loved the pink carnations when we got them
your soft, delicate hands so gently pouring water into the glass
the crinkles by your eyes because you were so happy
and because it was always too sunny by that window
you didn’t care though, sun made you smile
so even when the birds stop singing
or the carnations begin to die around you
I know that the sun will make you smile.

Today marks 133,920 minutes and
the answer still isn’t clear.
Unfortunately, it never will be
because poetry doesn’t have one.

No rhyme or structure
nor 14 stanza song
can make it easier to
solve this meddling art.

Only 336 hours to go
maybe you’ve got an idea for
what all the math in this poem
actually signifies or -

The message it might have
and the meaning rooted in
this 23-year-old brain
who is struggling as well.

Still, after 106 days
when the final day is here
we’ll all scratch our heads with a shrug,
and say, poetry is never clear.

I remember when I asked you,
October 2, 2017
what if something happens tonight?

I remember when you,
rolled your annoyed eyes
there is zero chance that something will

I remember thinking,
anger flooding my brain
I bet that no one ever thinks it’ll be them

I remember mourning,
the 50 people who died
they never saw it coming

I remember the anxiety,
following me to every concert
maybe tonight someone snuck through

I remember praying,
looking around at all the strangers
I shouldn’t have to fear for my life

I remember shaking my head,
wanting you to listen
we need stricter laws

I remember our fight,
your exhausting arguments
guns don’t ****, people do

I know she’s home when her car is a mile away
It’s so loud and I can hear the music playing before she parks
I can tell it’s her by the way she slams her door
She steps lightly up the flights of stairs unlike the rest
Even careful when she unlocks the door and pushes it open
Sometimes she has a hat on, but most times not
She calls my name and I come into the room
I patiently wait for her to throw her bag on the couch
And to peel her coat off with huffs of irritation
She kicks her boots off to the side before
A breath of relief escapes her lips.

Finally, she takes notice of me!
She sits down on the floor.
I chirp with enthusiasm to show her my appreciation
She’s gentle at first and then she gets too excited
So she grabs me and I immediately remember every day before
She does this every day, but somehow I forget this part
I cry in protest, but she only laughs
Continuing to pepper me with kisses.

And now my brother emerges
I’m plopped back down on the floor
I try to get her attention again, but she’s moved on
In defeat, I walk away and sit and glare
She never picks him up like she picks me up
Oh wait, she picked him up
After more kisses he’s put down too
She stretches and smiles at us.

“Who wants food?”