That day seemed like any another,
a typical trip down to the barbershop
for my monthly hair-clip.
I’d had been riding my bicycle
for a while, it was no big deal
for a ten-year-old boy.
Mum would give me the money,
just enough to leave a bit of a tip.
Looking back, I never really got
the creeps from Frank ‘till that day.
His voice seemed slower,
deeper, lower, almost guttural.
When he walked by the raised-chair,
he’d brush up against me,
it didn’t feel right.
He left me staring straight ahead,
with him standing at the sink
just behind me.
When he finally spun my seat around,
I was in total shock,
I couldn’t make a peep,
not a single sound,
I felt glued to his perch.
He was standing erect,
his pants bunched down to his knees,
he was jerking a lot,
like there was no tomorrow.
His glazed-eyes met mine,
he was seriously at play,
it was sickening,
I sprang to me feet,
bolted out the front glass door,
hopped on my sting ray,
spun the pedals
like the devil was chasin’ me,
I never looked back.
To this day,
Mum still wonders
why my haircut was free,
why I didn’t have to pay.
She also is curious why only
half my head was done.
To this day
I cut my own hair,
What is hope?
Hope is believing that I can finish the bottle.
Telling myself that I can stomach each sip of wine,
Holding the pen when shaky hands disagree,
Until I finish writing this line.
Just for once I'd like to hear good news when I wake.
Like, 'Payday was early.'
So that I can afford to put food on my plate.
For the next few days, at least.
Hope is convincing myself that I can meet someone,
To whom I can relate.
To plant seeds with,
So memories can bloom.
But if a person like that came into my life tomorrow,
It would be too soon.
My friends and I jam and tell stories,
Into the early hours of the morning.
Anything we can to reach a euphoric state,
I don't need drugs, anymore.
I only want a nice girl to date.
The days are long and the nights are even longer, we’re beating this poor horse and I noticed it’s breathing stop a long time ago. Beating a dead horse, am I using that idiom right? You know I’m no good with those and no matter how many times you say one stone is better than a hundred, I’m never going to understand that either. You’re more likely to kill two birds with two stones than you are with only one, why do something the hard way when there’s always a more simple one? If we’re out killing birds with stones, I’ll carry four while you carry one and we’ll see who has more dead birds to bring home. Why are we killing birds and beating horses anyway, maybe I don’t understand them because jokes about dead animals make me sad? There’s a burning in my chest— it’s been decades since the last time we slept in that bed together, sometimes it felt as if I slept beside a stranger and it’s the first time in my life I wanted to hold someone I’d never met. That night you stood in front of me with tears like a hurricane, you were struggling to catch your breath, begging me to love you back and it was in that moment I knew this poor horse’s heart no longer beat in it’s chest. I could tell from the look on your face and I know during that brief moment of silence, you were hoping I’d have something to say. But there was nothing left to say, you weren’t able to hear a word I was trying to say and I had risen my white flag.
Can you draw me a road map of your moods, detailing where they lead and every possible detour? Because I’m lost, I’ve never traveled to a city like this before and the road turns too often for my car too keep up—didn’t you notice me fading in your rear view mirror? I’ve been a tourist in the town you grew up in but all I’ve ever wanted was for you to show me the shortcuts to all your heart’s favorite parking lots. Last night you said, “When I’m around you, I want to take a knife and carve at my fucking face.” and five minutes later you were sitting on the floor in a pile of self-pity, asking why it’d been years since I last kissed that face but before I had a chance to take a deep breath— you were telling me I made you want to kill yourself again. You need to add in these roads and sharp turns because I think my car’s breaking down.
And the night I sat with knees to my face while crying over messages which had revealed everything, you said things would change and you would be different. You said you’d make me happy but tell me baby, when was the last time you saw me smile or heard a laugh which wasn’t fake? You say things can’t get better because I won’t just let it go? The hole I broke my knuckles in for the third time that week still exists right above your side of the bed, how can I forget when every time I hold you I’m forced to stare at it? Horses are much different than the stethoscope we quickly replaced or bent syringes we toss aside like trash, this isn’t something we can buy from Walmart at four in the morning, plus you and I— well, we know more than most about the permanence of mortality. How many more times will we break each other’s hearts this week? Now our words are sharp and I don’t know about you but I mean very few of them these days. While you’re crying because of reasons you don’t understand, I’m just sitting miles away from you with my hand on my chest to be sure my heart keeps beating through this.
