Cohesively graced
in soft warm browns.
Never going slowly,
but i have gone.
To see new moons,
the shaking falls
of forearms and
river bends.
I have turned in
muds like a lotus,
a hypocrite anew.
Drowning in dirts
for perspective,
for answers,
for hope,
but not for you.

one new burn on my wrist,
two tattoo's you'll never touch,
three new scars from falling,
four guys in my dm's,
five new pillows on my bed,
six coffee's with him,
seven days sharing apartments
eight kisses before bed
nine minutes in heaven,
ten reasons i don't think about you

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 have my suspicions
of your curiosity in me.
Do you marvel
at my wicked ways?
My velvet tongues,
and rough orange nails?

I cannot sit in awe of you,
or your forearms and good hair.
I cannot sit, I’m skeptical
of your charm.
This unbothered patience
you hold in zeal,
or in your hard earned BMW.

Mistrust is only
an overpass bridge,
I am just holding
my breath
trying to make it
under you again.

sitting with myself,
endless feelings of love,
warm sentiments of care,
no one else to give them too.
as if it goes to waste -
the longing i project
it eats me up inside.
can’t hold this in,
30 elephants sit on my chest,
a lion roaring violently,
with me -
the circus is always in town

you felt like my cabin,
when the wood sank under.
loyalty doesn't take time,
it takes character.
seeing fallen branches
crating to one side of it,
like rough patches,
which I saw him through too.
and there i sat with you
with 3 drinks too many -
and saw the way you spoke to
strangers under the canopy.
did you notice me watching?
i knew it as soon as we sat down
and shared battle stories,
like coming back to comfort,
then into torrential feelings
i found parts of you in me,
shavings of pain and joy,
contingent to democratic debate
and i found parts of me in you
pairings of ego and art,
conditional to romanticising realism
did you notice me too?

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.

who
are you with tonight?
tracing her fingers along your spine,
finding paths you took to nowhere,
crossing edges, my territory.

what
are you wearing tonight?
with your white boxers hanging off your hips,
at the bar with some college kids,
getting under someone, getting over me.

where
did you go after this?
taking the path less traveled kid?
did you look back and wonder,
or did you just let our bygones live.

when
will i see you next?
what can i expect? should i want to?
i've been looking at bottoms of bottles,
did you put me on the shelf for later too?

why
did you give it less thought?
did the repercussions hurt a lot?
am i the only one that ever cares?
are these too many questions?

Asphalte - nothing more sinister
than black wicks and
melted British Columbia coniferous'

Beige pavement - sleeping legs,
the hum of traffic, and
grey-toned depressions

Chalked up - memories,
scrawled out on blanks,
video tapes, and Air Max 97's

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 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.

“I’m here”
I take off my shoes and look up
He lies across my sheets
His eyes staring eager like a little boy
I smile hoping he’s questioning my day
He doesn’t ask anything about it

“I wrote a new song”, he says
“Should I play it?”
I nod, as he moves quickly across the room
When he reaches back with his guitar
He looks at me so concentrated
Without delay he begins to play

He stares into me, and past me
Focused on the music he sees
Because he’s never even read music before
He’s been too busy trying to read me
It doesn’t take me long to realize
That he didn’t come to me for lyrics this time
That this song doesn’t need any

After he’s finished playing, he packs up his guitar
And glides on his favourite jean jacket,
Covered in buttons from all the concerts we’ve seen
He looks at the ground and bends down,
He puts on his shoes and looks up
“I’m leaving”

you sit with yourself as you always have, alone,
i sit with the complexity of my emotions, together,
letting myself feel everything in the company
of my friends, loved ones, and a self-help book.
i know what safe love feels like because of them,
and that's why i have 25 reasons to wake up and try again.
sometime's i'm alone, but not really, i can't be -
at risk of texting apologies, or writing hurtful truths.
a network of feelings too vast to hold in -
you don't want to see me unearthed.
i wish i didn't have to write about this, you know that,
i'd rather a love poem and soft reflections on trees,
and so i give you my feelings like an arborist would,
watching my friends dissolve my splinters,
cutting my rotting branches one-by-one,
reframing them into fences of growth and change.
i wish i had their way, of seeing what i can be,
instead, i feel like a lotus in a pond of **** -
shining bright pink, like my cheeks, mildly embarrassed
by my own fluid, chaotic, and unhinged sense-of-self.

