The Crack in My Voice

the one held by structure and poise
the one held by sincerity yet worry
the one held by the thoughts of you
and I together

The Late Night Deep Breathe

the one that got me through my wednesday night anxiety attacks
the one that whipped away my tears 5 times in counting
the one that carried my suitcase across cities and trains
the one that made me finally see you
and I together

The Van Gough Poster

the one which makes me think of better things
the one which sees the starry nights to come
the one which takes me back to the core of myself
the one which creates what is you
and I together

The Argument We Had On Church Street

the one that led me to ignorance
the one that made me cry for 2 minutes straight
but i haven't cried, even 5 months later
thats how i know that everything is real with you
and I together

it's 7:00am and your alarm sounds
a classic default ring
regardless of your musical options
you remain conventional in this one

i glide my hand smoothly across your chest
not only because i love your form
but more so, i like to feel your breath
it's calm, gentle, and steady rhythm
something i long to have

you ease into my side
nuzzling my shoulder quietly
and without words you cross over
stopping the alarm to a halt
but you won't get up for another 15
you'll just grab my hand

i move to your hair
softly i run my hands through it
careful not to mess up a single wave
rising and falling, never crashing
i can never really remember what messy looks like

maybe its the way your put together
or how god shaped your soul
but when i look at you
i see nothing but strength and poise

maybe you don't see it all the time
maybe i wish i saw it less in spite
but your so well rounded
so well put
i want to unwind you

i want to smack all your alarms
i want to knock your wind out
i want to mess up your waves
but most of all

i want to hold you back those 15 minutes

I never thought I’d be one of those people
the ones who sit in coffee shop's on Bay
readied note pads in hand, sitting with engraved pens
bought by mothers with high expectations
of their child drawing out the new future

But here we sit, a collective sum
drawing out pathetic fallacy’s
peoples right arms
someone else's future in poetic prose
finding details in the blur
of business men rushing past
so green is a theme in these woods

Grande Decaf 2 Sugars 2 Milk
and a shot of espresso
I stayed up late finishing a politics paper
What’s keeping you up “Todd of TD Bank”
Your extravagant 2 bdrm 2.5 bth on Bloor?
Or the realization your wife cheated on you
with a younger college drop out
i don't actually care Todd
i just want to write a new **** poem

Satchels hang from wooden chairs made by moroccans who get paid bottom dollar
I sit drinking over the sweat of latin americans picking coffee beans in a summer heatwave
the music plays to mask the confusion i feel here
displaced
my sperrys muddy and unkept
i am a large flaw in this small system

i'll keep my pen gliding
finding the answers to my questions
hoping when my words meet they shake hands in agreement
they are thoughts but not entirely
thoughts are questions short lived
and often unanswered

it turns out theres no answers in my silver pen either
engraved with an edgar allen poe quote
to a poem my mom never bothered to read
she wants me to draw a future
yet doubts me in every step to achieving one

in every single month
you wipe away a tear
you take away a worry
you mask another fear

in every single day
you ******* alive
shine out of parts of me
i often try to hide

in every single hour
you continue on in muse
my optimistic lover
my right hand and my bruise

in every single minute
you leave your mark on me
give me a varied outlook
constantly helping me see

in every single second
i wait for the next one
hoping it never changes
all the glory that you are

that i have become

amidst the loud noise
& the sweat that drips from heated foreheads
your hands slip from a new friend to a red cup
& for the rest of the night you’ll idly stand
maybe concerned with tomorrows homework
trying to catch a feeling
of the way peoples arms look without weight

you weren’t going to even go out tonight
but your friends said you’d regret it
even though you knew you wouldn’t if you did go
you went anyways, worried this time was different
but now that your here
and they’re playing fetty wap for the second time
this time isn’t different

what is different is the artwork
someones failed attempt at collaging girls *****
tasteful side **** to full exposed kardashian
the only thing unexposed is the exposed brick they covered
ironically and sadistically
you remember frat boys don’t do metaphores

you manage to get your hands on some chips
as your eyes meet some guys across the room
awkwardly and unobviously locking in place
you step away from his line of vision
moving backwards towards kate
who can’t remember your name from film class
so you have to hint at chanelle for input
stumbling to call your name through liquored breathe

lost in thought, but somehow forming sentences to kate
someone nudges your side
Alex
He was the guy across the room
the lighting must have been weird or something
you talk for a bit about middle school
he hugs you uncomfortably
wondering if there was some broken rule
about accepting hugs from people that aren’t your boyfriend

He tells you about his skate board
attempting sarcasm at every turn
his voice burning into the air
soon the conversation swoops to music
he asks about your taste
you say you don’t have any
and you’re arms start to feel weightless too

You say bye to Alex (and to Kate)
Chanelle mouths “where the hell are you going”
before you know it your on line 2
drifting to bloor and younge
writing about a party
that you weren’t even suppose to be at

you're writing about a party that never really happened
but somehow that night still really ****** you off

our battles are often fought
with our hands tied behind our backs
because no one ever sees
perception holding you up for grabs

in your fight with varied outlook
your opponent will be torn
due to their lack of better judgement
or the opinions that they've sworn,

were completely right to begin with
don't disregard these facts
if i talk in this particular tone
what kind of purpose does it have?

the answer is: it doesn't
have a purpose or a gain
unless you're one for false politics
then continue on in vain

17 hours
before your flight to
egypt
and i can't say
that's too short
because then
you will leave milan
speechless
just like you made me
the night you left
just like i made you
leave me without
finishing a single sentence
because 3 weeks
i can tell doesn't
seem like
a whole lot to you
but to me it's enough
to know
what it's like to live
without a sidekick
and i don't want to know
that feeling
i don't want to know
what your doing
because all i know here
is that your sweater
doesn't smell as sweet
as it did filled with
your strong arms
just 5 days ago
and i find no good
in goodbyes
because last time
there was distance
it had fell apart
so just promise me
you won't say goodbye
unless you really mean it
unless you really want to
because i'll let you leave
just make sure
you never
finish the sentence