Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Me and Ne

i left the stove on
well the house is
gonna burn down
like that time i mistakenly
thought i was in love with my
best friend,
why is it always like this
i'm gonna fail again i can
just feel it, waiting for the elevator
the veranda might be
full of water,
i bet the pipes froze,
because i forgot to
turn on the water heater,
that'll cost me a thousand dollars
oh what will i do, my mother
thought i'd
do better,
and look at me,
first boyfriend
told me he wanted
to be steady,
we'll probably break up
over something like this
i can't stand people
who are too steadfast,
it's terrible
it's wonderful,
i know,
i believe, but
what if i become an artist
and move to the sea,
and sleep with that guy
who is twenty years
older than me, but seems
to know what i need,
but i need a pencil skirt,
maybe a lawyer?
be rich and prosper
in some new york suburb,
single at forty,
what a silly dream.
i think i forgot
to email my professor
for the recommendation letter
well that's just great,
i'm such a failure.

Extroverted Intuition (Ne) is the fourth and final function in the ISFJ functional stack. It's inferior, which means when it appears it can be hard for the ISFJ to understand.
I basically experienced Ne for most of my life as an emotion of doubt and worry over unclear future failures and near-paranoia, until around the age of 19 it became something like an insatiable taste for bizarre risks, mostly in the form of unrelated possible career choices and risky romantic exploits. I don't usually follow them through.
When I do, I scare my mom.
But it's usually kinda fun.
I won't sleep with anyone twenty years older than me, I promise.
Or become a lawyer. I think?
I know Ne can also manifest in intuitive conversations. I can cover that later...maybe. Haha.  


Being a feeler is looking out
at the world but
being unable to reach
because the hurt hurts so much
you can't breathe,
being a feeler is realizing
that no matter how much
you cry for other's pain
or how much it hurts to watch
people dying in vain
you can't fix it,
being a feeler is like
being a thinker but instead
of looking like we care, sometimes
we turn our backs on
starving people and burning cities
aching with guilt and
suffocation, wishing I could
bring to the surface the
stirrings of the deep, but instead
finding nothing but apathy
and exhaustion.

I'm working on a collection of poems about the way I experience my own personality. I've been into MBTI for a long time and made some great friendships thanks to it, but it's never really entered my writing before (except for maybe a few older poems). I also get so geeky that I've almost memorized all the type's cognitive functions, haha.
The second cognitive function of the ISFJ is Fe, "Extroverted Feeling". I can't describe how this is for everyone, but it comes to me most often as a distinct kind of idealistic caring, empathy, and fascination with other people that I can't always contain or control. 

Sometimes, I have to shut it off.
Hope you enjoy. 

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Well-Wishes of the Stars

even in my dreams
we always
almost kiss, as if
we were not
meant to be,
in the realm of
the Sandman,
you never
reach out for me,
my hands
hold your sturdy
shoulders gently,
you could
have been so
majestic, darling,
chasing great things,
in all and anything,
after this,
do not look for me
in your memories,
or your dreams,
we were
not meant to be,
though you did
often kiss me,
and your hands
held my small arms
we have no astral
or perhaps
those well-wishes
of the stars,
are fanfares
of inevitable partings.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Gatsby and the Orient

you'll regret
you'll regret making me
want to pull my skin
off my flesh, but sadly
my flesh would still
produce disgust in you
imagine your children
pale and large-eyed
poor babies
poor, poor you

i'm sorry but
what about me,
where am i supposed
to lay my head down
and sleep-deep
under the cold earth?
don't pretend
i'm not me,
chalky and blue
and pink and pale,
don't touch this body
if you despise it

i'll never give you
the things i thought to,
what a mess,
what a mess,
you could've been
my green light
on the other side
of the bay,
summertime, the
island, tea in the sunset,
by the ocean side

but i am not gatsby
the pacific will never be
an atlantic bay,
the world will never
grow smaller, we just
have to be stronger
and braver,
i will never be gatsby
shot dead for his cold lover,
and you,
you are too cold.

Monday, February 6, 2017


insatiable sense
of melancholy
she is so suddenly
tall and thin
and bright eyed
in warm summer light
white legs
in tall grass
her hands
oh, girl
i know your face
everywhere i have seen you
beautifully insane
running on fear
suppressed craving
crazy flailing
around your empty
american small town
grasping for
i was
almost the same.

Saturday, February 4, 2017


Don't mind the letter too much,
what I said is more important
than what I wrote,
and I will probably
only say that once
for all my life.

To your soul
I can say everything,
isn't that something
isn't that amazing?
if only I had known it
from the start,

I showed you the depths
of my heart, the dreams
of us and the stars,
below the green glow
of the plastic planetarium,
stuck to my wall with
tape and bubblegum,

My miniature tribute
to your entrance,
our acquaintance and
whirlwind romance,
your special existence
in my world. 

Portrait of a Belated Love

light from the thermostat
blue-green and cold
rests on your cheeks, your nose,
so beautifully,
i want to remember you forever,
your straight black lashes, hidden
amid your shadowy lids,
in the gray dawn i
go deep into your eyes,
dark and watery
like caves by the seaside,
your delicate wrists and
the pigment etched
in your fingertips,
even your hazy memory
will just stay in my heart,
from this cloudy night
until i'm no longer alive.

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Blue Camel

everybody smoked "blue" camel
tires spinning out of control
mountain roads,
just because i say i don't mind,
doesn't mean i should do it,
if  i compensated for all that time
would you see me as i am?
maybe i'll never fall in love like this,
chasing boys on a whim
running out of ideas
to seem casually appealing,
i learned a long time ago
that cruel flirting is a turn-on,
and my blue veins and
chalky thighs don't
really matter too much after all,
he had black, curly hair
brown eyes, six feet,
smelled like weed and nicotine,
tell me baby, do you know
what it's like to love crazy?
80 miles at midnight
love burns on his neck, stained teeth,
i know he didn't deserve me
that wasn't the point.

Dime a Dozen

When you were down and out
couldn't stand up
sick of all the hate,
you sold me dreams
dime a dozen,
our voices on the phone
through the night,
you wouldn't sleep before dawn
came, you were
young and scared of everything
but I wanted you,
as the night wants for starlight,
I was trapped and you
gave me wings,
you needed a home
to lay your burdens down,
talking in the dark
across the wires.