i don't know you yet
no
but i plan on it
you
an analytical puzzle
to solve, to create
another question left unanswered
or simply unchanged
something about you
so gentle
so sweet
into late night conversations
where my words get held back
cause i'd like to think
they taste better in person
things taste better when shared
but i see it
i see that i have to just live
live without thought
that i have to just do me
but who says i can't still do me
with the help of someone else
there is 4 letters in your name
but i have an infinite more
to share with you
so tell me if you'll wait
wait for the other 22 letters
because i'd say the alphabet
backwards
and forwards
just to see where it leads us

not the hero,
with my hair thinning,
forehead wrinkles make themselves
at home, the walls i hide in,
his midnights a soft landing
into depression sunrises and
***** soda horoscopes
i can’t stop wondering, “is it me?”
the problem, everyone knows,
but no one remembers -
ticking timers on her shapeless body
feelings i paint by typing words.
i can’t stop searching for her,
my nails are tearing,
it’s not easy being the cool girl,
awkward and unrelenting
with my broken eyes,
always the villain,
never the bride

we were suppose to be just friends,
but you count the minutes,
between our two apartments, it’s ten
maybe w’ll cross paths again,
depending on the drinks consumed
and the man i’ll be texting next…
now i think there’s been a defect,
eating garlic knots while
discussing our future apartment.
nights are pouring into each other,
now i’m lacing myself to you  -
i make a lot of mistakes, but
my favourite one is us two.

(She’s here.)
Sitting patiently at your door,
the day you left your keys,
when the lights got left on,
and the closest fell open
(with your discomposure).
She's the equity collector,
the moral police,
and every cut led to retribution.
(It’s bleeding out.)
You never liked my poems,
so for me, it's all just poetic justice.
Karma tastes too sweet,
like my boyfriend’s oat milk lattes,
the sun between the trees,
and my three rough degrees.
(It’s never been easy.)
Flatter me with evil genius -
but I take no part,
i’ve only been cleaning my conscious,
taking out the garbage,
and making your bed,
(so why don’t you just lay in it?)

I'm your jester here. In the dawn of early fall
evening crosswalks, I point out my favourite book stores.
Look, the red maples, turning into dust,
paint-by-number yellows. Look, the dirt is drying up
crisping your white shoes on edges.
I walk through Ossington with you
stirring through my mind. Street lights flicker well into
the signs of cold October. Look, the fancy stores,
the cute golden retriever in the red rain coat.
Fall is when the only things you know
become the things I've named them.
Soon I can offer you a new season:
frosting window panes and shiny Distillery lights.
The first time you see me okay with change -
see me laugh with my friends boldly,
coming back into my honest self. I'm forlorn for you
to love the world the way I do, because I brought you here.

Who would have guessed it, not me,
circumstances and mishappenings.
Both lead to 2am texts
as the parlour doors close:
"You up?" or "How are you getting home?"
Sometimes you're with her, another me,
birdies tell me, less difficulties -
Do you ever think of me?
Missing my body as she falls asleep.
Does she lend you her shoulder?
I wonder about the life you lead,
still, poisoned words when you’re angry?
Was I only passing time,
a laugh and kiss to get what you need?
It's just a question,
but the answers never make me happy.

I am grey and preluding. I have wounded and wound.
When I see truth I hum closer
Just enough, to swallow it whole.
I am not an angel, only mocking.
The lips of an answer, a plotted confession.
Time has been spent on your alter.
It is beating black, with blue siding. I have looked too long
I think my bloodied knees would know.
Yet flames still flicker and each ember dies over and over.

