beanromeen

[beanromeen]

What good is defense if it takes away support systems

I think my forgetfulness is more than just a silly quirk.

I know your brain sometimes blocks out bad memories. But mine is blocking out even the "good" ones. The ones that hold compassion but also vulnerability, and I think I'm afraid of vulnerability.

Why must I forget the words my teacher told me at the end of a tough year? Why must I immediately forget what my friend told me in support? Why must I forget what a friend did to calm me down?

I think it's somehow a self-defense mechanism, I don't know why. But I know it shouldn't be happening.

[beanromeen]

Poker Face

She was bluffing. An amateur could tell just by her eyes.

"I fold."

[beanromeen]

I Prefer It, Yes

   "But... you don't just like yellow, do you? There must be something else. I mean... you like pink too, right?"

   There was a change in her tone. It's weird. When I turned to look at her, she looked back with this pained expression. She was smiling, and yet something about the way she asked seemed almost desperate.    "Of course, who doesn't like pink? It's a good color, I just prefer yellow." I had replied, idiotically naive.    She nodded and looked down at her tray, poking at a stale fry with her spork. I thought that was that until she started saying something about how nice and soft she felt pink was. "But there's a difference between how you feel for them. You like pink, and you like it- but yellow...it's like you truly love it."    At that point, I was confused. We were talking about my favorite color, I didn't think it was that deep. "I guess so?" I said with that dumb smile.    Then she looked up, across the cafeteria, in the same direction I was looking earlier. She had this sad look on her face. But before I could ask what was wrong, she just smiled at me. I understand why now.

"I see."

[beanromeen]

Grateful for sight but I pity the sharp-sighted sometimes

I, for one, enjoy the blur.

The moon is out tonight.

You ask, "Is it a half?"

I, with no contacts in, reply,

"It looks full to me."

[beanromeen]

Sick, Not Dead (But I'm No Doctor)

I lay in the bed I made

As a single eye watches from beneath the white

It stares upon every visitor with vain anticipation

They all weep and place another bouquet on my chest

I hold in my cough until they're done, they rush out

The carnations are beautiful, but they don't soothe my throat

Another visitor, I secretly hope the petals covered my sneeze

Thank you for the roses, but I'd prefer them at the funeral

[beanromeen]

Vulnerability is a strength

It's not that I get uncomfortable when people become vulnerable with me, really.

I don't cringe at depression or anything.

I just feel bad because the only way to truly comfort someone is for yourself to be vulnerable with them aswell.

And I just can't.

For some dumb reason, I can't get myself to be vulnerable with people.

I can't even compliment others without using excessive emojis or unless it's past 11 pm.

The closest I've gotten is sharing my writing, because as they say:

A writer's work is a window to their soul- or something.

But even then I laugh off the meaning or change the subject.

So when I see that someone looks a bit like they want to kill themselves, I'm not uncomfortable of them.

I'm freaking out because I'm not the right person to help.

What if I do the wrong things, say the wrong words, all because I can't get myself to just be a little more vulnerable?

[beanromeen]

You know how school lunch sometimes come with a token fruit? And it's always either too ripe or too not. I remember one day when I had gotten one of the too ripe bananas, my friend got one of the too not. He knew I liked my bananas a little green, and I had remembered him mentioning he liked his with more bruises. So with a single knowing glance, we swapped. It's not anything crazy or life changing. I just thought it nice when the too ripe or too not fruits find their way to someone who will actually appreciate them.

[beanromeen]

Go ahead, put anything.

Felt like writing today, but I just couldn't get my feelings into words.

After staring at this blank post for much longer than I should of (this really shouldn't be such a big deal), I look up at the title to what filled the empty space.

It's just a quirky thing Tumblr put to encourage posting. But I dunno. This is, again, one of those moments I can't put my feelings into words. I'm staring at it, thinking about it, rereading it over and over again. You decide what that means. Go ahead, put anything.

[beanromeen]

I love how the water reflects the sky

I don't really hate the ocean all that much.

I actually find it quite beautiful, the life inside it fascinating,

of course the geology underneath too.

Sometimes, I overexaggerate for funsies.

I was actually convinced a long time ago,

the passion infectious and reminding me of why I liked the ocean in the first place.

But I continue to feign hatred because it always gets you talking again.

I find myself drawn to those with such passion.

Like the ocean, I'm always learning something new with you.

[beanromeen]

Tomorrow

Everyday, a coyote comes into the meadow in search of one sheep in particular.

Once upon a time, the flock would run back to the barn the moment it was spotted.

Now, they silently welcome its arrival.

The sheep waits for the coyote at the end of the pasture- the side that overlooks the river's mouth, not the side where the groundhog burrows.

The coyote sits next to the sheep and follows its gaze to the hill across the water.

Yesterday, the coyote tried to swim to that hill for newly ripe berries. But the current was much too strong.

The coyote wonders if the bush will still be there next season. It waits until the sheep is done to speak, the coyote's polite like that.

"Will I eat you today?"

The sheep looks back at the hill, then down the river, then back at the coyote.

"Tomorrow, definitely." It replies.

[beanromeen]

Where do you post poetry

I've decided to use my tumblr account for poetry and such.