IS(F)J

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. 

Well-Wishes of the Stars

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

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,
boy,
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.

girl

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
anyone
i was
almost the same.