Now I am a field. A woman standing up,
Searching my corners for what she really is.
Then waving high to the doubts, out to the wines,
and low to the moons.
I see her tears, and take to them.
She thanks me in more cries, and softer verbs.
I am her saviour. Yet she hides too.
Each night it is her morning.
In me she has blown away a young girl, and in me a wiser woman
Gazes towards her day and night, like a new moon.

Summer went away
a father on a business trip,
zipping up what’s left of my
vanity and one night stands.
I wait for dry calls,
clearing my schedule once again,
hoping for a soft launch somewhere.
It’s okay I’m the worst of them,
and I hear you’re bad at this,
texting and relationships.
I learn to forget, an amnesiac narcissist,
from changing addresses, to sunken pillows,
i waited summers to see you there,
i search the streets when
your bold laugh rolls past,
just to remember that you never cared,
you’re on your own, kid,
you always have been.

my whole life has been a loss for words
because how do you explain a feeling
no one has ever felt
how do you explain a feeling
that no words were invented for

i'll start with a metaphor
and end with a sigh
because most minds can't fathom the race
my mind makes these games
i never get time to read the rules for
or were there any to begin with?

i get tired after a couple of laps
my mind begs for forgiveness
for a break and a breathe
but i never seem to get one
i'm all too busy trying to get
everything else entirely

the water in the shower was hotter than july
and i can't remember when my head hit the side of the porcelain tub
but it did it painlessly

when i fell and started to cry
i couldn't tell the difference between the ground
or the pure white floor
everything seemed to twist and turn into a dark bruised mess

i sat there naked and vulnerable for hours at a time
wondering when the next wave would crash
hoping this time the tide wouldn't pull me in so far
but it did

an hour or so later
when my dad asked me why i'd been in the bathroom so long
i told him i was cleaning the tub
but he knew that wasn't true

he knew what a tub was for
afterall,
i went to clean myself

it is like i'm being pushed away from myself
my brain hoping to be tethered down
but i always seem to forget to buy the string
and i will lie endlessly in bed
wondering when i last had seen myself
time moves so slowly here
i can't even find the time lines
or a rhythm
or a reason i don't deserve this
i deserve this

i no longer know if this is a personal torture
or a lesson i forgot to have learned
but it's awfully lonely here and i forget that
girls are suppose to be "social creatures"
i guess i'm not the only one here after all

accompanied by suppressed thoughts
whispering secrets and love me not's
that i never even knew were happening
somewhere in the background, week after week
collecting all my mistakes and inner comments
to shot when the times are the worst
making it two weeks unscathed
with half my wits left

that's a good week

My blue tavern house in old Giverny,
with yellow bright daisies as a welcome.
We've swam on the wheat banks,
diving in absinthe and dealing in apathy.
Kissing the swirling midnight skies in secrecy.

Dark blue cascades the midnight hills,
I've spent another night in the open fields  -
looking at hay bails like an old friend, and worst enemy.
I've met your sharp eyes at noon and known better,
with your white shirts, stained socks, and slick smiles.

I remember you told me of the women stealing jam,
east of La Seine near Clackaloze,
You said she reminded you of me,
good until gone, broken undeniably
and the way I say I could do it all quietly -
paint the shining night sky with ease and one brush.
But if I was what you wanted, I wouldn't be,
too stubborn, too jealous, and too mad, honestly.

So I may as well write you what I am - underneath.

the pleasure is in seeing it as it is,
nothing too magnified to believe otherwise,
all of my life knotted into ties of normalcy,
and sometimes muddled mistakes.
it's often not as complicated as they'd think -
just a morning coffee with hot chocolate and
your hands around my torso at 7:15AM,
maybe, the sound of streetcars and yelling preachers,
often the typing of my keyboard writing poems at work.
i think it's easy to make life complicated,
glaring at the tripping of stairs, miscommunication,
the way the barista moved in slow motion.
somewhere between mistaking salt for sugar,
we forget that cortisol is the quickest death -
every time we choose anger we choose our own demise,
the pleasure is in seeing it as it is,
a pleasant mess, with a sense of humor.

holding me or holding back,
haven't got the time for that,
pick a side and stick to it,
or to me, autonomously
you decide your fate, and
i've been both faithful and
revered for knowing when
to call a ***** a *****,
but i'm so secure in myself
that i don't want sympathy,
except for yours, so just have me.
sometimes i wonder if i'm
worth holding on to,
but at least i say it all,
can't you see i'm see through?

