the past
is such a complicated beast
our history holds our tongues
and ghosts still linger on our lips

I'm not the type
you're not the type
to fetter the future when we know
one of us would have to give up
something of ourselves

I think we're dancing with danger here
more than we ever have
with the burn of her name still fresh on your heart
and the brush of her breath still vivid in my soul

tell that to the heart that leaps in my chest
when you're close enough to hear it

we have choices to make here
I don't think we can stay on this cliff's edge forever

back to safety, forward into the terrifying rushing air
(who knows if there's water catch us)
(if there is, we still could drown)

just tell me
which way do you want to jump?

I'm not a poet, I
only write because I need
to release the heat
you built up in my heart
to bleed it out in ink
hot and fresh and raw, I
breathe you in and out
like oxygen

I'm not a poet, I
only write to tell you all the things
I'm never brave enough to say aloud

I'm not a poet, I
only write for love of you
I only write for lack of you
so
put my fingertips to better use
or swing me silent with your hips
and bring a stop
to this train of thought
with your lips

I can even
feel
how tenderly I look at you

I can only imagine
what it must look like
to everyone else

would you turn away if
I crumbled in your arms to dust?
I fall apart around you.

and yet, it is only
in the humid darkness
with the sound of our hearts beating
against sleep
that I feel
utterly
complete

I don't remember summers before I was
at least five or six but I'd
imagine
from the VHS tapes stacked on one side of the TV stand
with names like "July '97"
that it was hot
like no air conditioning on the third floor of a tiny house
and it was sweet
like the juice from a strawberry
all over a tiny
chubby-cheeked face

the first summers I do remember
were long and full of
bugs and soccer and
library books

and the smell of pine needles

fast forward to when they changed
from freedom to
work
in a world where I had never felt
so simultaneously old
and far too young
but still it was
cold water and cold mornings and
warm afternoons in a field
talking about nothing
that seemed like everything

and then it was sea-breeze and bus rides and
fidgeting through the morning just to be
barely able to stay awake in the afternoons
and the best field trips I'll ever have
54 hearts at the edge of the world
young and
utterly convinced of our own brilliance

and then?
too long
running and reading and breaking and
barely putting myself back together

and then it was four months
of the hardest work I've ever done
in my entire life
four months of pain and a deadline
I for once didn't know if I could make but
I had to, for you
it's
work I still don't talk about
even in the place just before sleep takes over
when you feel like words
are just a cotton-candy haze
and you could say anything
and let your future self deal with it in the morning
(some things
are locked away too deeply
to be unintentionally spoken)
(this is the summer
I only talk about
in bold one-liners
not meeting your eyes
because the only way I can face anyone
with this in plain view
is if I am wearing it
like armor)

and last summer?
last summer was long days of the best work
and long nights with the best company
when I didn't care how sleep-deprived I was
I only cared about
the amount of time I spent with you
I was
(I am)
willing to push back sleep
push open my eyelids
for another moment
watching you fight the same battle

last summer smells like
the ocean
it looks like a dimly lit bar, cheap beer and
a cheap dress, a clean white shirt
glowing slightly in the light
of the neon sign
it sounds like
music loud enough and close enough
that we can barely hear ourselves
screaming the words,
breathless and
dancing like we may never get the chance again
(it sounds like singing off-key and
a playlist that
hasn't ended yet)

I'm finally learning
to like summer

you told me
to be selfish for once in my life
but I am
every second I don't ask
for the one thing I wish
more than anything
I could have
because asking for that
could mean losing you
and I am far too selfish
to risk that

lovers, we are young and
our hearts and our heads can take us
halfway 'round the world
but we can make a wanderlust home
in the space between our heartbeats
when we're curled around each other
the bed too small for all the love we have
knocking at our door is as simple
as carding your fingers through another's hair
we know you're never more beautiful than
with sleep and sunlight in your eyes
and lopsided curls falling at your cheekbones

and on the days that caffeine replaces blood in your veins
and tiredness pulls at your eyelids and your head
dragging them down, love, we'll tuck you in and
keep the coffee coming

and winter sunlight may be watery but it's
never brighter than squinting against the snow
and finding that your smile
is still the most blinding thing we see

and spring will return us to our roots
reaching against the tide of the world
to keep our love alive

oh loves, I'll love you even more
every turn around the sun we make
every spin that sets the sun to rising
always falling through the endless space
and still I know the most important

space

is the space where your breath
mixes with mine
the spaces between your teeth, the
spaces we made for us, the
spaces we'd die to keep

the space we made in a blanket fort
before anything else

sometimes words fall from my mouth before I can stop them
though I knew they were on my mind and I
wanted to say them I just
didn't think I'd have the courage but
it was so easy to just
let
them
fall
and sometimes there are words bursting through my lungs
begging to be heard but
you're gone now and I'm aware
suddenly
I didn't say nearly
everything that I wanted
to say to you

