some kisses and liquor are best left
when left
alone

you loved me for my innocence
my light
my newness

and like looking back on faded pictures
i sit shaking my head
at how little she knew
and that I wish I could bottle her fearless
trust

but god I can’t blame you
for loving a force of nature

because for all of it
you held her as best as you could

with terror in your eyes and trembles in your hands
that she’d leave

because she was too young to read the signs
and so she cries all the way home
to me

flipping through poems
and what I thought love only was

it is in these moments
that I sit
and mourn for little you
and little me
for the great love we were
and could’ve been
but it was like two stars colliding
burning each other up
since they couldn’t coexist by starving themselves just to keep the other
breathing

so in these moments
I sit
and remember how much I loved green eyes
and the way your heart
tangled with mine

during one of these moments

let this be the summer of:

shoulders brushing
blushes + kisses
arts and crafts
skinny dipping
barefoot dancing
sighing with contentedness
calling — and picking up

let this be the summer where he fell in love with me
and I, with who I could be

I miss what I imagined
not what I survived

but god does it make me feel alive
to know I made it through

he looked at me
and spilled out his fears
With a few upper cuts mixed in
and after dodging a few
and catching others

I was left with a trembling lip
and a childlike finger
“why is nothing I do ever good enough for you”

and time slowed
because in the blue of his eyes
I saw his hands closed still
grasping at straws
that already fell

and lay

no longer in reach

It’s funny
hearing thoughts I have had
in the dark
Sitting underneath the water in my tub
laughed back to me
with friends
and cramped cars

it was just in a different font
a different accent
but cherished all the same

hearing pieces of my soul
Whispered against my neck
Not knowing I’d ever hear them
out loud

tease me
as we lean against the bar
hiding from the others
call me darlin’
As I accidentally step on a toe
fine maybe two
and pondering who’ll wear the cowboy hat for the night
and maybe a couple more

love me in the crowded room
where no one is watching
watch me dance among the stars
and bellow at the wind

let me sing my worries
and whisper my joys

love me like you love the falling leaves
with your hands tucked in your pockets
before jumping in with everything

love me like you aren’t afraid
in a crowded room
for someone to see you

I think
sorrow and bittersweet must be friends.
Having habits of meeting for a couple glasses
where they can laugh, but only through the tears
the best kinds of laughs really.

they must sit.
having affectionate nicknames of *******
and darling
playing the game repetitively

but still they sit
together
sharing drinks and discussing the weather
feeling lighter but as heavy as ever.

I sat there
dying
skeletal
lost in the waves
their crests
hoping this crash wouldn’t be the one that would break me
scattering me
completely

if you say me before you
tucked in your bar
would you have approached me?

I wonder what slice of me you would have seen
and the one you wanted to see again

what happened?

is what I want to say.

but I can’t say that. Because I think we both know that as much as I loved you

and you thought you loved me.

where were we going?
where was there room for me

don’t tell me
What Penelope would have said
because that is not my prophecy
not mine to claim
because for all the suitors
and waiting
I would’ve set fire to the world
for the thrill of it
in a claim of vengeance
and spite
maybe burn the present
they so desperately desired
so utterly sick of waiting
for the potential of his love
his life
to come home

he said
“whatever you’re doing, keep doing that”
and I laughed
barking French seals

for doing months of work
taking sledgehammers to who I was
and gutting my soul
bare.

breaking everything intangible
and building her again

opening the crawl spaces
where the spiders lay layered

the basement with lounging leaders
diplomats in fear
wrapped in anger
and anxiety

Laying them all out in the open
Sunshine burning their skin
whispering a thank you
and the softest goodbye

cause the doors were wide open
with nothing left to hide

so come in the front door, and I’ll greet you like an old friend
just now with a curfew

as much as I love its whispers
the tangle with the heat
the littlest deaths
of everything but ego
and idolatry

the heat left scars
whispering ink
just left stains
nothing
really pretty
or even very neat

I quit drinking
and that was that.

