You try to reach me but
I’m still convinced
he’ll come back

You grasp at me
the way I look for his profile
at every bus stop and coffee shop
with wary eyes and open palms

You will learn
I am no ground for building a home
Do not settle here
do not think me more than I am
Carmen Ye l i have to tell you this

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I am moving out of the house where we melted into each other. You are in every corner but nowhere more than the front door, where the last image I have of you is your walled heart and indiscernible eyes.

Some days, I swear I will come home and find you sitting on the porch, waiting. And despite all my promises to myself that I am bigger than the memory of us, I am scared I would take you back. I still don’t know how to quit your arms.

But now, I am leaving. Tonight, I am washing you out of these sheets one more time. Tomorrow, I will wake up to your shadow in this bed for the last time.

And if, some day weeks or months from now, you miss the way my eyes lit up just for you, come back to this house. Come back and find the doors locked and the welcome mat stored. I will no longer be here. The person you cradled is finding home in herself again, and you don’t belong there anymore.

Carmen Ye l moving


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I’m thinking about all the poems at my fingertips and the people I haven’t met yet who will inspire them. It is terrifying to think that heartbreak may be waiting for me around the corner again. Still, it thrills me that the greatest relationship of my life will find itself in one of these poems. That one day, I can look in the mirror and fall wholly in love with myself. And that is more than enough reason to keep searching for the right words.
Carmen Ye l love of my life 

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There you go again, just the sound of your name making me tremble. Here I am, and it is February again, and the greatest snowstorm of the winter is outside the door. You and I face off inside, and these words coming out of your mouth make no sense. 24 hours ago, you had told me you loved me. Now, we sit like strangers and you can’t even touch me. I can’t even look at you.

But it’s not February anymore. It’s six months after the fact of, yet I leave the door open for you to come back and tear me apart again and again. Everything I write screams loss and leaving, and I do not want us to hurt anymore. That’s the problem, though. There is no us. There is just me, and your name lying in pieces I keep trying to shove under the bed.
Carmen Ye l there is no us

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You aren’t out there waiting for me. The kind of love I am looking for is leading a life with such fullness that it will not wait for anyone.

I am not waiting for you. I am building community and fighting ghosts and healing myself. The kind of love you are looking for is not whole. It will never be whole. But that does not mean it does not strive to be better.

I am not asking the universe for our paths to cross. I just ask that if they do, as we are both busy not waiting for each other, we pause. I hope we recognize love when it calls our names.
Carmen Ye l i hope you are unmistakable

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My heart is speaking loudly again. It has forgotten the pain of crashing, of breaking. I am not ready for it to remember. It has listened too long to my arms, which I still drape around the shape of you in my bed. ‘You can have this again,’ my heart tells me. ‘You do not have to bear this life alone.’

It is asking for another chance. I am not sure I want to give it just yet.
Carmen Ye l numb

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You gave me too much credit for knowing how to stop loving you. I did not correct you. I told you I had withstood earthquakes, so you were a tremor. You were nothing. I was untouchable. After all, who is foolish enough to survive a mudslide and rebuild on the same land?



Me. Me in your arms. Me next to your ‘I love you’s.’ Me making friends with almosts and maybes. Me.
Carmen Ye l foolish

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Diaspora never tasted so strange as when others denied me an identity I had spent years struggling to hold onto.
Carmen Ye l Read more at hardboiled

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It’s not your job to wait for the type of love that will love you as you are burning. It is your job to untangle the threads of your life so that if this love comes, you are ready for it.
Carmen Ye

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The rain reminds me of my last love, and baseball reminds me of my first. I am careful now because I am not sure what the next one will taint. Lavender, perhaps. I can imagine making lavender ice cream as summer ends, and realizing he did not come over for dessert. This time next year, I will hate lavender and the jasmine that bloomed in my neighbor’s garden and fireflies that lit the air on warm nights. No, I am not the patient kind, and I will never give you more than I give myself. I have made that mistake before, and the road back to myself was too long to make it again.
Carmen Ye l lavender

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