We lay in it. A king?
A queen? The daffodils,
a side table. Etching white lines
on your dark skin. Cashmere.
Clouds are pillows. Moss is fabric softener.
I am tumbling out of my - drawers
are thick blades of grass.
You think trees are equations.
Masterful and wise. I think they are god,
pure and solved. When I was born,
they planted me firmly. You plant a kiss,
the wind brushes, my cheeks are red -
You smell like apple crisp.

I'll always remember summer,
from the comfort of my winter solstice.

you are fast asleep
in your own personal storm
as i sit in my own
the realities have swept me

you are so sweet
i have developed a sweet tooth
your love solid
i need it's guidance too

you are always there
constant, forgiving, patient
i am somewhere else
distant, rising, uncontrolled

you are centred
managing the moments that pass
i am running for them
finding out they had already gone

you are cautious
mostly of me and how i see
i am working
on being more vocal

you are mine
i will never understand that wonder
you are something else
i wish to be the better version of myself

i held onto your lips through tears
as if they could cure the moment
held salvation and cancers demise
solved the wars in syria and my mind

i held onto your neck through tears
and i couldn't quite let you go
like easing off a high from heroine
withdrawing from everything i knew

i held onto your hair through tears
in a park id been broken up in before
words ringing through my brain
a deja vu i didn't want to romanticize

i held onto your arms through tears
dizzy, afraid, petrified, confused
how do i run to a friend for help
when you've been my only one for so long

i held onto your lungs through tears
as you bit back the air escaping your sob
this is where the road ends, our nightmares
we both seem to plan for the worst

i held onto your eyes through tears
i didn't want you to stop looking at me
forget who i was to you, who i am to you
don't you see that i'm yours, i am yours

i held onto your words through tears
in bed repeating your quivers, the goodbye
when the last thing i said was i love you
it wasn't because you were scared

it's because i was

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 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.

this familiar feeling
one i tried to forget to have
always seems to linger
in the nights where i learn to laugh
about how my brothers upstairs
playing video games quietly in his room
do you think he can hear us kissing?
i'm not sure, but i'm in tune
to the way you respond to my touch
or the way you shut your eyes
when you listen to me whisper
another stream of rhymes
ones that are held in conversation
or maybe in your arms
i'll take you anyway i can
just please don't leave a scar

I want to fall in love with you
like the way they do in the movies.
By the grace of the forgotten scarf,
the drifting current of situations undrawn.

Kissing you on the subway steps too fast
and follow safely into my own insecurities.
Will you still fall for me then? I wonder...
in the same ways that I guess the endings.

Because I’ve never been fond of soft surprises
But you were, caught in one moment.
Staring at your cut off black gloves intently.

I want to fall in love with you
like the way they do in movies.
By the grace of your good writing
and my ambition to act the part.

This retrograde is always
sentimental radio silence.
Risings of the cresent moon,
shining off the suns old memory.
We have been reflections
of fires consequently burnt out,
long before we could grasp -
Orbs of celestial comprehension,
just falling short of brilliance.

I fear you -
your rights and wrongs
the small on your back
bigger than before
I fear you -
that you know my dark parts
and my light ones too
weaker than before
I fear you -
kissing another broken woman
that sh’ll fit even
stronger than before
I fear you -
in the way I fear myself
because we hate the things we are
and you’re the worst of all

Are you scared of the way
I let my lips curl?
That I think pleasantries avoid
responsibilities
to be more uncomfortable.
Stumbling into the unforgiving
fortress
of your worries.
I have had none.