to sit
slow down and actually pause
in all of the things
is so utterly painful
for months
but oh my god
so so worth it

crawl to me
so I may hear you beg
and I may listen in a smoke filled bar
from a cross the room
how he felt
in another lifetime
what it was like to be wanted

it felt good today
crying after the third mile
enjoying the sweat
the heat

winding down to the sounds
of a home
and a quite loud snoring puppy

But besides the point

it felt good today
finally

I started screaming more
god not at anyone
but just out loud
to the wind
to the sky
just because

Because I could
and I should
and I can.

so I will.

if I shrug on the big coat
the one with wonky sides
scuffle down the roadway
every other night
if i play it really slowly
or forget to turn it down
mix up the order
with socks half sliding down

will I make an impression?
or just try the little(er) coat tomorrow.

‘repressed rage’
she said
as I clung to the whitest porcelain
‘it’ll do that to ya’
leaning against the doorframe
and I swear I could tell you how many flecks of dirt were in the grout
For how many times
I’d worn in a spot from kneeling
‘it’ll figure itself out’
but I couldn’t hear
cause it just kept coming

you left me tools
I don’t know the names to
and anchors
without their mates
manuals without starts
and windshields
without rain

you left me.

and I suppose I have to figure it out myself

god it’s like walking through the ashes of my home
finding all the pieces I no longer can pretend work for me
or even fit
collecting ashes even though they slip through my fingers
over and over

so how do you cope?
you know…
figuring out what ashes I want to smear across my skin
who she is
and who she’ll be

i just know what she won’t be
as i sift through ashes of me

forget me nots
lay littered across my room
just as punctuation
to all I’ve done
and yet to do
cause forget me nots
won’t let me forget you

those nights
where you just know
like an addict
you’re itching
stretching out fingertips
heart aching
hoping maybe for a stimulant
or just a numb
whatever’s closest
but my hands stay against my sides
tucked
because
you know the itch is far more satisfying
than anything in arms reach

A constant
constantly in motion
I thought meant constant speed
constant weight
constant thought
but that you treat
as if it’s at rest

without any external factors
and we know that’s not possible
But more than that
I don’t want rest
not that kind

so I spend my days
learning that a constant
May be constantly in motion
but varying speed
Changing weight
adding friction and moments

that bring complexity
a little joy
and hell a lot a pain

but god do I refuse for me to be stuck
in a perfect swing
of constant
predictability & rest

It is in the way
they held me
mended the tears with different patches
that they all collected
mismatched
and adored

I love the quilt that is me
and those that have loved me
in moments like these

if I could stay
existing
in that 15 minutes of a scalding hot shower
ice cold companion
with nothing but candlelight
and
wow that silence

Oh twist my arm!
you know I can call?
Well just a button or two
you raise the bets
stakes are high
**** pinch and release
She’ll twist and writhe!
you know I’ll call
your bluff…
Tapping
you out?
your call
I’m out OKAY
well i knew that
anyway

yeah.
one of those days
the write off day
the I’m going to laugh cause it’s not even past 12 day
the kinda day were you debate a lottery ticket
but somehow you even lose that
on the way back to the car
and your keys somehow
anyhow

yeah.
one of those days
best to write off
with ramen
and a corona or two

or sunbrew

whatever works
to write off
a little day
for you

Listening to him say “not her”
tickled something in my brain
to be loved is to be seen
but not in the normal sense
nah
in the perfect quirky out of breath hair in your face but still put together? Kinda quirky
as I savour another perfect bite
of Brie/rosemary/prosciutto
I’m left to wonder

why the hell not her

life is too short
to not offer
the passerby
my innermost thoughts
in a flirtation
a smile
if I can’t do anything to put a smile on one person’s face
I’m not doing anything
of any importance
at all

amidst the thunder
and the wind
the churning waves
aching to break
hear me
roar
with the waters
last refrain

do you dream?
i whispered across the sheets
fidgeting to pretend like i didn't care about what you said

maybe i was a child
we couldn't work because our shirt colours didn't match

cause that makes sense right?


