the hardest part of wanting is time,
unreliable silences to awkward constancy,
yearning for answers to questions unasked,
only an hour past 4am at Blackburn bar.
better not to know anything, i keep my eyes closed
holding onto cheek kisses in bed, or your pockets
where you say i can live in?
i've built homes and careers out of conscious decisions,
but most relationships out of my ***.
the hardest part of wanting, is wanting at all.

you’ve listened to this song
one thousand times,
each line getting warmer,
to the crafted chaos.
it didn’t make sense, did it?
tempo too long, keys off,
until the chorus rang true.
“this song was made for us.”
nothing can compare to when,
the past and present conjoin,
twisting lyrics into the context
of falling feelings of bliss.
it didn’t make sense, did it?
does it have to,
if it makes sense now?

june bugs hopping into beer cans,
the old park gates clanging open,
and a small white terrier,
outrunning it’s owner.

crooked ex boyfriends stalk grasses,
someones playing backstreet again,
and you’re tanning turns to burns,
so you flip over.

disconnected neighbours make eyes,
sharing jabs about Honest Ed’s,
and my friend falls asleep,
wearing her bra inside out.

you broke my heart on a wednesday
i cried it out for nine days,
and let it go because i had no other choice.
you hugged me goodbye in the wrong way,
and told me you still loved me.

you're running in etobicoke on a thursday
i am buying my own apartment,
and kissing another tall kind man.
you text me about the yeti cooler we bought,
and tell me that you're proud of me.

i don't think about you at all.

i pretend to know about smart things,
sincerely hoping to appear alluring,
sirens of hope to feel amusing and well.
crocheting an ensemble of paper promises,
ripping apart at the lost seam.
vulnerability turns into another joke,
it's funny how we escape reality with this,
easier to laugh then sit with yourself.

i've never been much of anything,
even for my own company.

irises search for attachment in hopes,
caring arms to tell you your qualities.
do you need them to remind you?
behind everything good there is ego,
for every mirror, we see god staring back,
we only know others as deeply as ourselves.
i look every now and then for their help,
but i always end up back alone with a pen,
do you need me? because i need me first.
we've barely met, but she seems half-decent.

this season is about me
how i read and speak faster
telling stories like a keeper
hugging longer every day
friends holding on tighter

laughing into sunshine gates
swinging hips to blissful fun
entertaining ideas and values
becoming better than yesterday

this season is not about love
the golden torsos and unsure flings
tense midnight overthinking
does he, does he not, does he?
i don’t need to know anymore

holding onto my own forearms
sweating into the steam rooms
to sit by myself in serenity
i love myself and my company
is becoming better than yesterday

Welcome mats, and overprescribed ******
that my cousin gifted me on Tuesday.
I don't sleep anymore, because i'm always up ruminating.
Not about anything righteous or measurable -
just eyes closed, pacing narratives.
Breaking off one rib at a time,
to save man, to give him her.
Sitting loudly under neon bar signs,
drinking absinthe with Van Gough’s depression.
Hope is a dangerous thing,
so it’s better not to have any.
I would have done a boring man’s laundry
just to form an attachment over my own delusion.
Love is a dangerous thing,
so it’s better not to have any.

i rubbed your back
as we broke up
i packed you a bag
you called me babe
even through then
wanting to be something more

i did your laundry
that you left here
you’re in ibiza now
posting money pictures
looking past me
wanting to be someone more

1 comes out of the wood works on King St.,
working every night as a server,
he used to call me pretty in high school,
I'm 25 now and when he asks me what i'm doing,
I say myself.

2 comes out of the tattoo parlour he shares with my friend,
he used to sneak into my parents basement sometimes,
he just got out of a relationship too,
i sneak him into our apartment.

3 comes out of Alberta skating,
where he met my guy friends online gaming.
Nate is sweet as ever, he makes sure
my breakup isn't ruining me.
He texted me good morning and asked me for coffee.

4 comes out of my university job,
but he looks older and wiser now, more ****** hair.
Banana Republic born and raised,
still wearing the same blazer I picked out at 22.
I pretend to know about hockey.

