I've started writing this poem 8 times this morning
I've attempted memories 8 times this past day
I've tried to summarize 8 times this week
I've reached out towards my inner self 8 times this month
I've (really) ******* up (around) 8 times this year

I've calculated 8 months
Subtracted the weekends and holidays and sick days and "sick" days

I've passed 8 courses

I've enjoyed 8 days of paradise

I've loved 8 different versions of a person

I've given 8 vials of life

I've gained 8 new words of vocabulary

I've written 8(0) poems

I've aged 8 years in
8 months
(that's what happens when you work 8 days a week)

I've added 8 songs to my favorites playlist

I've deleted 8 poems from my "you" folder

I've lost 8 friends

I've been torn apart 8 times

I've known 8 months of approximate happiness

I've experienced 8 moments of absolute clarity

I've laughed 8(00) times and cried a few

I've lived
       learned
       slept
       squandered
       listened
       ignored
       abhorred
       adored

                                               8 months

I've taken 8 minutes to finish this poem

You don't need anyone in life
You are independent and strong
You preach the uselessness that is human affection

"It's a common infection, everyone will get over it sooner or later" you say

You like to be alone

So you never reach for the phone or a pen to contact a friend because who needs friends

You sit by yourself at the bar, the fourth stool from the right on a Thursday night
You watch people enter, meet their people, leave with people

You are intrigued but not affected

The bar tender observes your observations
The way your fingers drum the counter more rapidly when you listen in on their conversations
the lock of your gaze as hugging goodbyes are shared between relations

The bartender places his dish rag beside your half empty glass

His eyes meet yours and he says
"Darling you can make love to your tonic and gin
But it will never hold the warmth of human breath and skin"

You look into his eyes and suddenly you understand
Why it's important to sit knee to knee and why you hold hands
You press your hand into the glass countertop
Reach across the bar and grab the bar tenders hand
Bring his face to meet yours and bask in the heat of his humanity

You do not need anyone

But you do not need to be alone.

Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand 
 
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow

The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass  frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy

The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
 the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.

The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds

The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them, 

Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.

The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever 
and if at times the former 
then always the future

the finest font I've ever found is you

I am 8 checkpoints on a world map
I am red curtains filtering sunlight into soft pink washes on bedroom walls
I am the elephant (lover) in the room
I am want of knowledge
I am a poet
I am french lavendar and cotton pajamas
I am sharp and unwelcoming
I am black coffee
I am full of knowledge
I am a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a granddaughter, and a care giver
I am an adult
I am a student
I am an avid listener of 60s folk music
I am a terrible listener
I am a well presented mess
I am a performer
I am terrified

I am not decisive
I am not ready
I am not young
I am not unaware
I am not an extravert
I am not a poet

the fragments that make up a human are often broken and many
memories and aspirations
Inspirations dedications
liberations
the fragments are only fragments
the human announces and defines it itself
introduces itself

I am human
I am me


c.d.

It is said that insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results

Call me crazy because I will repeatedly repeat and never learn

Maybe I don't want to learn because I love the cycle of yes and no and mostly no

Even though it kills us both
We are insane because we know that it is wrong and that's the way it has to go
And yet we try, and don't try again and again
And the pen etches into the page the same stanzas

The monotony sounds like harmony
Because in our insanity we are happier and unhappier than we will ever be

I would rather die waiting for change than to be without your sweet disappointment

To relent and reclaim my sanity would be a tragedy because I would have to write new stanzas and my pen is too in love with our poetry, to welcome a new subject

For the sake of my pen (at risk of her heartbreak) I will reject the cry inside of me to run to reality

While the hurricane proves pathetic fallacy outside of our window
We breathe lunacy and embrace


