We all make mistakes
Cause we aren't all knowing
Can't avoid the bumps
Of things foreseen.
It's not to end to lose control
Life can't fit in a box
That you tape and close.
There are ugly ghosts that escape
Like wisps of smoke
etch their way into reality
ruin your dreams and hopes
Tantalise you with whispers
Of what could be.
Allow yourself to live
Forgive yourself for trusting
And keep on loving
With all your heart.

I live in a town where my english teacher thinks they
actually talked like that in Shakespeare's plays.
I live in a town where being Catholic is good because then
you don't wear condoms.
I live in a town filled with backwoods principles and
the blackest white people you'll ever meet.
It's a town where it's not okay to be gay,
and you're a minority if you're not homophobic.
I live in a town where the people in the nicest cars have the best,
easiest jobs;
but the weakest minds.
And when you step outside you're door here, you'll see the
tar filled lines is the street with 10 guys
leaning on shovels as the rookie does 11 fold work.

So if you ever are driving through the province where our good
Stephen Harper *****,
make sure you don't stop for coffee along the way.
Because Darling, this place is hell on earth.

my bed became a sanctuary of nothingness.   But I fear emptiness.  Its close.  A paralysis of indecision permeates like frigid winter through drafty walls.  I decide to sleep in.  

Occasionally turning to see the clock- minutes, hours pile up like ***** dishes.

During broad daylight, the distant noise of a cessna impedes into my room, defining a vast separation.  One, maybe two people up there have an interesting life, an important destination.  Listening to their flight gives me something to do.  When they are gone, I have nothing left but a fingerprint stained glass of water.

By late afternoon, the lost day vaguely disturbs like seeing one shoe on a highway.  
Either painful or a waste, nothing good about it.  

Finally light dims.  A broken clock is right twice in a day, but since I'm the one who stopped, the clock catches up with my uselessness in bed.
The period on the sentence that I have, truly, accomplished nothing.  

Darkness justifies my nap.  A relief as I can finally end the day with some sleep.

I dream of being infinite, traversing the universe a narrow beam of light.  You pass me by a little faster, but turn around so we can create time together, to become here.

I dream of when we camped by a river's waterfall.  Half awake my eyes can see the tent filled with soft green light.  No light source but bright enough to see by, everything in the tent and you sleeping peacefully. Logic corrects me, says it a New Moon and I shouldn't be able to see anything.  My eyes agree and slowly darken, blind to the color of love's aura that I can still feel.

I wake.  Pour one bowl of cereal instead of two, remembering when you looked up from breakfast and said, "let’s ride our bikes across the country," just like that.  And just like that we did, halfway anyway.  1500 miles was just the beginning.  I love the places you take me.

I call you up.  "Let's not call them dealbreakers, ok?"

I often think about that time in the morning at your house.
I was awake, because I always woke up early, and once
I sat up, and left your arms to sit by the cold window,
you reached your arms out grabbing for me saying in a
very sweet, hushed, slumbered tone:
"Come back to bed, Ashy."
Once you heard me start to cry, your eyes shot open, and
you have never said you were sorry so many times in your life.