but he told me you can't change parts of people they are not aware of
and I wonder
how much of me did he mean?

because I am a dreamer
a child
and maybe a poet
learning about the cracks
and gallows I have yet to acknowledge

but I do dream
hoping for more
sometimes more pain
more sunshine
more anguish
more wonder
and occasionally more paint  

simply because I only know how to operate
in 'moreness'

as I roll my eyes
yes I am aware

I am hoping to figure it out too

I spent the day
humming the hymnals of spring rain
of rebirth as I washed up to my elbows in dirt
reminded of how unassuming a tangle of roots can be
and the way rosemary smells like a violin sounds
That being kissed by the soil, cradling a cheek with a swipe
is more fulfilling
than I’ll ever
be able
to articulate

human beings were made to be touched
softly
with such devotion and reverence
and maybe a little awe
tracing the littlest scrapes
scars & freckles
like the shrines of every idol
to worship at the throne of messy hair
and drums of heartbeats
synced to a choir I only hear
when they say my name

there is such a difference between laying the cutlery out on the table for everyone to see
and putting it back in the box, dropping it outside, and writing a ‘free sign’ — laying it down, and letting it go

feels lighter
free

I hated the set anyways

echo the sounds my heart makes
when the rain beats outside
humming along to a song I know not
but the bass line
and that it never
ends

and thank god for that

I don’t know what you call it
when you throw the glass
with a broom already in hand
maybe I just wanted to know
if it would make a sound
when I simply can’t.

we both were screaming
to pick up more speed
running from ourselves
in the ******* getaway car
hoping to crash

he played with my hair
as we talked
and I swear I could spend hours listening to him ramble on
like he isn’t the first person I peek around the corner to see his reactions

and they looked at me like I had another head
when I shrugged
because I don’t find that he speaks slow
he speaks
with intention, waltzing between heartbeats
or checking his steps
so I can catch my breath
in between the murmurs of mine

rattling in your brain
god the guilt
it really does go for your stomach
and you sit there
in tears
on a random Thursday
because I can’t really be the worst person ever?
and as sobs rack
and half eaten boxes of Mike and Ike’s lay scattered
I start bleeding
oh right
hell hath returned

She asked me if I could see you one more time, what would I do?
and I don't know if I would have done anything.
Other than move things around the house
to hear heavy footsteps
and the occasional grumble.
maybe put on a bit of AC/DC to see that head bobble
or even shift shoes around just to hear your frustration.
cause god would I love to hear you laugh

hear what you thought about today anyways
and exasperatedly sigh into the phone
and hang up with okays and call again 5 minutes later
cause only we got that it didn't matter

she asked me what I would do
and I probably would hug you
to remind you are not alone

before winding down with a scotch
talking into the wee hours
to hear every single thought
and know why you set your tools that way

so I could keep it
and explain the same to my own kids
someday

he felt like springtime
and a cup of coffee
it was really bad coffee
but he always offered to make me some
and maybe that’s the best thing
budding friendships
in the springtime rain

few things are more finite
than the terror
whisperered across your cheek
telling you
‘you are not good enough’
and believing such a fallacy
could even be true

love when the colours start actually working together
and as she snuggles herself closer
maybe to protect
maybe to watch
and the easel unfolds
and songs are repeated
as the creative starts to come out of her shell

when whiskey sours sit empty
and oblivion starts to creep in
tucked along the strewn sheets
maybe you’ll taste me there

flipping through pages
wondering if I lost the time
wandering around
looking for mine

watching through windows
working at waiting
will he really see me?
would he even find
a whisper of me
along the wet gravel lines
willfully — agonizingly
waiting for me?

what I would give for one more goodbye

a game of pool, a little banter.

we could even pretend we’d never met before, not that we could convince anybody else.

I don’t think we’d get through one game though, not really.

I’d probably spill a drink
and someone would come up and tell you hello, eighty five different ways.

and we’d both remember, and wonder what we’re doing anyways.

Avoiding whispers in the dark