god I felt like an idiot
sitting looking at the different strands of carpet
her hair brushed back behind her ear
when she waited
to hear me ask
“did we even have anything in common?”
she shrugged

“your curiousity”

I laughed, rolling my eyes.

“and your need to be loved”

and god I felt like an idiot

as she held the brush in her hand
at 3am
with nothing but candlelight to illuminate her tears
she found home
in the satisfaction of the strokes of her brush
the ease of the colours
splaying
as she burned alive
at the sight before her

It is in these moments
Where I go reaching through the blundering moonlight  
That my soul shatters
Letting my mind rage
As it meets fistfuls of pillows
And shudders of stale air

When I can tell you are not there
And will not be before the sun rises
And my hear beat quiets

So I find fingers
Still reaching through sun drenched daylight

we lost you
and part of me still doesn’t know that
but when I cried
speaking to him about how nothing will be the same and you’ll never get to hold little laughter and wipe little tears away
clinging to birthdays and little voices
he told me
that my hands
are extensions of you
so you will hold it all
the packages, the smiles, the screams, and the giggles.

and it made me smile—

thinking of the day you get to hold my Theo, with me.

she sways to the beat of the drum
picking up speed
Feeling the spice and the ***

You wake up and realize with ache on your tongue
it was a night to remember
she could’ve been the one

Would you have waited for me
As I, you?
Did your ears ***** at the sweet mention of consonants that had kinship with your name
or could you have sat
as moonlight and daylight became distant revelations
becoming heresy that no longer changed how you wrote your name on the small of my back
Did you think
I would forget the smell of bourbon on your lips
chasing away the steel in your tone
No.
You wouldn’t have

If only the films could capture
the imperfections of love:
like 3am arguments that mean nothing but a need to be heard.
When heads **** and clothes become struggles in the throes of passion.
the imperfections of the way you love yourself, but they love you anyways.
If only they could capture shuffles up stairs between moans and kisses.
and just capture the boundless love when love is imperfect.
If only.

it’s that moment
where you look at them across the way
and know

you wouldn’t lay on the train tracks for them
god no.

you’d learn how to sing
to sit in silence
make their favourite meal
and maybe change a bike tire.

I’d wanna live.
The incredibly terrifying, soul-wrenching ordeal, of living with them. for them.

and maybe even because of them.

it’s in that moment
you see all the moments
that aren’t just the last.

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

to wake up
in agony because i was dreaming of you
and it didn't last longer
to smack into a pole
because their laugh sounded like yours
or on days like today
when pillows
feel like interlopers
where even in the shower
tears won't grace us with their presence
and
I can't even drink my scotch
because it reminds me of you

The ease in your morning breaths was everything to me
Because for once
I was no longer focused on the evening schedule or the afternoon chores
I was focused on the sounds
I was focused on my cold toes anchored against your calf
I was focused on the taste of last night lingering in the air

The ease in your arms was everything to me
Because for once
I was no longer focused on anything but now

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

the way he held her
without worry
without concern
made her soul ache

how had his knuckles
fingertips
and calluses

could hold everything that had been breaking
slipping through her grasp

like the shadows could see that his knuckles
were warning enough

Say it to me again
he crooned
as If the soul swallows me whole
and the floor becomes the hearth
to cook the language back to me

she sits by the window
thinking of days gone by
and people she no longer knows the names of
watching the rain
fall
over and over
wondering when the storm will break
or just
keep

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

I loved you like the stars were inconsequential that night

because nothing in that moment mattered as much
as your exhales declaring your needs against the inhales of my dreams

and now I meditate
amidst the wind

inhaling
and exhaling

while staring at the stars

because god they are stunning.

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

Amongst the sneezing
the aches
and the hacking “yum”
we cried in laughter
and embraced the glory  
of that ******* sock
and snotty showers
and even as
I sniffled into that dq ice cream
with his nose nuzzled at my knee
I couldn’t help but be content
at your unkempt
unbelievably ****
layered white tee and
frying pan abilities

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

etched across the stratigraphy of grief in those mountains of dread and valleys of sorrow
I waited for you
Building a home by the lakes of regret
Hoping they wouldn’t wash away
What I hoped to build with you

days used to fly by
and maybe it terrified me
maybe because he terrified me
so it was better to look for the next thing.
but
days now crawl slowly
and it makes me groan
maybe because the next thing wasn’t there
and I was left to wonder why.

i don't know when
or why
but it changed

and it was in that heartbeat, in it's echoed refrain
i realized i would never feel like that again
about him.

and that was okay.

because the feel of my jeans grazing across his palms become better with repetition.
because the feel of his smile whisked my favourite lemon loaf into creation, filling itself with peace in this familiarity.
because the feel of his arms were not that of steel, but hearths; warming the depths of my being I did not know had gotten cold.

it would feel better

and that was okay.