My optimism
is not a scam
calling from Burundi.
It, at least, leaves a message.

Making mosts out of somes,
I have tried to find answers,
conclusions,
and a hypothesis worth exploring.

But maybe sometimes
we just don’t deserve one.
So we get 10.

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

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.

i am a firecracker,
once lit i am sent
into the expeditions
of fanatic joy,
turning and spinning,
spectacular to watch,
hot to the touch.
burning up into
pieces of carbon
which we are all made of,
but sometimes forgetting
how beautiful we are
before we crash,
rather than upheld,
we become a spectacle.

He’s a tall live wire,
in a small blue pool
of my sweet subtle charities.
Picking sacred cherries
near the goals we
once made together.

How does Mount Fuji
keep her fire beneath?
Green satan kimono
lace, and overlined lips.
He’s got soft knuckles
but red palms.

If you plant a shot
you may shoot
my bowing deer.
Osaka’s shrines
sing of the blue eyed
souls they keep hidden too.

Finders of lost artifacts
lost in battles of the heart.
I haven’t cared in
a retrograde.
But I wish I could blow too,
like Fuji at a whistle.

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.

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.

Rural summer
    simmering and splashing
into shattered empties,
    stark parking lots,
        and suburban love triangles.
But quiet,
    onto 4am dusks -
skip every other step,
      timid wood always wakes parents.
Soon,
   play The Kooks vinyl in the morning,
skip every radio station
      into your 9 to 5 day,
while smiling in
               your dads ancient Subaru.

eating up inches of my mind,
the things we say at midnight -
toxic ideas about what love looks like.
please don’t remember me for this,
clinging to ideas of what could be,
romanticizing the way you look idly.
i’ve never been the easy choice
guiding my madness to digest slowly,
and i know i’m off putting in a beautiful way.
the same way tornados look cool as hell
from the comforts of your cement block.
there wouldn’t be a siren loud enough,
to make you see me more.

we wake up and absorb it,
tightly write dry plans,
best laid to go awry.
i exhaust all my options now,
turn off the curling iron,
blow out the last candle,
tie up loose ends, mark my calendar.
transit apps quantify me home,
but i still overthink breathing,
always late, or too early,
there’s no timer for this life,
no remorse for the lists we’ve made,
or the poorly scheduled TTC train.
control is a bottomless pit, and
i drink every last drop, knowing
you could wake up tomorrow
and feel differently, and i guess
so could i - so let’s try,
with whatever control we have left.

Here,
i am slowly learning
that i am slightly more deserving
than what i’ve been given in my past
I am always on the right track
onto the next practical coordinates
and i no longer believe in crossing paths
i am a believer in destinations
that is the confidence and pride speaking
when i plan the journey ahead
i am good with direction
not hindered by crossed roads
not the path less travelled or the path created
i am not on your maps
distance is what i have asked for
time and time again i have fallen from a cross road
i am where you cannot find me
you can’t find something you can’t recognize
here at a dead end and still continuing
i am not on any path, but I am
Here

Draw me in like curtains,
                   sheen whites,
holding onto
                   morning lights.
Legs asleep,
                  minds dreaming.
Your eyes are
                   forever reading
crispy morning
                     Toronto Stars.
Just a Sunday moment
                    fleeting?
Or someday a memory,
                    but,
                    i am
                    only
                    ever
            ­        dreaming.

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.

this year i don’t want any games,
or the off-brand Dyson,
or for him to text me back.
I don’t want my health either, or
the loud lobby music at work,
not the invite to the holiday party.
I don’t want the short ugly uggs,
the pastel candle stick holders,
or the designer knit fits.
I don’t want to feel normal,
like i’m eighteen and self-assured
when everything made sense
because i didn’t know anything anyways.
I don’t want the sweet nothings,
or coal in the place of consistencies -
I just want some chocolate,
and maybe my masters degree.