5 comes out of the gym we once shared,
he watches me run for 30 minutes,
and asks what elevation works best.
He guides my arms on the pulls,
and passes his soft number slowly.

they like to tell me
that rejection is redirection,
so my tears turn shorter,
that my energy should draw
on the men who reciprocate

you’re at your sisters apartment
snorting a line of coke,
listening to ajuna beats loudly,
looking for my instagram
to ignore my text messages

i crave your eyes
the soft look of wanting
slowly teasing
around my legs,
watching me laughing
with my girlfriends

i take a sip of gin
and pull you into
my magnetic gaze
shifting focus onto
the dj playing
techno beats

and you’re still watching

me

i should be crying in a taxi
from the toronto cobbled streets.
but i’m laughing with my friends
in an old stable pub in PC.
tonight i choose me,
i leave you behind a final time.

the love that turned to
half efforts and ice,
in under three months.
i have learned to be okay,
that i cannot choose
to love someone who
sees me as an inconvenience.

i am older and stronger now,
my boundaries and honest worries
are not manipulation tactics.
my sensitivity makes the coffee,
pays the hydro bills,
and gets you through 2 unemployment cheques.

now you have your fatal 9-5,
and the security to leave me.
all i can say to you is,
your 29 with the emotional intelligence
of a 19 year old.

i used to trace stars
around your spaces
& kiss your neck with hope
now i’m doing shrooms,
getting a masters diploma,
& listening to too much Lorde

i want an anchor,
a steady, heavy, rain
down on me, catch.
soft talons to grab my
flesh, keeping me.
above air or under.

tender winds pushing,
never falling through.
charging at amity
crashing into loves embrace.

To you my cellulite
is just pebbles on Sauble Beach,
and my baby hairs,
frame the best parts of me.

Sharing a bed with you
is like floating in water,
and let me tell you,
I could never be more shore.

Never rolling eyes,
but rolling a perfect joint
in your friend Nick’s
place, I feel safest.

Always kissing shoulders,
while I read horror fiction
together laughing at
our stupid matching moles.

Never getting the last word,
but having my last bite
in the trees of the Kawartha’s
under maple keys flying.

Always carrying my worry,
buying the good leather bags
so my shoulders aren’t burdened,
when you hold me up quietly.

Metal grinds quietly,
snapping branches,
holding ash on rubber.
Spinning wheels take us
on the long trek home.
I trust your spirit,
you look at me kindly.
Navigating our love
to the old cabin,
where we play Clue.
Giggling in our autumn
toques by a fire.
Kissing under resolutions.

You are predictable,
and reactive.
Calm and turning,
spinning virtues
humming truths.

I am stubborn,
and quiet.
Calm and turning,
twisting morals
chasing truths.

We are dancing,
taking stock of
tense moments
we would once sneer
to every resolution
in plain sight.

We are kissing,
taking stock of
beautiful orchids
we would once sneer
knowing endings
in plain sight.

If I could touch next year,
and guarantee your faith
extend the olive couch
prolong the cooking sessions

Kiss your cheeks every night
like grass holding fingers
I too would linger a little longer
put the tea on just an hour later

and hold you up again,
like our four perfect walls

I want the best for you.
Awarded by frank necessities,
the last good thing,
and the first morning coffee.

I used to think that I
could love anyone willing,
and so it became you.
Honest, direct, and kind.

I did not always know that
love can only be eager.
To change who it is,
only to play the part.

So, You help me run my lines.

You were never complicated,
static lover with broken headphones.
Backing all my thoughts with,
“I understand you.”
Taking things literally,
you hold my truths every night.
Swallowing my over thoughts
for, what if it worked out this time?
Never getting mad at me,
you kiss my forehead more than twice.
Telling me again that,
It should always be alright.

As if the sum
of all my parts,
had fallen into
an hourglass,
and hours passed
beyond your shoulders,
baring heavy truths,
like the gentle
touch of Eros,
without clarity.

I shine orange in the light,
of our hazy bitter May.
Holding birthday cards
that pool in a loving display.
Have you ever felt warmth?
Giving up your vacant spaces,
to welcome thoughtful comfort.
Dear God, I hope to feel loved,
with every ounce of rest
that comes with the territory.
Green hills that rise up, softly
blending into endless bounty.
Resting my head between creeks.
I would bring my straw basket,
and pick a few cherries,
just to see if i could win you over.

Timid falling cedar and birch
who hears you falling down?
Like my eager creeks should,
or my bouldering shoulders.
Again we try to graze,
making hast with premonitions.
A farmers almanac sits
and I have noticed change
long before it’s been heard.

I hope you feel the warm cracked skin,
thumbs that twiddle against you,
in spaces that were once cold.
Woven grains of sweet serenity,
made of golden locks with bold initials.
Because initially you weren’t yourself.
And today you are something much better.
You hold a room like you’re a guest,
a door like it’s a sincere promise.
Taking care of rough details in harmony,
and together you are dignified softly.
Only to open the next.

Who threw the first snowball?
White packing snow flying across,
Av des Pins O and Rue University,
to where we felt wise and so wicked.

Taken by the purity of being young,
naive and valued far more than lost,
to another grace and kind phrase.
I love my friends and hold them dear.

Montreal you project myself too fondly,
involved in culture, rhythms, and sweet language.
and grainy film on knit sleeves in February's dread.
With a bright smile written in cursive letters.

Sunday you message me again,
in the same passive ways as before.
Asking for advice, or where I bought
that french gold mirror we had in our hallway.

