my thoughts tremble at a name
a name at which i've learned to never speak of
if i did speak of such a name
i'm sure it would still taste just as sweet
but ironically enough i've never really liked sweet things
like a strawberry
something about strawberries
my mom always seems to buy them
yet they only rot away in our fruit bowl
i know them too good to be true
to bruise easy at a light touch
and their red can only be described as a false exuberance
because they're only actually good through one season
which leaves me wondering
it's a shame to people who would go through all that labour
to enjoy something so uncontrollably sweet
for such a short amount of time

i laugh and take a sip of air
the taste of my blood has a ting of iron
the snows starting to stain a passionate red, and so are my lips
i manage to get on my back, and make out the sky
its the only thing that isn't red
1,2
i reach for the park bench to my left and i ***** underneath it, twice
under my breathe i whisper “keep pushing” to the patch of grass beside me
i admire its determination through a rough winter, i think i hear it say “hold in there”
3,4
to my left i see black, but its a blue kind of black, a nice change from accustomed red
i soon make out the figure, i look up at the sky again, i don't want to be seen like this
then their feet quicken, and i manage to calm my breathing as the steam from their mouth escapes them, glistening in the air
5,6
i repeat the words “keep pushing” in my head, as stable arms take my weight
over his shoulder i see the patch of grass, i wave goodbye, ill see you again soon old friend
he smells like sugar, i whisper to him “im sorry”, his shirt used to be white
7,8
i tighten his neck and manage to gain sight of the distance
i close my eyes for only a second and wake up in my bed, new sheets
i whisper hello, but get no reply, probably for the best, i wouldn't want to wake my parents
9, 10
i wake up around 6am to the sound of gusting wind, goodbye friend i think to myself
beside me i find a glass of water and a single advil, i reach to grab the water, and a note falls out
it reads: “this is the last time laura”
i laugh and take a sip of water.

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 little film set

has been abandoned months ago

but we are still here

stopped acting for cameras

that won’t record anymore

the light around us turned white

and everything blurred

when the dust started setting

on our film reel

laying forgotten in the backroom

of the shut down cinema

with it’s steel roof glistening

in the late afternoon’s sun

we will never be found

encaged in our very own reality

the smallest part of heaven

we were ever granted

She sat in her kitchen in her underwear, eating left over Chinese food contemplating when life got this hard.

She couldn't remember the feeling of skin against skin or lips against lips. She couldn't remember the heat of someone else's body touching hers or if there was more than just involved.

She sat there with a blank piece of paper and a purple pen in hand... Contemplating if she should write a poem or her final goodbye note.

She couldn't remember a time where she didn't feel undesirable or ugly. She couldn't remember a moment where self hatred wasn't causing nonstop fear of being alone forever.

As she sat there in her kitchen, eating leftover Chinese food, staring at blank papers she started to cry. She started to wonder when things would eventually look up.

You tell me not to worry
as if it's something I can turn off
like it's something to get over
like it's something I should just
stop

You tell me to stop worrying
but that's like telling me to stop breathing

And all I want to say is I've tried both
and neither worked out.