Insanity

I am a passenger on a train that leads nowhere and everywhere
When I get to the station, step onto the platform
Welcome me into your open arms, lift my baggage from my shoulders, hold my hand and lead me into the heart of my new city
Introduce me to your history acquaint me with every street sign and alley
Tell me your deepest darkest secrets and I will show you mine
Lead me up the hill let me marvel at the artistry the architecture
Skate me down the canal in frosty weather
Educate me on the politics of my nation
The capitol of my country rests in the capitol of my fantasy
Breathe into me your spirit, great city
You Ottawa, house me in the dormitories of uOttawa
Instruisez-moi dans mes études français
Insegna mi in italiano
Wrap me in a cocoon of knowledge
Acknowledge when I need a break
Feed me a life of colour as vibrant as the red of our flag
Fill me with vivacity, make me a proud resident great city
Take me into your loving arms kiss me under the light of 1000 programs
That you have to offer
I will accept your offer
Thank you for the scholarship
Your generosity with scholarships
Welcome me aboard your ship and I will be a tenacious crew men
Surround me with men and women to guide and inspire
Inspire me to become the person that I am destined to be
and let me make a home in you Ottawa

I always liked putting my music on shuffle

The thrill of the (un)known, what would play next

You see I would carefully construct a playlist prior to shuffling

I didn't really like not knowing things
Just being slightly surprised , it was all lies

Because I was waiting constantly for change and when it occurred I was outraged because I thought that I knew what you were going to do

And then you threw it in my face
And now I'm lost and out of place because when I put my life on shuffle

I didn't anticipate that you would download new music.

lightning paints the ceiling in the dark
feelings like dancing trees in the wind
my heart whispers into the rainfall
until the sound of water drowns my thoughts
into thunder
cracks the sky in half and my universe falls through
my bedroom window
when it storms I think of you

grumbling far away but close
I know the storm is outside but
it shakes the foundation nonetheless

the window panes rattle against the stress
the floorboards feel the strain
the crescendo of the rain meets the cresendo of our game
you decrescendo into oblivion

the storm leaves behind only a cool breeze
relief blows through
my bedroom window
when it storms I think of you

c.d.

laying on the left side of the bed
on the right side of my body
thinking about the last time you thought about me
and the first time I thought about you
reading the last text you sent me
and the first poem I wrote about you
and how every poem after it was you
and how every text after me was her

laying in the centre of the bed
on my back
crying until my tears run into my ears
and I can hear the gentle scratch of your voice
telling me you loved me back even though I never said it

wondering if you ever loved me back even though you said it

laying on the right side of the bed
on my left side
imagining you by my side and the way you lied so sharply
it left a scar on my mind
and when you sang Scar Tissue I lied and said you sounded great

I sleep on the floor  
let every song remind me of you and let myself be sad
because you keep coming back for her
but wouldn't stay one more chance for me

c.d.

there is a storm in the glass of water you leave on your bedside table
it rises and falls within the walls of transparency as we rise and fall within the walls of your transparencies
every wave is clear and the rush of your voice radiates over the azure sea
I am the storm, reflecting my clouds down onto your crystal surface
Rolling tumultuously over the still
Our eyes meet in the heart of the sea
My thunder crashes into your tidal
and the glass of water you leave on your bedside table crashes to the floor
sunlight shatters the overcast and washes the room in a rainbow of transparencies
we breathe salt and fall asleep on the beach


c.d.

my favourite song is sail to the moon live by radiohead and when he replied that it was his as well I was overwhelmed
we layed together and let the haunting phonics echo through your room

uninterrupted

I pressed my head to your chest and let your heart beat sync with the sound

two days later you told me you loved me and I was astounded when I heard the same words fall from my lips

I fell asleep listening to radiohead my head on the pillow and my heart in your hands

everyone warns you about heartbreak
They say that young love never lasts
and while they may be right I ask
Myself why I was never warned of the danger of a different kind of fracture

You broke my taste in music you ****

Teenage relationships don't generally end in divorces but the forces were at play and it ended anyway

Nobody worries about who walks away with the songs you've loved since childhood

Like Bono was my dude but you loved Beautiful Day so now we're not on good terms

Like Real People Do was the jam but you ruined it man

Why did I have to talk to you about music,
Janis Joplin, was poppin and Bob Dylan was killin but I told you all about it and now I'm not about it

the opening bars of sail to the moon rip me in open

and while we didnt have children I'm the short amount of time that we were living
In each other's embrace

music was our offspring and someone should have warned me about this thing where you aren't supposed to overshare
and though I have many questions about why it ended, why it's still going on, the biggest are why I told you my favourite song
and after the pseudo divorce

Who the hell gets custody of radiohead??