ears spilling rain, water found
when i tilted my head up and tried to listen
at the wrong time, i guess
but hey, i'll listen to your rain
catch it, absorb it, drink it
and shed it through tear ducts like mirrors
reflecting your weather
you don't have to smile, i'll find some way
to light the wet pavement in front of me
that involves no lies, no "i'm fine"
no way that's going to keep my head high anymore

eyes spilling honesty, feelings found
when i opened them all the way
just for a moment, but it was enough
to let something in, something clean
and *****, small but somehow
it filled me right up to the brim

and now i'm spilling over
with four-letter words
care
or ****
because of the fear
or love
because there really is no other word for it

april cut into the city
in long fingernail scratches
of running water and suddenly brown gardens
and the air fell heavy onto the eaves
of houses eager to open their doors

i stepped out and spoke
into a space filled with spring
just trying to hurry things along, i guess
trying to warm the air
trying to clear the path
trying to make some sense of this transition

i stepped out, leaned forward
and spoke
too soon, i guess
because the mercury sank coldly back into the glass
and the rain became needles, the trees thread
threatening to sew winter back into the sky
and the air retreated back
into a dull winter chill
as if afraid of my open chest
displaying december's frostbite
and january's cold words

and i apologized silently
to the city and myself
for thinking winter could be defeated so easily

i didn't wear my hat, i know
i should have, but i felt rebellious
in some small way, i tried to cheat the day
and paid in tingling pain, sharp aching corners
and a strange sense of pride in my bones warmed me
until just the tips of my ears were left white, dead
yes, dead
but i felt alive

to be in danger and know it, to press on against the cold
to push forward into the wind, though before you is only white
to turn blindly into the storm, to accept the blizzard's strength
to guess what lies ahead in fear and still take the risk
this, to me
is courage

maybe i'm just talking about frostbite like some romantic wound
or maybe we're in danger, you and i
pressing on into the storm despite numbing fingers
smiles frozen, eyes watery
maybe we'll get frostbite in our hearts
but i think it's worth the risk

his eyes were blurred, half open
and constantly shifting, his mouth
a soft **** along his chin, his hand
twisting among the grey, wiry curls on his head
and with one arm along the seat behind him
he slouched, facing the doors
like an uncomfortable silence
like an awkward comment
like someone who didn’t belong
and yet i could see that he did
there on the bus at one in the morning
this man was at home, as he tried
to make eye contact with me and i turned
to the window instead
and the woman behind him moved
to the back of the bus as soon as she could
to escape his wayward, grasping fingers
and i felt pity for him
grey, gasping pity
pity that made my eyes travel back and forth
between the window and indoors
as, inexplicably, i tried to capture
the creature sitting there
and i watched his feet shift
as the bus rocked beneath us and somehow
i saw the world from his eyes, the shady seats
and the angular, beautiful people
each one passing him by
hands gripping the posts and avoiding his gaze
and his mind was swimming in amber liquid
i knew that, i saw it
plain as day, this man was drunk
and though when he met my eyes
my brow was furrowed, my face uninviting
inside, i felt that same aching pity
and i thought ****, i’ll make poetry
from this somehow
and perhaps the words are simple
but i’m sure it’s the first time
that anybody has ever put that man
down on a piece of paper
in full colour

feet just tappin’ it all out as it comes along
got this down, inscribed in my mind
findin’ more every minute of the day
feelin’ like old-time slang
like easy chords and lyrics
that just spell out my day like i can’t
my words are nothin’, not even
written down the way i say ‘em
just can’t describe today
the way the music can
and that’s alright, ‘cause i’m the one
who’s gonna put music to it
will you play the drums for me?
just need me a walkin’ rhythm
and i’m good to go

all grown up and here i am
a child again

you've taken me back to the easiness
of jokes and meaningless words and smiles
that mean nothing more than happiness

childish tunes of light footsteps
and heavy touch of hand on hand
and cold air burning cheeks bright red
and heaters bringing out the best in our ability
to just lie still and complain
about things we know don't matter, and besides
with you, it's all a joke, it's all a game
and yet there's a seriousness to the smile in your eyes
that pins my chest to yours
and my mind to your words
and it's this combination that keeps me here
after hours, after the walls have been emptied of echoes
and the windows are darkened by cold and near-midnight