I respected him for his ‘hmm’
Over and over
No utterance whispered
Or even shouted
Simply ‘hmm’
like the glass shattering
was of no consequence to him
just a ‘hmm’ would suffice
as the door quietly clicked shut

these so called strings
these chains on me
cannot contain
the person I'd be

the chains he wrought
are not yours to carry
these chains on me

Will have me buried

Nothing is more frustrating
Than watching the words
Sit
On the edge of your tongue
As you stumble and mutter around them
They scratch their heads at you
and you wonder why the words remain
Stagnant
On the edge of your tongue
Rather than telling
How it actually was

there is something to behold
in women who scream
who feel
who revel
to cry in defiance with them
at the world
at the injustice

there is something to behold,
in women
by women
for women
of women.

he asked me,

between a half cocked grin, and sip of whiskey —

‘Do you make every man fall in love with you?’

and that negroni —

really never tasted sweeter, against my tongue

You said it was the moments in between.

But really

It’s the moments frozen in time with you.

It’s the trivial patter of feet.
It’s way you squeezed my left hip just to let me know.
It’s the way you dry your hair and the world disappears.
It’s the way your head fully tilts back to laugh, and your voice drops a register. my breath only registering against your chest.
It’s the way you kiss my neck, breathing me in.  
It’s the way you allow me to know your thoughts, so that I may bottle them away to save them when I need to be enveloped in the ideas of you.
It’s the way you’ll dance with my two left feet, even though you know the way.
It’s the way your hands move when explaining versus describing, and the shifting of your brow.
It’s the way you tell me you love me and the depths hidden within your eyes.

While the moments in between may hold the foundations of your love,

It’s when time stands still

Where you hold me in the sunshine and the starlit sky,

It’s the way you tell me you love me, and I think I know why.

I didn’t expect it that quickly.

I didn’t expect it at all, not really.

That feeling of freedom, of joy, of lust had yet only come from the ocean.

That echoing force of the breaking waves; wind whipping across skin to leave large smiles and even larger gaps in my soul. Paired with the peace of little murmurs from the ocean as it  beacons me forth. Drawing out my 3am yearnings and 4pm sighs.  

Only the ocean could call forth the passions and peace in me like that.

Now you.

You who snickers at 2000 leagues under the sea because nautical distances mean nothing to you.

You who reminds me of the sea in your powerful arms and howling voice. Your eyes matching the ever-changing colours within the ocean, remnants of emeralds and storms. The desires of all sea lovers culminated into your form.

The ocean that is you crashed into me, and I hope to god I am never cast ashore.

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

when his kisses are pleasures
being refined upon my hips
and his hands
caress my shape
like a carpenter varnishing his workpiece

I question how someone could not be entranced

by the paintings scattered across his back
and the husk in his chuckle

I would think
most would give all they have
for one more fix

for his handy tools
and craftsmanship

the floorboards creak as I tiptoe around the hallway, thirsty for air.  

and I find a shelf.

not a big one, not intrusive nor flashy. but a shelf nonetheless.

and upon it, sits unique mason jars. staggered and scribbled with dates. all baggaged and packaged and wrapped up, whisked away from the world to sit on this shelf.

as my toes reached higher, my heart sank lower.

some full to the top, ready to burst. other nothing but drops.

but all dated and all saved.

I rest elbows on said shelf, pondering.

so I hunt.
for something to carry a load so heavy.

when nothing seems to do my hands reach, one at a time, traipsing into the yard with something new.

one by one I lined them together, neat, you know, in a disorganized kind of way.  

my nose crinkled and the thoughts whirled.

til my hands
reached
for the sleeves at my elbows.

pushing them higher to the sky I start to dig.
painting lines in the ground, murmuring affectionate coos to the earth that loves all.

my pockets empty of bulbs and seeds.

Hesitantly pouring

each mason watering a flower. each growing a new being into life with purpose and love.