This has broken parts of me that I can’t afford to have repaired, so I’m stuck using super glue and strips of tape to piece myself back together but I can’t seem to get the tape to stick. I think I may have missed that day of kindergarten because I don’t remember ever being taught this. I was going to end this using an idiom but we already know I was never taught those either, maybe if my parents had sent me to public school I’d know the secret to killing birds with stones, I’d know why it’s preferable for our world to be an oyster even though I hate fish or why raining cats is used to explain something unpleasant. I’m constantly determined to know everything about anything and I’m convinced there’s very little which cannot be taught through Wikipedia, unexplainable mysteries. But I’ll never understand how to put together a fog and toggle for a pocket watch, I won’t ever understand the meaning behind idioms or how to use them, I’m never going to learn how to successfully tie a tie and I’ll never understand your mind and how it works despite previously thinking I might. It’s raining cats and dogs on this horse we’ve beaten dead, the world may or may not be our oyster I’m not sure how you feel about fish yet and I don’t want to say the fat lady is singing, just in case that’s in my head and in reality she’s sitting silent.
the old moon smiles at me
every night as I walk on the lonely beach
where hundreds of ships has washed ashore
and thousand feet have walked upon
cold wind blows from the waters crashing
on the white dull sand
bringing promise of freedom,
a sweet yet sickly feeling erupts in my stomach
I doubt whether my wishes will come true.
whenever the winds blows, I look at that way,
but never towards my house, or the town,
because all I want to see is a faraway adventure
just within reach, if I could grasp the star
that sits silently and still in the navy blue sky
beckoning me to follow and find
my own journey, as long as I run away
leaving nothing but the last traces of
my light footsteps,
wanting them to be washed away by
the coming tide.
just like how I hope all memories
of this place
of my entire existence here,
will be erased,
as I need room for new acquaintances, dangers, exploration,
feelings, discoveries, tastes, smells
sights, sounds to come and stay
when I leave to travel where
The Wind Points That Way.
Sleep deprivation, watching the
Hair on my arm as it transforms, as
It begins to dance down to my hand,
I think I'm losing it, these shadows
Do not feel like my friends.
They seem more like demons here to
Torture what's already damned,
To devour what's already dead, to
Claim the souls of those who've given
Up, just like they did. Someone --
My eyes are heavy, tired and red--
Hearing my name being called again,
Please tell me this is all in my head.
Listening for shoes against the hardwood
Floors, hearing footsteps-- please
Tell me I'm having another bad dream
Clenching my fists, nails cutting into
My hands-- breaking skin,
Until I finally cave in, grabbing my
Shoelace and a loaded syringe.
Hoping my demons will return to
The place I must sleep to revisit.
Pushing the plunger in, I inject
Myself with more poisonous relief
And the shadows begin to fade away,
Back to the dreams I've been avoiding.
But what happens if one day,
These nightmares decide they'd rather
Stay, unable to be injected away?
Shadows are not my friends, they're
Unmistakably the enemy, here to
Devour me // to seize my sanity.
I lay on my bed.
Something suddenly appeared,
within a second
it was gone.
I couldn’t see what it was.
I looked away.
It came again,
And went away.
I don’t know what it was.
I looked behind myself
and saw a clock
which wasn’t working.
Was I repeatedly going back in time?
So what is time?
your concept not mine
slingshot round the sun
fade, and disappear...
with your 'knowledge' of this
that posits matter,
when even that is just belief.
We could leap off a cliff,
you could fly with me,
through this moment of Eternity.
And lose nothing.
So what is time?
When You've always been right here?
On your face,
it looks more like fear.
I have had it all wrong,
I wonder if my grandfather
thought that, when on a steamer
he arrived a dreamer
of moving west from Montreal
single trying to find a life, better,
opened and tasted peanut butter,
and never did ever eat that again,
I have had it wrong, all of it
He kept dreaming and trying,
took the train to the northern Alberta,
saw his dreams take shape as he built
homes for other dreamers,
he met his wife, but that is a poem for another story,
he was a pacifist, he did not support, killing another,
but he sure had a temper,
for a peaceful man, he decided to retire, and that
let him get old, I admired him for what he stood for and sit at
a desk he built with my dad.
I still have had it all wrong.