with you, growing older and younger
and happier
simple words come to mind
so here they are

let's keep growing together

playing cards, flinging numbers on the table
conversations leading nowhere
and i sit on the outside, watching us
and analyzing the game
i see your head tilt, i see your mouth crack
wide open and speak
and i see the words, read their shape
and watch the colours fade in the air
to match the grey of today
and i wish that i could reach out
and touch them, try to brush
the colour back into your voice
but instead
no matter how hard i try
the words are stale, the cards are bent
by the time they reach my ears
and land lightly upon the inside curve, soft and dark
still nice, still present
and i guess i don’t mind the lack of colour
besides, i know that if i really wanted to
i could move closer and catch the words
catch your voice
as it leaves your lips
and intercept it before it can fade
taste the colours instead
and it’s nice to know i have that option
so i stand here and watch this interaction
watch the card game, hearts and spades
and analyze each move
black and red and white
and colourful
just waiting for the game to end

at first, you sat in my heart
in your own little rocking chair
and it was like you had always been there
but then
(and here comes the metaphor)
you sat on my heart
and if that wasn't bad enough
you stood up and grabbed it
fingers digging in
and stuffed it in your pocket
chair under one arm
and walked away
leaving me, like
hey

hold myself tight
find a new metaphor for loneliness
to symbolically scratch and burn away
find a different voice to speak my name
so i can hide under the covers
and pretend i hear nothing
let me be lost to myself for a little while
make it a treasure hunt
aren’t i worth the effort?

hold your tongue, i said
i'm tired of these bleeding words
and i passed you the gauze
slipping my fingers through the maze of your palm
and out through the cracks
hold your tongue, i said
i want to feel these words instead
pretend i am paper
and bend me, press your lips
to me and whisper the letters
and i will fold myself over them
hold your tongue, i said
i love the noise but i love the silence more
just the sound of me
drinking in those phrases, swallowing
air as i try for more
hold your tongue, i said
hold my waist, catch the words
as they drip down from my forehead
sweating ink onto my shoulders
use the silence to soak up the meaning
of each and every one
hold your tongue, i said
and the words will come, riding
upon waves and i will swim
with you to dry land
give me your hand, and i will guide your pen
down along my spine, across
the sand dunes of my shoulders, through
the space between my collarbones
let the ink bleed into my hairline
let the words sink into my skin
as i let you mark me up, graffiti
in the best sense of the word, badass
but secretly
hold your tongue, i said
and take my hand
pretend i am paper
unfold me

here i am, horizontal again
spread out along the furniture
curled up into the corner
tilted, twirling through
a stationary dream
horizontal, parallel with the smooth mountains
and the sun rises and sets
with my breathing
horizontal, like the sand dunes stretching
connect-the-dots with every oasis
dry land, searching for water
here i am, horizontal again
lying down, searching for the words
that will bring my feet back down to earth
and the seeds
that will plant my soles firmly into the carpet
and let me go on with my day

i'm no Houdini
but sometimes i feel
like more than just an everyday
escape artist
as i climb over the walls
of yet another situation

more and more i find myself
performing my way out
of heavy conversation
writing paths across the words
that i'm walking away from
building ships so i can sail
across the thoughts i've been swimming in

i'm no Houdini, there's no need
to prove myself with cuffs and chains
just the simple strain of too much meaning
if you want to see me

slip away

it was all i could do
not to uncap my pen
and mark you, let the ink
seep into your skin
let the words, the anxiety bleed through me
and into you
so that you might understand

how do you feel?
you ask
and i want to write it into you
scratch the answer deep
or at least
write it down
and it's all i can do
not to unleash these words
every minute of every day
they're kept at bay
until i can string them together
alone

so that the next time you ask
how do you feel?
i will have nothing to say
except
fine

shy stutter of a thought
scurrying across rough rock and diving
headfirst into cold white water
so as not to be heard, unlike
the wilted sigh from pinched lips
that draws eye contact then breaks it
like waves upon those stones

syllables soft and jumping
through valleys, over jagged mountains
just to reach ears clouded
with assumptions and a failing effort
to tune it all out
skinny fingers gripping a skull
through wild, upset hair
hands coming to rest uneasily
within each other, still shaking from the strain

or maybe it's the cold that cuts edges
into my shoulders, ties the laces tighter across my back
pinching me into place as i twist inside
looking away a thousand times, and trying
but i cannot unwind, i cannot open myself
to you

it's just a word or two
a few syllables dropped from my mind
turned to slivers on the floor
and i step purposefully, heavily
upon them
so that the shards of myself can be painfully absorbed
back into my bloodstream

in other words, i'll do whatever it takes
to hide those shards from the open air
eyes and ears and even hearts
would never understand my language
so why try?