You're my best friend and
I don't even think before calling you that
even in front of people who
might feel like they deserve that title

but you're fading into the background of my life
slowly but
burning bright
I see you there but you
never come forward
so I know it's not me
that's letting you leave it's
you
leaving
on your own

this isn't how it was supposed to go, you were
supposed to be
everything to me we were
supposed to be maids of honour
for each other
if we weren't each others' brides
I don't want to imagine a world
where you aren't as important to me as you were
that summer,
your head in my lap and
my heart in your hands
the sun dancing around us and,
later, us
dancing in the dark with
bright lights briefly outlining
young bodies that I didn't know
quite what to do with yet
(but I think you did)

and I won't lie and say I'm never jealous
of your perfect face and hair and body and brain
because I am
often but
I never begrudge you any of it I just
can sometimes barely function and you seem
so
put together and I wonder why
you keep me around

maybe you
finally started wondering
too

you said this song got you through a bad night
and I listened to the song on repeat
but what I really wanted to know about
were your bad nights
because I have those too and I wanted to know
if you mean the same thing as I do when I say
I had a bad night

I wanted you to tell me
about every bad night
you've ever had
so I could shoulder some of them
for you
(I've gotten used to carrying around
endless bad nights
in my back pocket
I'd barely notice the extra weight of yours)
lay it on me,
I can handle it

the songs that got me through my bad nights (and
days and weeks and months)
are precious to me
and I hold them to my chest like
you held me

and if that's how you feel about them too
then I love you for sharing them with me
(I'd love you anyways)
(I didn't think it was possible to love you more but
something always seems to happen and suddenly I
do)

and I'd never ask you to carry my bad nights for me
but I feel like you could
maybe
tame some of the wild that lives in them

there's no telling where
or who
we'll be tomorrow morning
but let's ride out this
bad night
together

there are days my words
run dry like sandpaper
when the pen hovers over the paper
and no poetry flows

but you seem to draw magic out of me
sipping through a straw straight to my soul
words are pulled to the surface
like water from the ground

you make my mind
shape syllables slowly
turning them twice or three times
over
you make my
words wrought iron

it's like butterflies burst under my skin
as I ache
to write about you

you've got your life together
your perfection
oozing from every action
you're in bed by 10
having finished all your work
impeccably, of course
and you look like the kind of hallucination
I'd want to have as I was dying

and I can't figure out
why I can't do the same
but more than anything I'm afraid
that it confirms what I always knew
I'm not good at anything
enough
to deserve you

Equations                                                                                     your name
march                                                                                                   scars
down the                                                                             the margins
left-hand side                                                                               until I can't
of the paper                                                                       hand this in
flawlessly                                                                     this is what I  w i s h
this is what I am good at                                       I could be good at (y o u)
I am logical                                                               I am the mess you've
and organized                                                                   made of me

why couldn't we be
a little bit in love tonight?

I'm already there but
could you meet me
halfway?

my fingers
hovered
over the screen
ghosting over the letters
thinking of texting you
like it could somehow
let you know I was thinking of you

and I have fifteen
pictures of you on my phone
and I looked over them all
like seeing your face
in two dimensions
could make up for the fact that
I hadn't seen in it three
for two days

and then you were right behind me
and I don't think you noticed what I was doing
but god, it felt like happenstance
was on my side

because your voice
there's nothing too special about it
objectively
(as if I could ever be
objective
about you)
it's not deep
or husky
or dripping ***
like some people I know
and most of the time it's not quite soft
it's slightly slippery but
with sandpaper edges
but I love it
because it's yours

and  I love the face you make before you sing
off-key, usually
but you don't hold back and
I love you for that too

and you're not particularly tall (you're exactly average, actually)
(but I'm barely on the tall side of average and
she's even taller so
you seem smaller than you are)
or dark
or even handsome, by most standards
but you're like a breath of fresh air every time I see you
(swiftly taken away by your bone-crushing hug)

and I love the face you make
when you're skeptical
even though it looks nothing
like a skeptical expression should

I even don't hate
the things I should hate you for
because you have never
made me feel like I am
difficult to love
(even though
I think I am)

Although I'm a little annoyed with
how you made all my love poems
disturbingly heteronormative
for a while

I loved you
before you told me
explicitly
that you liked
being around me
and I loved you even more after that

good god,
I love you so

and it scares me because I shouldn't
and it scares me because I can't
and it scares me because one or both of us will end up hurt
but I'll take the pain
now and later
I'll always sacrifice
for the happiness of my friends
like I said
and you thought I was being so kind and
noble
but I think it's cowardice
and it has
never
felt like a choice

this is how I get over you

last night
I was done and
you were just a friend again and I
wanted to know your opinion but I
didn't ache when
I knew you were with her
and didn't text back

the night before that
your words left me
an incoherent mess
on the floor
tears leaking from my eyes
but smiling

and tonight I'm thinking about you again

and maybe it'll be like this for a while
maybe there will be nights where
I can smile without any sadness or
want
behind it
and maybe there will still be nights when
my hips still
****
involuntarily at the thought of your name

and maybe I won't be able to say
one day
that was when I got over you
but I may
one day
be able to say I'm over you
and realize
I mean it

this is for all the boys I loved
but was too shy and nervous to say so

this is for all the girls I loved
but was too terrified and confused to do anything about

