Noetic Ghetto

Thoughts, insecurities, confidence, what we tell ourselves, is powerful. It's hard to be available in a relationship while living within an inward ghetto... And of all the things I've learned, I know I like oranges.



The Noetic Ghetto

She was quite ugly, especially in yellow. At least she said so.

She used to live in the mindset slums, and she always had neighbors. It had nothing to do with money-really. And she didn't have to live there. Some days she knew that, some days she didn't. She didn't really know which days were which, to be honest.

She lived in a small room, with little sunlight and no fresh oranges. She stayed in the room most the time, but sometimes would leave for a brisk walk, only to find herself longing to be back in that small room. The world was too fast for her, too filled with the big.

The few times she actually enjoyed her time away from her little dwelling was enough to make her keep going. It made her smile a time, or two, and then she'd quietly pack away her smile, forget where she'd put it, and sit on a chair beside the curtains. She'd sit down, cover her freedom, and keep herself comfortable- familiar. And then she'd think. She liked that most.

She filled most days with leftover thoughts, ones that taught her of regret, of insecurities, of doubt. She'd have people over from time to time. They thought different from her. But sometimes, when they left her, the room seemed bigger, brighter...even scary. Sometimes she'd enjoy the room like this. At least for a while, sometimes a long while. Done with being alone, she started working.

She started to pour coffee for the town. And when she did, she wore yellow.

...he loved her, especially in yellow.

He loved coffee. He always had lots of work to do, so he'd stop by and display his belongings on a table by the window, and quietly sip coffee from his buffalo style coffee cup and type. He always brought his own cup.

He thought differently then most, especially her. He was the only person she knew that could travel everywhere, sitting in a chair. She liked when he came in, she liked it more and more as time passed. And as time passed, she started drinking coffee. She started hating her curtains. She started buying oranges. She started to leave her ghetto.

“Getting out of a rut is hard work,” she admittedly told him one morning, refilling the sugar behind him.

He laughed a bit, that was his way, “what isn't hard work?” he said, even growing a bean is hard work”.

She smiled, an honest smile. She always liked the way he'd give his thoughts to her. She liked the way he saw people differently than what paper showed.

It didn't happen fast. It wasn't only him. It wasn't a painless uncovering. She started getting stronger than her walls. She ripped down her curtains, and she peeled some oranges. She hardly seemed the same. Some days she would go back to the mindset ghetto, but less and less. The days she'd go back to her small room, it made her lonely, it made her sad. It kept her captive,selfish,inward...

I went to see her this morning, because she pours my coffee. I wondered if she was still living in that lonely room.

“black, coffee please, and a poem or two” I ordered, like I knew her well.
“ it's good to see you this way I told her”, “especially, for no reason at all.”
We shared a laugh, and then I asked her how she was doing,

“I'm good”, she told me, and I knew she was. Because this time, she said she felt pretty, even in yellow.


people.
Caryl