and now my blood is contaminated
with my own wayward thoughts
haunting my veins, trying so hard
to drift back up into my soul
and are they poison?
are they foe or friend?
am i my enemy or can these thoughts defend
my own fine line
between insanity and just another roving mind
the tightrope quivering in the cold air
i am always one step away
from an accidental leap into ice crystals
and sharp snowflakes
and another reason for all these stares
strange looks, imagined or real
pierce me like no arctic wind
could ever do

am i my crutch or my own splintered bone?
sunglasses or the blinding light?
the question or the answer?
truth or lie?
lie or truth
or both
or none
or just confused
or crystal clear
or muddy water, near the bottom
sinking down into thin air
and cloudless skies
and sentences that make no sense
and metaphors defying science

do i defy science or reality?
or am i just a monster of the two
born to question without end
born to close my eyes again and again
and write words into my spine
to keep me upright
in my dreams

eyes and ears and even hearts
would never understand my dreams
so how could i?

i'm seeing you in bright green and blue
calm, cooling colours
neon against my eyes
full of this feeling, but empty
ready for more

bring on the whole nine yards
every shade of serenity you can find
every familiar colour comes to mind
when i think of you

i see myself in dark red and grey
regal and lonely in muted shades
soft against my skin
every warm, safe feeling comes to mind
when i cover my body in the morning
and when i hide from myself at night
amid a curtain of navy blue
and light starry sheets
above the rooftop

bring on the whole nine yards
from red to blue to sudden violet
to pink across my cheeks
every shade of my existence comes to mind
when i think of you

under a long sweep of colour across the sky
i exist
when i think of you

what was the weather like when you were born?
your smile displays sunshine, but your eyes
betray clouds, and i know
that day could have foretold the way
the sun shines through the frozen clouds
every time you smile at me
and i guess i'm just hoping
that the sun broke through the sky in the same way
when you arrived in this world
because that would mean we're more
than just temporary weather

I am not innocent,
not by a long shot.
Then again, who really is
innocent these days?
It's a ***** world,
and I try to stay clean,
waterfall once a day
to wash it all away.
I keep my mouth in line,
saying only half the things
that come to my mind,
and I don't swear.
Surprising, really,
to some people,
for they seem to be overdosing
on those words,
grandmothers' hands over their mouths
in shock,
callous and defiant,
rebelling
and making these ***** things a norm.
You'll laugh,
but to me,  swearing is like love.
It's special;
it means something.
Fall in love every day,
and the meaning fades;
just like that,
those coveted four-letter words
become just adjectives and nouns,
nothing special at all.
So I save up,
like love,
waiting for the right moment,
so that when I need to,
the shock value is there,
the anger is real,
the truth is apparent,
and I am exposed
bare.
So that when I tell you
this ******* hurts
you know I mean it.

four squares, now three
of dark chocolate, the kind of dark
that makes me feel like a grown-up
although it's childish of me to say it that way
but then again, it's been that kind of day
and that kind of chocolate, only two squares left now
and the sweetness is never enough
to drown out the bitterness of five cups of coffee
oxygen staining my cheeks a bright pink
as i move through a tiring day, drinking
cup after cup of darkness, feeling
shot after shot of energy, extending
my day, inch by inch
cup by cup
square by square, almost midnight
and there's only one left
one crutch
and yet i know there are excuses
for these vices
after all, it's not *******
i say this every day, to each complaint
and my hand wavers a bit, the left one
sometimes it shakes
and i clench it tight, proving that i can still control myself
it's only a side effect
of something, anything
these are only crutches, just
something, anything
to push me through the day
and up through the night, until finally
i can sleep
and it feels right

