I am from toaster
From toaster strudel and bagels
I am from the small space with too many bodies
Cold, old, musty
I am from the acorn
The maple tree
Whose long limbs I remember
As if they were my own.

I’m from movie nights and slender fingers
From Hélène and Luc
I’m from thinking of the worst outcomes and crackling knees
And from moving forward

I am from finish your plate and don’t draw on the car
And twinkle, twinkle little star
I am from Canada
I am from Quebec
I am from being locked out of the house
And desperation

there is a certain comfort in the shape of his soft lips,
in the way his bones crack while we lay together,
in the way his eyes radiate

there's this poison that has settled into my baby bones,
splattering fat bruises on my pale skin

there is a certain comfort in the ringing in my skull,
like the long lost school bell of my younger days,
the days of Easter eggs and milky ways

there's this beautiful boy in my arms,
one who smells like rain and laughs like lightning

Sometimes
I wish I was a leaf
so I could always feel
the rain
the sun
and
when I felt like it
I could break free
and play in the wind

Sometimes
I wish I was a flower
so I could always see the stars
and get kisses from butterflies

Sometimes
I wish I was a bird
so I could sing all day
so I could soar high in the sky
so I could finally touch a bit of cloud fluff
and then
when I felt like it
I could fly somewhere new

Sometimes
I wish
I was anything
but me

This is Psychological chess
and i am two moves behind
i figured out your game
and you have figured out mine

Our knights are dead,
our bishops have fled
and so much has got to my head
but when will we look up and realize,
we are on the same side?

Our difference is your a queen
I am a king,
you are stronger and faster,
but i lead the team,

we are chess pieces of the same color
king am i, and you the queen
but sadly i do not know one thing
what does this mean?

Upon the stale wind, her body flails again
I came walking through the field
to learn about compassion
She was blonde and the last heart in town
The moon bathed her from within
What a loveless dream from that tree
touching God's skin.

Her feet above my head, painted in mud and above the sugarcane
And if I didn't love her so, I'd be able to walk from this pain
But I recall her warm breath the last time we kissed
The air tasted of a broken soul that I failed to fix

Blood under her nails, scratching freedom too slow
If she was yelling for my name, then I'd rather not know
It might as well been me who hung her above the stars
I did not give her enough of me and it will haunt me for years