The desk is nothing special
other than the hands and
knowledge that built it
and something a father and a son
did together, one of the last things
of each other, that
would be remembered, they worked well with their hands.
Both men were dreamers.
My dad had his dreams, he mostly kept to himself,
but you just knew that they were to do with
things outside of the house.
Oh don't misunderstand, he loved working with wood,
he knew firearms, he recieved a Medal for Military Merit,
for dedication above and beyond what a militiaman was
to do, he wasn't a pacifist, in many ways he was different
from his dad and so many more he was exactly the same.
Shame, I have had it all wrong.
I was not an A student, but Gee, I tried hard,
my potential was palpable we just needed to resuscitate it from time to time,
I joined the CAF, married and had three who have amazed me,
with their strong beliefs, so different from one another, see?
I have worked twenty jobs and not one among them defined as a career...
oh and yes, I have spent time in an unemployment line.
I am not a carpenter, like the other two could, my grandfather as a career
my dad took it on as a hobby, I am a pacifist, yes, but don't push to hard,
I might write you into a poem...
I have written so many serious and sombre pieces,
There is already so much sadness in the world,
If planet Earth could cry a tear, standby with the tissue,
I deal with my stuff in words, I try not to hang onto them,
Rather free them like birds, Ravens and Crows with Hummingbirds and Eagles,
My soul is sore and
Animus would rather soar,
so I pour the toxins from my mind, my skin, from my day
you already know I am not perfect I sin, from my way of life,
so I pour the garbage I live and beauty as I see
it is around me for you all to read, shame on me
I have had it all wrong.
I don't have to get it right, I must write.
The way your fingertips dance
Over my dry skin
And the way your lips demand
For more than a chaste kiss
It was how your eyes did nothing
To search for my soul
And how you whispered sweet nothings
Through a device so cold
But that warmth you give me
When your arm is wrapped around my body
And the way your laugh and smile
soothe my aching heart
and lift the sadness for awhile
The comfort and safety
You often provide
And my inability to lie
Even through that cold device
I hold you up so high
I just wish you could do the same
But I do not love
The way you say my name
The way you close your eyes
The way you pull away from me
No one is perfect
That I concede
But I often question,
"Why would you waste you time
with a girl like me?"
Answers were not your forte
You were the opposite of romantic cliches
I could pour my heart to you
And still you would ignore
Everything but your need
to constantly explore
The parts of me you could see
And not the ones I would let you reach
But it is enough for you
And that I would construe
And I will wait
And keep waiting
Though I know it could never be
For why would you waste your time
with a girl like me
My countenance cannot convey
the pint-sized slasher, with a blood-spattered clown mask,
that is hanging-out in my head.
Setting booby traps in my path,
and whispering perversions from his crawl space cubbyholes
in the walls of my subconscious.
I understand misunderstood.
I once sustained myself on nitrous oxide.
We'd hide behind the furnace in the burn-room
cracking and filling balloons,
we were misunderstood, and we understood
the need to say what shouldn't be said.
Or, more like, say what must be said,
at a time when silence would be best.
That is what I love about you most,
you flow from the soul,
you grow in the tumultuous
and you have an imp on your shoulder too.
Licking your ear, and instigating wickedness.
I heard your imp sleeps peacefully now,
and I'm proud to say
mine has faded from green
back to brown.
I understand misunderstood.
I scream when I get discouraged, I have a semtex temper,
computer glitches make me want to punch the universe,
and I have ranted to myself at the top of my lungs,
over losing a file, and yet I can smile after being slapped,
and disarm with curled lips, raise sunken ships, and spout camouflaged quips,
designed to accrue subtle smiles from those who know me true,
ten minutes after smashing my monitor off the desk with my keyboard.
I understand misunderstood.
I know flip-flopping can be a religion,
so I always wear boots, unless I'm going swimming,
the only holiday I couldn't live without is thanksgiving.
I know a billion ways to break balls, and I bet on the underdog,
unless everyone else is doing it.
I'm in pain daily, I leave my TMJ untreated,
so that I always have a reminder that pain will not deter me.
I eat healthy food, because I like eating it,
I feel at home inside my fists, I make love with my roundhouse,
I thought I'd live alone till death, and never meet a mind my graymatter would matter to.
But now I know it's not true...
Because now, I've met you.
And you understand misunderstood.