I have this visual interpretation
of the internet,
where we are all connected by strings,
nylon and shining and constantly entwining themselves
with each other,
electricity shooting through from my fingers to yours
in the space of a second,
a lifetime of words.
It’s beautiful, I think,
like a painting
or a photograph,
surreal and captivating,
probably in artsy black-and-white.
But this image of myself,
hair tied back,
one hand scrabbling at the side of my face,
waiting for an expression to take hold,
and the other chicken-pecking out the words
that is so funny
while one foot falls asleep
under the weight of 1 am,  
as 2 am falls lightly on my shoulders,
settling like an uneven blanket of dust
and I cough, ignoring the symptoms
of sleep deprivation,
rubbing at my eyes as if to stretch the sockets,
open wider the windows to my soul,
saying
here, internet,
take all of me-
this image is not quite so beautiful.

in the space of a year
i have found a lifetime, pocketed
the words of wisdom, every single one
from the sidewalk, *****
but still, i've found some use
for these single lines of poetry
did you know that
footsteps in snow will melt away
come springtime?
the cold blue sky whispered to me
letting me know that
the frozen feeling would not last forever
footsteps on my heart will eventually fade
did you know that
sunsets are not forever?
there is no permanent marker
colouring the sky in with black
the dark fades away like blue dye
in the wash, and by the morning
those old jeans will fit again
and the sun will rise
familiar and bright
and maybe this time you'll be able to raise your head
from the clouds gathered round your mind
and get out of bed
did you know that
there will always be somebody else?
i learned that arms are open
somewhere, someone is standing there
hands stretched out
just waiting for that puzzle piece to come along
in the space of a year
i have grown taller
in confidence
i have grown smaller
from the tears i have shed, every memory
i've had to leave behind
has lightened my step
in the space of a year i have changed
learned to make poetry
out of anything

i looked across and down
and the man's feet tapped
out a rhythm into the dark floor
of the speeding, jostling bus
and the rhythm matched the music
that occupied my ears
and my fingers pressed the tune
into the depths of my pocket
and i looked outside

the trees, aligned along the road
filed past the window
one by one
and the speed at which they passed my vision
matched the even beating of my heart
and the drumming of the cracks
in the cement that hammered
through the wheels and into
the soles of my feet
and i closed my eyes

the words that echoed there
in that dark expanse of thought
were spoken evenly, echoing
into the cavern
in strong, reliant waves
and the beauty of their timing
matched the rhyming of their meaning
and the march of my feet upon the sidewalk
matched the space between the lyrics
marking every single breath
and hanging on each letter
and i opened my eyes

it's funny, because today
the skies were open wide
and the passing of time
was aligned
with every inch of my five senses
one rhythm underlining each word said
one rhythm defining the weight of it all
one rhythm combining the moments together
and as i went to bed
heartbeat thumping in my head
i said
today just felt to me
like a song

today, i told a friend
that i am digging myself
deeper each day
and it was the first time
i could admit it out loud
and the words
displayed themselves
loud and bright
across the screen of my vision
so that i had no choice but to read them

and it's true

"you're in too deep"
i tell myself
as another inch goes by
"you're in too deep"
i tell myself
as my hand disappears within yours
"in too deep"
repeats in my head
as i pull you in with me
"in too deep"
this guilty stereotype
describes my day perfectly
and as these words echo around me
i ask you to join me again
the next day

"in too deep"
i told my friend
and it's true

and she nodded, perhaps understanding
the feeling

i wished i was talking to you
so i could say
"i'm in too deep"
and you could say
"me too"

cheap wine tides me over
as i go against the grain, walk along the side
of the train tracks
and wish i was brave enough
                                          to stride down the middle
wish i was brave enough to admit out loud
that i’d love to just stand there
embrace the black coal smoke with open arms
breathe it in
and never exhale again

and i don’t mean that in a suicidal way
                                                         (i swear)
i just mean the thought crosses my mind
too often not to mean something

there’s probably a word for this feeling
but i’ve got nobody to tell it to

at every moment
there came a pause beneath the glass
as the cold passed through us
and the wheels rolled on
and the oxygen around us moved slowly
and we were safe

or at least that's how the day felt
warm and soft
a comfort to my scrambled, savage soul
as deep down below me
the beast
(the road)
was defeated

guess the world just seems to me
a place that needs to be defeated
every so often

guess the same could refer to me
now, that's a thought

when i was young, i knew
(with more belief than i had in my own name)
that i would dance ballet
and i danced ballet, attempting
each spin, each hopeful leap
gaining slivers in my knees each time i fell
and keeping them there, proof
that i had flown