I always give you an answer or three,
with the door cracked open again.
You know I'm with him when I do,
hands holding me still, on the beige couch.

Where you once held me crooked.

If masculinity's attractive -
and still socially confined.
Why do your crying eyes,
light my heart a million times?
Your weaknesses I favour,
to cunning hopeless tricks.
Messages once ignored,
and gaslights burning thick.
Call me your precious darling,
tell me your forever heart.
Every peice of you adoring,
even the smallest parts.
Your strength has come in threes
as goods and bads always do.
You have feelings,
You have morals,
You are more of a man,
that's strength too.

You remind me that I should be present,
so you always wake me up on time.
As dependant as the sun breaking in,
love was meant to be simple.

Like the whole package had arrived late,
expedited shipping sitting in the rain.
I was never handled with care,
but I had your hands to guide me there.

If I knew all the times
I got it all wrong.
Showed up too late
for their funerals.
Massaged masculinity,
who made matters worse.

If I knew all the times
I doubted myself.
Showed me mirages,
two miles, too late.
Confronting over-confidence,
who coxed intelligence.

If I knew all the times
I doubted myself.
Showed me your type,
simple, slim, & selfish.
Changing my character
for a crafted coy box.

If I knew all the times
I got it all wrong.
Showed up for understudy,
only to play the part.
I wouldn’t be getting roses,
from someone else

If I knew all the times
I got it all wrong.
I wouldn’t know,
how to get it right.

If I could plan forever,
have carbon copies to the keys,
of the open hardwood doors,
to the new loves never seen.
I would create endless mood boards
for the heartaches every night.
Put playlists together,
for the good days out of spite.
(and pre-order Kleenex on Amazon Prime).

If I could plan forever,
there would be an anonymous “him”,
and we’d own like 7 succulents,
all 10 inches thick.
I would make him morning tea,
and he would try to make my day.
Put my miseries at Bay,
(cause he’s probably a swimmer but I don’t know that yet -)

If I could plan forever,
own a personality I liked
share the shining mirror with her,
knowing she had a creative side.
I wouldn’t need to be planning,
for the heartaches and the rent.
I would just put on my playlist,
and listen Today instead.

I try my best to feel merry,
like a Hallmark Christmas Movie,
an angel turning back years and hours,
losing both daylight and humour.

For the first time in a while,
I am starting to feel comfortable.
Each stark snowy street,
has a new set of foot prints.
I don’t always get to split the bills,
sometimes I’m held back an hour.

The cities cars cry out into the banks,
I am crying because I am happy.
You and I drink Starbucks calmly,
trading hats on a bench in November.

If I could paint you
in a single moment
and twist out mauve.
Calm thoughts would form
for a jester like me.
You remaining audience.
I would draw out
my cold feelings like Poe.
Shout for resolution,
knowing you share resolve.
If I could paint you
in a single moment
and pull out trust.
Soft constance would form
for an angel like me.
You remaining front row.
I would draw out
my warped touch like Dali.
Shout for self reflection,
knowing I share the mirror.

Sometimes my lonely
cannot by conquered,
fears tear at nails
and then myself.

Have I ever known peace?

Sometimes my lonely
tells me I can’t.
Fears eat at hopes
and then myself.

Have I ever known trust?

Even in myself,
my nails tear at fears,
that can be conquered,
sometimes I’m lonely
but it cannot be owned.

I remember soft cold kisses
on my parents old couch
and long Sunday rides
to the warm blue lakes
I remember you wrapped up
in my college white sheets
and your lips tasting like
coffee in the autumn mornings
I remember long nights
crossing off all of your fears
knowing my hands
being the only pair to catch them
I remember trekking through snow
just to burden you again
and knowing your fears
we’re always wrapped up
in me

Arms have swallowed me whole,
caught me on guard again.
After being lost in myself
you hold more doors open
to options of optimism
or Tuesday work breaks.
I am practically calculated,
disorder on draft,
overflowing with grandeur
and pity projects.
I am not gifted nor humble,
but if your parents will like me more
I have a LinkedIn to match.

If I can learn the way
to walk Belvedere, and
make one-way’s, wrong ways,
your rock t-shirt my best pillow,
a cats relentless meow
a joyous morning alarm.
Than I can find a way to
sleep soundly beside you,
hold hands without sweating,
and park under a sap-less tree.
Ones that shade our backyard dinners,
the fish and fudge left uneaten
and the lies left unlearned.

Why is it surprising?
That I can find love,
and still feel like dying.
Have you tried it?
The vacancy of living
underneath yourself.
Have they pushed you
in change rooms?
Left you half naked
to a party you threw.
I have played nice,
pressed his linens.
Gave my shoulders
for weights I can
now choose.
Even when I find
love again.
It’s not enough
to solve a labyrinth.
I’m only assured
by the consistent
accuracy of depression.
Four particular walls
I can depend on
crying behind.

