“please be as
big as your space.”

shelve
every moment, big or small for all to see
consume sushi burritos, ice

cream tacos, disappointment and success
you are both the product of your upbringing and
the slick Toronto streets:

your inherent judgement your guide
slide breath into books
and memorize landscapes

and capture soundscapes both mundane and enigmatic
ensure both shoelaces are tied
blazer pressed straight

ensemble thought through;
never neglect finishing touches
absorb Toronto skylines from an Ossington rooftop

walk through frayed soles until heels become flats
leave yourself enough buffer time after clocking out to say
yes to lakeside movies

be here now

top 5 things I miss about you:

1) the sunburn on the back of your legs
    the
    way you flinched at the touch of aloe;
    peeling off your skin
    layer by layer

2) dancing high in your room to Pulp Fiction;
     trying desperately not to wake your parents,
     standing in your
     driveway as minutes feel like hours

3) our horrific inability to take
    a single good photobooth picture

4) driving
    driving home from the beach,
    sand
    coating your mats
    sitting in cars writing poems,
    while you wrench tires underneath me
    pulling into parking garages to photograph
    torn stockings against the car’s blue
    exterior
    your hand on my thigh driving back from Ludlow,
    as I am fast asleep
    breaking your backseat as I ****** myself into you
    you naming it after me

5) your drunken texts;
    your colloquial musings at 3 a.m.
    your
    professions,
    your proclamations
    waking up your grounded words,
    despite your swaying body.
  
    I long for your surprise pronouncements
    while I sleep alone 551 kilometers away.

a folding table bearing Super-8’s
sits outside as we leave lunch

pressing viewfinder to your algaeic eye,
you aim it at the sky,

at the soles of your feet,

at the dishevelled seller

but never
at

me.

I want to fill your mouth with pennies

I’ll pull your intestines out with my teeth

your hands are cacti,
your eyes rolled backward
like your rolling papers over kush

I am a cricket,
you are a size 11 shoe

I am click bait for your insecurities:

“self-deprecating,
emotionally vulnerable Canadian
seeks love and fidelity”

am I enticing?

I sat at your window and waited
to see you come up the drive

I am fiction

at the lake where I spent my childhood
you pressed your cheek to the sand

as I held the hand of my 6-year-old self in the water

you left yourself in my mouth
and I am still picking out your remnants
from my teeth

I see no better solution

than to hack away at my joints

and mail them to you

with the note,

“I share this with you”

I've always been sad about the bathroom. The pink and black, hair and blood, tears and out of tune singing, thick and transparent. Whenever I step on the tiles I become afraid of the shower, that silver thing with wet holes, with cold stream and mindless embrace. But here I don't have the fear, only disgust, because the ground is all black and peeling and it sticks to my feet, and the coldness isn't clean, the coldness is only there because I've left it for just too long.





I keep coming back although I hate it, although each drop of water feels like a punishment and the soap bubbles are mocking my greasy everything. I keep coming back although it tortures me, because at the street I can hear the gazes pointed toward me, how the eyes shift when I try to catch, what is not said in front of me I know them all it rings so loud in my ears, I can hear them all. I keep coming back because even in the world of cruelty I still got to have a place to come home, to have something familiar, so I will feel less lonely and as if I had a purpose. It's a familiar pain, the kind of a hit that feels like a kiss. It's always like this, I keep coming back to the bathroom I do not own, I keep coming back and calling it my home. I've always been sad about it, the bathroom, home, I've always been

THE LETTERS ARE MY BREATH I CANNOT CATCH, I WAS KILLED IN MY HOMETOWN AND IT MIGHT BE ANOTHER TOWN OF CATS I RAN AWAY FROM. I HATE TRAINS. I HATE WHAT I CANNOT TOUCH. FLICKERING. FLICKERING AND SCATTERED. WE ARE ALL SACRED IN THE NAME OF EARTH. BUT EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT. EVERYTHING IS SCATTERING AND FLICKERED. UNLESS YOU.
YOU SHOOK ME LIKE NO ONE ELSE.
YOU SHOOK ME LIKE NO ONE ELSE IT'S ALMOST LIKE A LULLABY. ARE YOU MY FATHER? ARE YOU MY FATHER BECAUSE YOU WERE BORN LONG BEFORE I EXIST? ARE YOU MY FATHER BECAUSE EVEN YOU ARE YOUR OWN FATHER? TAKE CARE OF ME. PLEASE. TAKE CARE OF ME AND TALK TO ME AS IF YOUR TONGUE IS A BOWL OF MILK.

i.
i spent my nights writing wishes into
paper cranes after we broke down, a repetition
of ink to paper - fold, press, release -

your name, your name, your name,
became habit every time i picked up the pen

ii.
when i dream of walking through
haunted houses, i hear voices through the
open windows, i swear it is you saying
come home, baby, come home. 

a draft cuts through each whisper and i pretend
it is your breath on my neck,
that your hands will follow, but when i turn
it is only the breeze from a crane beating its wings.

iii.
when it storms, the dock we used to
share secrets on floods - my fingers scratch
at my thighs like i am picking apart the wooden planks,
my skin splinters in all the places i have ever
been touched by you.  

i fold myself into a ship and sail where you can't
follow

he likes to call me dollface

and i let him unravel my threads,
because i'm not quite porcelain like he seems
to think - more so a rag doll, yarn for
hair, buttons for eyes, soft and
easy.

we started as a series of stolen things:
glances, secrets, moments in a walk-in freezer,
and i keep wondering how that all led us
here, stealing time as
he lights a bowl and i
dance circles in his living room

all the while he is watching
like he is in a museum, and i am
art behind a glass to
stare at, never
touch

he reaches out and falls short,
calls me over but never follows through,
pulls my threads and
sews me up again
each time
he calls me
dollface

i.
your hand on my elbow,
shoulder, wrist, and i
pretend not to
notice

ii.
you sing quietly on the
way home, like maybe i won't
hear you but
i always do

iii.
call me doll, and that's
okay,
i can be yours to
play with

iv.
we smoke together for the
first time, and you blow
rings, and i dance
for you

v.
chew me up, spit me
out, it's fine just as long as you
don't watch me clean my
messes

vi.
you mention your girlfriend's
name and i
crumble