Sitting back triumphantly as the tears forever water a garden till dry

I have found
that
those we want the most
are not those who we need

I have found
that
the ones we need the most
do not fall into your lap
till you understand
to like is easy
to love is challenging  

I have found
that
what I needed
was better than anything I could have wanted
because I could not
have wanted imperfect perfection
until I saw the way you grinned

I have found.
and I have been found.

In the darkness
I sat
Waiting.

I sat waiting for me
till I stopped waiting
And upon reaching up
Through the cracks in the walls
Heaving
I push through
And In the light
I stood there

Finding
Me
Waiting.

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

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

he whispered
and it echoed across the hall
down my knees
across the teacups and the bookshelf
it rang along my bones
Beating against my ears

Till it rang empty
against the window panes
As they shuddered
after the close

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

When we discuss love
We don’t tend to talk
about the way it creeps up on you.

how it went from trying to remember your brother’s names to “will they be coming too?”

It starts the same, but just a little different. There’s just that little more fun. That smile that creases around your eyes that little bit more.

And while moments are exhilarating and freeing, we still hold back slightly.

Till that moment.

Hit like lightning. Realizing all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you with their knees tucked up gazing at a movie you knew they’d like.

But the way the lightning crackles inside you, reverberating through every cell to let you know the depth of this realization and the fizzle of lichtenberg figures as that love is etched into your skin.

It’s seeing the bits of life that are trivial, but looking forward to every second because it’s with them.

And it’s knowing they could walk away at any second.
But knowing it’ll be okay.
Because you’ll have gotten to experience, that one of a kind struck by lightning moment.
and proudly carry those scars for the rest of your days.

there aren’t words
and golf clubs don’t hit hard enough
because at the end of the day
you won’t ever get to hold my Elizabeth or my Theodore
and I still don’t know
If I’m mad at
or simply for you
because you said we’d get to laugh at the way a white dress would twirl round as **** jokes were said and tears were shed
But instead
I just miss you

Dear lover, such is my random wonderings:

the touch of the wind across my neck
and how it made me think of that night with nothing but some musty sheets and moonlight

I wish I could tell you
my dear
of how love should feel
across the pit of your stomach and the heel of your soul

my love
I wish I could grant you
his love to you
so you may know that love should not hurt
but it should scream and rage
as relentless as the sea
it should make you bellow and moan
like the greats across the chests of those gone

it should make you wild
wanting wind between your legs and sun angled on your back
no longer simply wanting
but craving mud between your toes

it should make you cackle
in the face of sorrow
because you would rather go mad than face a day without them

and some days
it should make you rest
between their arms smelling of a hearth and bourbon

it should swallow you whole
in comfort and meditative waves
bringing you peace that seems to only rest
in sunlight across beaches
where no one goes

the rustle in the sheets
as you start to wind down
may be my favourite sound
as your head
sinks on the pillow
and I can tell
you’ve found a home

the words being spoken
dancing on your tongue
make me wonder
how many times
they have tangoed
on other lips

and the way you pull out the consonants in my name
force me to pause
and sit back down

I didn't realize your dance card was full

I can no longer
explain
the depths of the pain
within her eyes
the way the ink leeched
From her very being
Into mine

I miss the way your chest rose against my fingertips
Like an ocean beating across the shore.

The tide doesn’t come in, no more

I want to watch you love
not me
I want to see the day where you take out the trash  
the day where you start humming again
I want to see the day again where you tell them 'no'
and you sit in with something cold
my darling
I want to see the day where you are soaked in sweat, but grinning ear to ear
the day where you stay out till midnight, but come home happy knowing the steps to get there
my dear
I yearn for the day when you grasp that rusty watering can
and fill it up
eagerly awaiting the skips and jumps left
for the seeds to be watered
and for you to flower

please, once more:

how do you explain
the way the trembles in their voices
created tremors across your skin
the same way his laughter could vibrate along your skin

how do I explain the way I can feel the resounding crack without seeing or hearing it
the echoes of pressure
the webbing pain exploding outwards

to explain the way the whisps of echoed fingertips cause the little death across my skin
rumbling like the quakes
between my bones
where the music resides

below the sorrow carved into the words
and freedom vibrating across the stone of terror
against the limestone of cruelty
and the sandstone of humour

rests the quartz of desire
obsidian of regret
and

she put the pen down and walked away

I wish for you to love me
against the hollows an the bones
I need for you to love me
so I can be whole once more