my aunt miscarried in october.
i remember thinking: strange, her
baby died in the
month when the dead were supposed to come back to
life. her
face sags more now, it's almost as if the
baby tugged at every inch of
her on its way down to the
underworld. my
uncle has gained a few pounds, too. the
weight of absence sits heavy on his once muscular
shoulders. i
thought i tasted true
sadness when he left
me, but i didn't account for the
bitterness of having to sell baby
shoes never once
worn. my
aunt still has her list of favourite baby
names hanging on her bedroom
door, but she turns it around
some days when she's feeling extra
sad. my
uncle doesn't talk to my
aunt much anymore. i
wonder if he blames
her. i
wonder if he blames
himself. i
wonder why the world takes things from you too
early on, and if you
complain you're thought of as a bad
person. i
wonder if you stop living when part of you
dies.

I have you

not poetic nor romanticized

An ocean

not a metaphor

I submit to your immensity

truth and literal

Drought was here

constantly begging

I need to drown

*please let me

There are two types of people
The heart breakers, and the broken-hearted
I cannot be the heart breaker
It pains  my body, as fear pulses through my veins
knowing i will be broken again
You ripped the muscle from my chest
And left a scar that bleeds each time
you kiss her, touch her, think of her
don't kiss me, don't touch me, and don't think of me
It aches and aches
Why have i let you break me?
There are two types of people
heart breakers, and the heartbroken
how can you destroy me by loving her?
How can you break me and remain unshattered?
Why can i never be the breaker
Ripping the souls form others chests
Turning their advances into worthlessness
turning their love into loathing
turning their hearts to stone
like you did mine.

I miss you.
Plain and simple.
I miss you at 5:45am when I open my eyes to go to school, and I miss you as I dry my hair, I miss you when I put on the bracelets you once held in your hands, I miss you at school whenever my mind drifts away class (happens often), and I miss you at recess as I see everyone's face but yours. And I come home and I take a nap, because I miss you perhaps a little too much. And so when it's 3 in the morning and I can't sleep, you can certainly guess who just doesn't leave my mind. And so, I miss you against all odds and despite the gossips, I just plain and simple, miss your body next to mine.
And the only reason, your thought hasn't consumed me, the only reason I find all of this bearable, is because perhaps, you miss me too.

but oh...
how can you miss someone
you never actually met?

Life is…competition.
Everything starts with “She’s a good person, but…”
And what does that even mean—‘good’?
It’s such a tricky word…
It trudges and collects, rolling and sticking and melting into a mess.
It covers and confuses.
It oozes…
‘Good.’
It is cavernous and claustrophobic all at once.
Because what do you tack onto that word and what do you leave out?
And how much is too much before good is no longer good?
Before it turns to flaws and flossing teeth—
Revealing surprising grime on white napkins.
Now she’s “‘Mary,’ the kind soul with an eating disorder.”
Life is disorder.
***** fingers constantly filing and misfiling,
sealing cases closed with oversized labels that undermine the contents inside and the very boxes that hold them.
And what does it mean then?
When you are a rectangle and I am a square,
When Mary is placed on the shelf over there?
I am not scared
of the brown—not ***** blonde—roots creeping up from the top of my hair,
of the pimple on my chin.
But what makes me cringe is your satisfied grin when you notice that her daughter
is not quite as thin…
not quite as thin;
It is a sliver of a win,
Like the sliver of cake that you take to your plate
for fear that your trousers might break—
and then—
gasp you’ll belong with them,
cardboard congregated in the corner,
stacked and packed together,
the ones with jean-zippers torn asunder.
I cannot help but wonder
what life is…