“Do Not Fall in Love With People Like Me” by Caitlyn Siehl (repost)

Do not fall in love
With people like me.
people like me
will love you so hard
that you turn into stone
into a statue where people
come to marvel at how long
it must have taken to carve
that faraway look into your eyes

Do not fall in love with people like me
we will take you to
museums and parks
and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth

Do not come any closer.
people like me
are bombs
when our time is up
we will splatter loss
all over your walls
in angry colors
that make you wish
your doorway never
learned our name

do not fall in love
with people like me.
with the lonely ones
we will forget our own names
if it means learning yours
we will make you think
hurricanes are gentle
that pain is a gift
you will get lost
in the desperation
in the longing for something
that is always reaching
but never able to hold

do not fall in love
with people like me.
we will destroy your
apartment
we will throw apologies at you
that shatter on the floor
and cut your feet

we will never learn
how to be soft

we will leave.
we always do.

—   “Do Not Fall in Love With People Like Me,” Caitlyn Siehl (What We Buried)

via Siehl’s Tumblr: alonesomes

“grief counseling” by Caitlyn Siehl (repost)

when they first go,
let yourself think every selfish, no-good, dirty, angry, filthy, horrible thought. let the waves of anger wash through you.
let grief do its work.
do not swallow your tongue
when it turns into a blade.
scream a little, if you have to, but don’t swallow that sharp. don’t.
blame God, if you have to. shake your fist at the sky.
let it happen. he will forgive you.
eat. remember to feed yourself.
shower, if you can. sleep.
kiss your loved ones on the forehead.
recognize how and where love still exists.
forgive tomorrow for never showing up for them.
grab your anger by the shoulders and shake it until it crumbles.
be sad. let your heart be heavier than wet jeans.
feel how much weight there is on your chest.
sit in wonder at how you are still alive, how this didn’t kill you, too.
hold yourself like a child. sing yourself to sleep.
go where the warmth is.
dry your clothes in sunlight, then wear the warmth.
this pain is permanent, but, like a scar, it will fade. a crescent moon on your arm.
make no apologies for what you’ve done to survive.
it is okay to miss them every second.
it is okay to howl at the moon.
pain is an animal with sharp teeth and a soft heart.
wait.
it will get easier.
time will slip its fingers inside of that gaping hole
and pull the darkness out, little by little.
wait.
listen for their voice, whispering,
“I AM HAPPY. WHEREVER I AM. LIVE IN PEACE.”

grief counseling | Caitlyn Siehl(What We Buried)

 

originally posted: 10/17/14

“It is Not Your Job” by Caitlyn Siehl (repost)

when your little girl
asks you if she’s pretty
your heart will drop like a wineglass
on the hardwood floor
part of you will want to say
of course you are, don’t ever question it
and the other part
the part that is clawing at
you
will want to grab her by her shoulders
look straight into the wells of
her eyes until they echo back to you
and say
you do not have to be if you don’t want to
it is not your job
both will feel right
one will feel better
she will only understand the first
when she wants to cut her hair off
or wear her brother’s clothes
you will feel the words in your
mouth like marbles
you do not have to be pretty if you don’t want to
it is not your job

—”It is Not Your Job” by Caitlyn Siehl

 

originally posted: 1/12/14

(I will be on a digital hiatus/detox during October. I’ll be running a collection of previously posted material from 2014, the first year of Words. Hopefully it will be new or nearly new to most of you. I may be slow to reply to comments or emails that need response. Thanks for understanding, xo, Christy)

“Girl” by Caitlyn Siehl (repost)

Girl, bite. Girl, devour. Girl, don’t forgive.
Girl, stay angry. Girl, be selfish.
Girl, walk away from him when he raises his hand.
There is no place that can handle you,
but you must go anyway, to the hills,
the mountains, the cities.
They’ll call you monster,
and they’ll be so right.
Girl, show them.
Girl, run your hands along the
wound and seal it with your
heat. Cauterize.
They thought they could get to you.
They thought they could take you
and make you small.
There may be bruises but you are
no little thing.
Girl, show them your claws.
Show them your wings.
Rise.
Show them your army of injuries
who have come to fight.
Show them the others like you.
Take over the city. Own the mountains.
Bite the hand and the one
behind their back with all the good stuff.
Girl, show your teeth.
Never forget what you can do with them.

— Girl | Caitlyn Siehl

originally posted Jan. 3, 2014

 

(I will be on a digital hiatus/detox during October. I’ll be running a collection of previously posted material from 2014, the first year of Words. Hopefully it will be new or nearly new to most of you. I may be slow to reply to comments or emails that need response. Thanks for understanding, xo, Christy)

“three questions” by Caitlyn Siehl

My mother tells me
that when I meet someone I like,
I have to ask them three questions:

1. what are you afraid of?
2. do you like dogs?
3. what do you do when it rains?

of those three, she says the first one is the most important.
“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right
after church.
one look and my heart fell into
my stomach like a trap door.

on our second date,
I asked you what you were afraid of.
“spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.”
I asked you if you liked dogs.
“I have three.”
I asked you what you do when it rains.
“sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”

he smiled like he knew.
like his mom told him the same
thing.
“how about you?”

me?
I’m scared of everything.
of the hole in the o-zone layer,
of the lady next door who never
smiles at her dog,
and especially of all the secrets
the government must be breaking
it’s back trying to keep from us.
I love dogs so much, you have no idea.
I sleep when it rains.
I want to tell everyone I love them.
I want to find every stray animal and bring them home.
I want to wake up in your hair
and make you shitty coffee
and kiss your neck
and draw silly stick figures of us.
I never want to ask anyone else
these questions
ever again.