but i fell more often than i flew
and one day, i just knew
(with no tears, only a firm nod of the head)
that someone out there would always fly higher
than i ever could
so i just turned the music up
and let my fingers tap out the rhythm
and to this day i close my eyes
and let the neurons dance inside me
electric current, steady pulse of a bassline
mirroring my heartbeat
inside my head, my feet are light
even to metal, or to some quiet, hollow guitar
i don't touch the ground

and now, still young
i know
(with more belief than i have in any concrete thing)
that in this silly metaphor
we can dance to choreography
or just make it up as we go
and me?
i let the music show me
where to step

press inward
shift forward
your shoulder, again
soft contact
hard impact
and i turn to face you
fleeting eye contact swims
in the air between us
and i refuse to catch it
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

look backward
move outward
and i use these days gone by
to excuse
and recycle
the words that occupy my mind
glowing eye contact swims
in the space between us
and i refuse to reach out and touch it
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

eye contact, slow smile
and the miles i have walked to get here
are melting beneath my feet
and down i go
dry ground swallowed by your voice
and i refuse to hear the meaning
of the cold air warming round our hands
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

i will not take hold of this feeling
but for now, i will
take hold of you

i've always had these moments
hours on end, recharge
reflect and deflect the wind
music just loud enough, alone
and staying sane
but lately it isn't the same

there's just something else
a lift in my step, or what?
an extra heartbeat here or there?
i don't know, maybe the air
is getting cleaner

grey days are constantly being replaced
warm wind and soft rain
even the cold is comforting, in a way
weather like this
makes me want to take a picture
and show you, saying
"see? winter can be beautiful too"

feeling like this, alone and in tune
all i can think of is
"i wish i could show you this song"

I am not going to share this with you.
Never
going to speak aloud,
only write
and write
and write.
I will share it with the world,
handwriting in print,
stamped with my heart,
authentic.
I will share those thoughts,
the ones you turned away from,
the ones that maybe
just maybe
just maybe-

I will share the events,
every moment
or silent step
or loud heartbeat
or quiet answer
or scripted scene
or word worth recording,
though there isn't much to tell.
Still, I want to know;
can you hear me?
I'm just wondering
where you are,
what you say
when you hear my name,
what you hear
when I write these words.
Tapping,
scrolling;
I imagine your fingers
pausing and tracing
the glowing lines
and the stupid hopes
poured into these pieces.
Pieces,
small,
unique,
alone.
I'm done with this.
Whether or not
your eyes chance upon
a memory or two,
who cares?
It's all gone now,
flowed from my fingertips forth onto the paper
a while ago;
this, now,
this is the very
last
drop.

cars, trees and concrete flip by
like television channels, each one forgotten
by the press of the button
or the slow closing of my eyes as i grow tired
of the still-life patterns
and the constant sounds of humans
interacting with machinery

to tell the truth, it was different before

this morning, the buildings sped past
in time with my music
and i smiled back at the bus driver
sitting down with the anticipation
of standing up again
waiting to step down into that sunshine
waiting to shield my eyes from the sky
and wrap my vision around you

and you never disappoint

this afternoon, though
i sit heavy and sinking
into blue plush, silver metal and damp dust
as i leave the sunshine behind

call me dramatic, but leaving you
feels like the real thing

i threw rocks at time
tried to shatter the face of each clock
that mocked me today, but
i was unable to slow the seconds
that pulled me away from you

feeling childish, i gave up
and time paid no mind to me
as the bus sped away
and i walked home, my mind spinning
with visions of plane tickets and suitcases
and the spaces hidden around this city
that we've been occupying all this time

i saw sunshine smiling down upon rough, empty rocks
and a hill sloping steep toward the water
that we sat by
and i saw the places i have yet to show you
and i am so sorry, but the happier i am
the worse i feel
as the days slip past me
and i am always one step closer
to leaving

things i have learned so far
in university:
how to lie
and how to tell the truth
and how to walk the fine line
between the two
and come out with three words:

i miss you

radio silence
now, that's nice
keep it up, dear midnight world
and i will be there with you
writing words
to fill the pinpricks left by stars
that died a long time ago, hey
somebody's gotta do it
may as well be me

the sun shines down today
like a lie, as the clouds betray
intent to darken the sky, and i can’t exactly
pinpoint why, but i know that it will rain

i smile bright and wide
like a lie, but i will not betray
intent to return to my bed as the stars blink into existence
and i can’t exactly pinpoint why, but i know
that sometime tonight, those stars
will make me sigh as i realize
that they are not
the same ones i saw with you

