The outbursts of angry women,
the most beautiful thing to witness.

We fight to be heard —
Another cycle, that will never end..
It is only a wish to watch the fall of men.

Now the real challenge,
Creating a balance,
A routine in which I can only grow from.
Sow a seed into the ash,
Watch the seedling flourish
More resilient —
The soul finally taking root in the earth.

Oh, how I wish to find a safe space.
A warm space,
A dreamy space,
Somewhere I can feel warmth and be welcomed
Perhaps,
I am not deserving of finding such space.
Am I not looking hard enough?
Or is it that I am looking to hard,
Over analyzing,
Missing the subtle signs of what this space is.
Have I become blind to seeing it?
Have I missed it?
Is it no longer a space that is available for me?

Wherever it is, I don’t believe I’ll find it in this city.

I watched as the dog waddles away with his feet wrapped in a soft leathery boot, the owner too focused on getting around the mounds of snow to notice the dog's discomfort.

A soft whistle escapes from the accordion sides of the streetcar while a groan escapes an elderly gentleman, pressed too close to the wall.

I stand embraced by crowded bodies, snug in the middle of the streetcar walkway.

These times of discomfort remind me that I am human.
Experiencing life.
Watching, listening, enjoying the discomfort of mortality.
cherishing the imperfections, the frivolousness of each individual.
A balladry of the mundane.

I’ve lost myself to trauma,
forgotten is the little girl playing in the back yard
amongst the flower bed, daydreaming of a bright future
Lost is the social butterfly, making dear friends
ever so swiftly in the playground

When I found her, she has become introverted
no longer visiting the flora, trapped in spikes and barb in the back of her mind
too intimidated  to enter a crowded space
flustered to interact with anyone new

Isolation the solution
forgotten of the hobbies and enjoyments of day to day
mindlessly pushing through the emotions no longer attached
to what was once loved
Numbness inhabiting the brain —
Lost of the need to intertwine ones self with others
no longer feeling closeness and safety within friends
Absent in believing in people’s altruism
words no longer carrying veracity
but only said for gain

I’ve lost myself to trauma,
and I don’t know if I will ever get her back.

Hopeless Romanticism - is what ails me
this ever longing for a connection with another soul.
The festering desire to be loved, understood
I fear as a society we are lost
never able to tolerate the company of others —
too busy curating ones own life in a realm that is not tangible
in the act of curation we eliminate any chance
in experiencing vulnerability with another
the painting of a perfect relationship
lacks the connection we desire so much.
We remain at surface level with one another
no longer interested in digging deeper.

What do we learn from the teachings of flowers —
That one does not grow in poisoned soil.
In unfavourable conditions, we wilt.
But we can heal from the root,
When cared for and place in nourishing spaces.
We grow, sprouting new life.
The might stem, building stronger cells,
Your bloom becomes brighter,
Opening up to the welcoming sun.
We learn a lot from the flowers
One just need be observant of its teachings.

To be completely honest,
I’m not sure, what it is I’m trying to do.
Writing poetry, I’ve never really been good with words.

I struggle with conveying my thoughts and dreams
into something solid, I only envision shadows in my mind,
I can never clear away the darkness —
My conscience trapped behind a fog.
even know, calling it out.
It hides from me.

It’s lost, how I feel, any thought I had becomes a migraine,
I pressure I can’t seem to get rid of.

Perhaps, I’ve completely locked myself away,
so that I cannot be harmed any longer.