I don't think anyone's heart was ever broken
over me
because I'm not the kind of girl that leaves broken hearts
in her wake
like a pheromone trail
I've known that girl before
I've loved that girl before

so this is an apology
to the hearts I left behind
still whole
still unbroken
but untouched

to the hearts
that all
broke mine

what if he doesn't dance
or worse
what if he dances just like you
because he reminds me of you
everything reminds me of you

I want to burn bright
like a supernova
but they only last for weeks or
months
and
I'd be happy if I could shine
so singularly
for a minuscule
fraction
of a second

I'm tired
of the heat
and the humidity

when you're not here
to distract me

if the universe is deterministic
if fate has dealt me this hand
then I have always met you
I have always loved
and always lost

and still
it wouldn't matter
if this was preordained
or set in stone from the beginning of time
even if it was my own choices
that led me here
I wouldn't change a single one

if I had to choose
today
I think I'd scream your name
until my throat was dry
and rough
and screaming hurt
like loving you
does

if souls exist
if the universe was anything other than perfectly chaotic
I'd say we were meant to meet
but happenstance is just entropy at work
and I can't say I'm lucky because I don't believe in luck
and there's no god to be grateful to

but I am
infinitely
happy
that I met you

I've known you twice
in this life
and some things are always the same
(if you can say
always
about two people)
you're always vegan
and you have really great hair
and a love
and understanding
of art
that I can never hope to match
with my numbers and my equations
(like x = you + me is never one I can solve
because you need two equations to solve for two
variables
and you're always
variable
and sometimes I'm not even sure I know myself)

and I feel in the pit inside me like
we should be good friends
but maybe you don't need me
and maybe this connection
is only a one-way street
the way some people say they feel
connected
to celebrities

(I don't think I worship you
like you're famous
but there's some kind of worship
there
anyways, like you're a blinding star
and I'm a lump of rock
spit out by some minor moon
barely worth your notice, even though I
revolve around you)

and I never find out why it seems
like your heart always has to beat
a million miles away
from mine

there's an ache in my chest
in between all of our ribs

for sunlight kisses
and the warm wind's breath
on my neck

the wind swiftly sweeps snow
into curved corners
and sharp edges
into drifts
and the snow
drifts

but minds
and hearts
drift
to thoughts of spring

it doesn't feel
like new beginnings outside
when there's black ice at every turn

but when snow falls it's possible to pretend
that the world is erased
and with it
all mistakes

there's quiet on the wind
(no longer a breeze)
as though this whole curve
of the Earth
is holding its breath
waiting
for snow

The sun rose the other day
through fog and mist and rain
(I didn't see it)

The sun set the other day
amid tangerine and pink and light
(I briefly glanced at it)

The moon was bright the other night
even through the clouds
(I saw it walking home)

I could add that it reminded me
of you
and how I see the light of you
when you're not really there
and how other things shine
just from being around you

but this poem is not about  you
and I don't want you to slip into my stanzas here

******* it

I'm failing rather miserably
at being ambivalent
about you

there's a kind of hangover
that starts with grey days
and cold nights

but there's a certain clarity
to biting air and grey skies
with snow on the wind

It's been three years
since I was madly infatuated with you
with your hair (curly, long, dark)
your freckles (sprinkled across your face)
your nose (straight-bridged, strong)
your eyes (dark, warm)
your lips (smiling, laughing)
your voice (like a river, like molasses)

summer camp isn't the best time
to fall for a girl
for me
(and god, the secret had to stay that way)

but after three years
you're the only person from that summer
I still have on facebook

so it's been three years
since I was madly infatuated with you
(but if you wanted
I would be
still)

Even in the middle of them
it's hard to believe that
clouds aren't made of something solid
and soft

it's always some kind of perfection outside
(the perfect storm,
the perfect blue,
the perfect colour leaves,
the perfect temperature)

and yet
it's midterm season

It's not that I've been unproductive
it's that there are things I should be doing
other than write about you

Writing about you
is like adding cinnamon to my food

it seems to happen
whether I plan to or not

like sleepy mornings with cold feet and warm bowls
of your smile,
like sweetness and spice with just a hint
of the smell of your sweater,
like dessert with a dusting
of the lines around your eyes
and your mouth

(or maybe
I just really like the taste of you
on my tongue)

the other day I remembered the phrase
if love be rough with you, be rough with love
I knew it was Shakespeare,
but I had to look up what play it was from
(I thought it might have been Much Ado About Nothing
but it was Romeo and Juliet)

(I'm still not sure
if that was a sign)

so grade 10 English is still dancing in my mind somewhere

(but all I remember thinking is
that there's a word
for what I want
to do to you)

There's blood rushing through my ear
and I can hear my heartbeat

I'm not sure if I'm sick or
just tired but

it's late enough to be unsure
if I'm at all justified
in missing you

Some say that limits
Enhance creativity
Not the opposite

How do I describe
the universe that you are
in five syllables?

no words
are right enough
to justify
scarring the first
blank
page

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"Love Letters"?

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