I’m really not here today,
not really in time with the rest of the world,
just floating,
generic and grey,
through the hands of the clock
as if they were made of water.
Time today
ebbs and flows, a tidal wave
of muddy water,
and with each hard hit to the face,
each urgent push at my back,
I am angry,
a strange sentiment,
so alien that I didn’t recognize
its face
until just now,
and I figured that if it were to stay hidden
(for it must stay hidden)
then I should probably write it out,
fling these feelings at the screen
and forget.
However, the right adjectives,
the beautiful nouns and the glorious verbs
are not coming to me
and it hurts to admit it, but
I am still angry.

i am cheap logic
bought from a man on the side of the street
who says it's the real stuff, nothing but the best
and i guess you believed him, i guess optimism ran in your veins that day
and i should be glad, really
except you've been tricked, and the man
walks away laughing with your petty change in his pocket
glancing back to grin at your smiling face
as you slip your arm around my waist
and i pretend to be worth it

dress me up, because i'm tired of painting myself
i just wanna hear your description
i like it better than mine
take me out, at least as far as the road
to show me why i usually stay at home

i am a solid shell
this logic has been welded into my surface
and i make sense, just ask anyone
i am a rock, i am an unmoving blanket
i am a hand to hold, a smile to be reflected
i am a solid shell
within which the logic falls apart

too bad wandering gypsies
don't give refunds, eh?
you'll never track him down

be my computer genius, crack this code
make me logic from spinning numbers
make me make sense
make me make sense
make me make sense

keep the optimism running in your veins
i like you that way

I bet her name is Lola.
After all, she fits the part,
all little girl, sweetheart,
bow in hair and storybook ringlets,
bouncing down the halls
on pretty shoes
that I would never wear.
I bet she places her small hand
on your arm when she flirts,
eyelashes ablaze
and head tilted,
inadvertently charming her way
into adulthood.
I bet her voice is sweet,
crackling with forced sexuality
as she melds childhood innocence
with the politics of growing up,
trying to get the best of both worlds
and almost succeeding.
I bet her wide smile falters
when she walks away,
as she realizes the impression she has made
and, too proud to turn back,
continues down the hall
feeling tall
and yet invisibly small,
little girl, sweetheart
in search of rebellion.
I watch her, and
I wonder what
her problem is.
I bet her name is Lola.

just trying to take each day
separately from the others
maybe then the similar moments
won't run together like muddy water
down the roadside of a week or two
and seep through into the grass
of culminating time and too much rain

trying to pick the hours apart
and keep the bits and pieces of patterns
away from each other
so they'll just stop dancing around me
for now
it's true that they somehow make me whole
but i've thrown logic aside for a little while
just wanna see how the other side lives, that's all
let me do this, i need to justify
myself

can i be justified?
turn me into a philosophical debate
and justify me, prove me as a theory
concrete as an idea
make me an argument, defeat what makes me wrong
teach me myself
and i promise i will learn, just please
make me right

it's not about luck, you know
it's about reading the cracks in the sidewalk
and taking the route that your heart beats toward
and saying the words that feel right
and reaching out when your fingers itch to
and reading more into luck than just coincidence

i swear, it's all a pattern
sure, we shift like tectonic plates
all over the place, but we are still
when it matters most, time moves around us
and you've just got to recognize that quiet
submit to the current

it's not about luck, you know
it's about reading too much into the little things
and ignoring the big picture
just for a little while