To protect your laugh,
sacred gleaming subtleties.
Your pink flushed cheeks,
with dots too often observed.

The innocence of turquoise walls,
where do your bones lie?
Past reminiscent of a 1gb USB -
my closet is stuffed and cracked open,
their mixtapes in alphabetical order.

To protect your honour,
softly sharing my heavyweights.
Your pink flushed lips,
with softness never overlooked.

i wish i made you up in my mind,
instead of all the ink i spilled over tropes and trophies.
you’re much better than their tireless scripts -
only to be caught offside like the running red herring.
you’re not my cup of tea really either,
more like my morning blonde roast with too many substitutions -
but new things excite me and make me grow still.
and i have been stretching these pages longer,
taking up every inch of you that i can muster
hoping that i see an ending,
and not another oxford comma.

You reaped my moist soils,
my soft grounded earth bed,
a soul, in a place to rest your head.
Before I only asked for water,
and when the seasons changed,
I died, brown and wilted over.
When our sun got hotter,
I grew with it’s new placements,
turning pedals where they ought to,
in the centre of our pink garden,
opening up for another keen drought.

Skin fibres trace across us burning,
and all I can do is smirk at your shivers.
You know I’m an expert at *** and ex’s?
That’s why you find them in eachother.
Trained six years, broke three hearts.
Crossed a few seas and brown eyes
to find yours staring lonely in depths.
So ******* blue and yet so much softer -
would you ever hurt me like they do?
I can find all your secret soft spots too,
map the space our lips drew out.
Across Royal York to Jane? No Runnymede - where we ran to our bakery’s.
Where you loved me plainly,
if you think I didn’t know then here’s how:
I can see it in between takes, the ttc stops,
between breaths your forgetting to draw.
Like our map we are objectively real.
And you think I don’t see past you,
with a past like mine?

you love to kiss my stern mouth
when i rip up in passionate graces
but i am not a mistake, i promise
i am an awfully good learner

still i wait on your patient notices
any slight gesture to ask for more
a longer goodbye that lasts four hours
so you can kiss my smiles to form more

Want to wrap me up real tight?
Under all the winding veins of mine?
Don’t you shake my miseries away,
closer to the midnights before us?

Because I recall the bow you drew,
to spin around my vacant virtues.
That I often packaged all too well,
only to become undone.

the grass is a trap for us both here
keeping us apart by sheer centimetres
each blade guarding our arms lightly
trusting our legs lying there quiet

you play me your favourite soft rock bands
i pretend to listen and to care more than myself
but all i know is your soft smirk lines
and that you can’t keep your blues off me

tell me about your “super” computers
and how all my poetry is just 1, 0, and maybes
and i’ve never believed in the binaries
or doing work for someone else

so when i take off your cut off jeans
and you ride your hands up my black cherry dress
do you feel like your operating machinery
or is it just another maybe?

To wake up as your twirled self,
not a single fragrance wrong,
making silence of your closed world.
Never questioning clarity.
To me that is most scary,
because I have never fit in skin,
I ate the feedings in one sitting.
Lived to tell my fractured beginnings.
To sing love ballads at a Wake,
wearing the ripped tights from the third date,
and you are what you take,
but I’m just learning to ask.

I was born in the northern lakes,
in a small winding wave
of unpleasant emotions.

To dream of me was a myth,
conceiving me an accident.

Yet they confide in me for comfort,
they drill me for being raw,
and take my goodness for grave abandon.

Their love is sensationalized,
asking for new leaves to shade them.

But growing up had never meant growth
and I keep on getting chopped up,
to light their dying embers.

When will I be held so deeply,
that I lose sight of my own two arms?
Sipping up my seems and loss ends,
burning last words on my hard shoulders.
Heavy that you are passive to me,
but I pull you in on each breath.

I take you in with my long strides too,
and double shot pink lemonades.
I’m sorry that I am not gentle for you,
but I’m mostly sorry that I know better.
Because if there was a way to make you love deeply,
I’d have sent you the deposit by now.

I wish I didn't care so profoundly for people,
for the hair curls and the leftover Crest Strips.
Or the unnoticeable stack of old Metro Passes
piling over your Hilary Clinton autobiography.

I wish I could tell myself to be more numb,
like I had been for the past year and a half.
Listening to my own advice and shaking voice,
instead of making time I don't have left.

I wish I could be more sure of my rocking self.
Tell you my sweet limited edition offerings,
things I didn't have three years ago.
Version one me, smaller and idealistic.

I wish I didn't come with so much precaution tape,
all the needs of someone too ****** up.
A series of trauma responses and consequential ideation,
more tickets on the dash than the cost of the car.

Why bother paying?