lust is pink
dark and cloudy
casual in its appearance
beautiful in its persistence
as those reddish waves crash upon my shore
lust is soft
clear and winding
round the bark-less trunk of my torso
rustling the leaves of my hair
as my roots begin to stir
lust is loud
quiet but growing
symphonic in its metaphoric
crescendo to the top of the page
lick my thumb, flick back to previous sheets
and try to figure out where the music started
lust is music
slow reggae from a stereo in the morning
heavy metal blaring from a passing car in the afternoon
turntable cranking out Sinatra in the evening
tape deck cracking and splitting the indie rock
that curls around us at night
lust is strange
wistful and insistent
tugging at the corners of my jacket
as i remove the layers that protect my jawline
so you can taste the soft skin there
scarf unwinding, falling to the grass
and the cold flees from our shoulders
frightened by our moving hands
exploring the obstacles across our bodies
lust is here
obvious, apparent
even to me
in my awkward awareness of the raindrops
blistering my warm skin
and lust becomes silent
as we swallow the sound of the tension between us
put the words to our lips and bite
in your mouth i find four letters
l u s t
and i take them from you
m i n e
give them back
lust is generous
and so am i

i looked in the mirror
turned
this way and that
and tried to bend my eyesight
fracture the light that sent this image
speeding toward my mind
just in time
to trip me up, as i catch a glimpse
of myself in a window
sidewalk coming up to meet me
as i fall forward into my own flaws
i closed my eyes
and it was dark within the confines
of my webbed, ebbing thoughts
sticky with contempt for the days gone by
spent before this mirror
and i tried to imagine myself
flayed, clean and sparkling
naked, proud and walking tall
but all i saw
was an invisible girl
behind a strong shield
coat of arms held up, symbols falsely proud
a hammer, for stupid, useless strength
a blazing sun, for the heat of my unsaid words
a pen, for the silence of my honesty
a heart, for the things i have yet to find
and in the middle, emblazoned
a mask
bright white and gleaming
for the shield itself
i looked in the mirror
turned
right, left, dead centre
tried to meet my own eyes
and saw only the mask

the snow today
felt like a blanket
and my scarf was a masquerade mask
as i twirled through the day
on broken costume stilettos
with the stain of stupid words
colouring my lips

today, i finally came up with
something to say
that makes sense to me
now, all i need
is some other masked dancer
to say it to

can life just be a masquerade?
can we just judge each other
by tone of voice
and tilt of head
and honest things said
and simple choice
and just
that gut feeling you get?

today, i finally came up with
a request
and i've got the tape paused in my head
just waiting
for something to click
for someone to reach out and press play

please don't call me by my face
call me by my name

we were having
a beautiful conversation
and then you used the phrase:
"that ***** monkey *****"
and ruined my poem
**** you, i said
to the half-moon clippings
as i trimmed my nails at 2 am
this will never be a masterpiece now

the complicated patterns here
that i've drawn into the snow
feel like a labyrinth
look like a puzzle
and i'm trying to find the answer
before the pieces melt away
and even though i know i have the time
this cold will stay, it's only december
i still feel like the moon's hands
are ticking, beckoning me
forward, telling a story
where i speed through the next few months
and arrive at that fork in the road
the numbers don't add up
there is too much here
too many words, too many pauses
too many buried feelings
and possible causes
of probable scenes that play out
in my head
and the figures just don't work
pencil after pencil
lead, graphite and ink
crumpled paper, metaphoric cinders
and this is when i realize
i have never been good at math
and now it's finally catching up to me
as i try to add
you and me
together
and the equation just doesn't work out

heartstrings are stretching
words etching weakness into the veins
that spin round the surface of what might be my soul
and the doubt casts bruises upon the changing weather
that threatens to break through
and sever the strings altogether

i don’t need my heartstrings, do i?
i don’t need to be tied down to some feeling
that keeps fading and sparking and blazing
and blinding my eyes to the strength i am losing
i don’t need to be tethered to any safe words
or to careful phrasing of a feeling
that has no meaning without an answer
and yet is never a question

and i’m tired of phrasing it like a question, waiting
for a response to validate my crooked, fearful thoughts
waiting for a yes or a no or even just
maybe
coupled with a smile
and some **** good explanation for why i’m being left hanging
on my own stupidity, time and time again
as i read too much into nothing
and nothing into everything
and i become someone other than myself, ignoring
the way i used to work, always standing by
until someone else went first

i’m tired of going first
tired of waiting in line, tired of buying tickets
to  my own show
tired of being early
tired of running behind
just tired, really

i’m tired of myself, and of the way i deal
with all this, letting myself give in to honesty
and then stitching myself up on the way home
with cold air and a hard swallow of the words
that i regret saying

i’m tired of regretting everything
come springtime, i don’t want to regret winter
stretched heartstrings melting across bare branches
as i am swallowed by the leaves
and an airplane takes me home across three time zones
where i can just forget the whole thing

The idea of the midnight hour
is an image,
a feeling,
a scent and a sound
that has always consumed me;
even before I could stay up this late.
And now I realize
that the midnight hour is not one,
not two hours, not three,
but the whole night,
and I am driven to defeat it
breath by breath
and minute by minute
and hour by silent, screaming hour
until the midnight train has run its course
and I roll into the station, victorious
knowing that the idea
of the midnight hour
is not an image,
a feeling,
a scent and a sound;
it's a lifetime of silence
and when it comes around
I'm afraid, but determined
to live this one out
and prove to myself that the sunshine
comes from somewhere.

a jewel of a lake, hanging
from a rough gold chain of stars
summer air and midnight sounds
quiet water, echoing
loud beneath the old wood
bare feet touching sand, pockets
filled with pebbles
i sat down
eyes closed
and i felt my heartbeat

i opened my eyes to grey
to rain, to fog, to half past autumn
soggy leaves on the cracked cement
and the lake and stars only a lament
playing in my ears, fondly
saying goodbye
and i thought i would be still
i thought i would be calm
empty, sitting here
among dead trees
but i looked to my right
a familiar face
and i felt my heartbeat
missing summer less and less
each day

je ne suis qu'une femme
qui cache un enfant derrière son visage
cette fille qui me tient la main
et qui me suit avec pieds lourds
yeux soit au soleil ou au sol
mais jamais devant elle
et moi, je dois toujours
regarder derrière moi
pour faire certaine qu'elle n'est pas tombé
encore sur la terrain que nous traversons ensemble
ensemble, mais pas du tout
la même personne
je suis une femme, mais pas encore
fini mon enfance

time passed with you
is time well wasted
change well made
from bills well spent
and i am bent out of shape
from all these round rhyming words
bowed to the ground
at the feet of this feeling
confused as all hell
(however unpoetic that may be,
it's how it is)
at the line between
beauty and truth
between outside and underground
uncomfortable heat and ignored cold

weird words, but that's all i've got
i'll shout them underground, unheard
or silently
to the cold, rushing river
or whisper them to myself
but that's it
(however dishonest that may be,
it's how i am)
and these simple words
primary colours:

red is telling me
that the pink in your cheeks
is diluted, and i don't want to know
what that real colour means

blue is saying
that the ice in the air means nothing
and that melancholy has no place
in the space between our hands
since we close that
a million times a day
and it is forced to escape our grasp

yellow tells me
that the sun is shining, somewhere
and i reply that i don't even care
it's sunny here, even underground
face turned round to meet yours
i'll survive

time passed with you
is time well wasted
change well made
from bills well spent
and i may be broke
but trust me
it's been worth it, throwing
colourful Monopoly money
imagined riches and caution
to the wind
with you

You were always skinny.

always turning away
always hiding your face
always twisting your frame

You were always more than skinny,
not quite thin,
not frail
not flimsy
but more than just skinny.

Turning to the side,
I saw you;
as the light caught my eye,
I lost you
in between the rays of sun
you hid,
as invisible as a smile
when one’s back is turned.

You disappeared,
you folded in on yourself,
you were more than skinny;
you were a magic act.

Now we see you-
now we don’t-

and that’s the story I’m sticking to.

And years passed,
and time ran by,
and seasons turned
and so you grew,
bulky
and strong
and proud in the torso,
capable in the arms,
different to the eyes
of those who paid no attention.

But to me you never changed.

Shoulders, still bowed,
like broken wings folding inwards;

Neck, still twisting,
escaping,

Face still shadowed,
still turned down to the ground

always turning away
always hiding your face
always twisting your frame

Never straight.
You were always skinny,
so easily bent,
so easily silenced,
so easily spent;
so strong yet so tired,
wired for work
but never for play.

Any day now
I expect you to turn
and disappear
between the cracks of the sunlight,
like a sheet of paper evades
real existence,
you will evade my persistence,
my insistence
that you could be more.

More than just skinny,
more than frail,
more than flimsy,
more than strong,
more than broken,
more than fixed;
more than lying.

You were always skinny,
always two steps behind;
but you were more than just skinny
in my mind.