Finally, let me tell you about the man with the Caribbean eyes, the man I can't describe without telling you every pre-existing, corny cliche.
He showed me what it was like to be loved gently, kindly, he said "I want to know you in the morning"
He reminds me of Sunday afternoons and baseball games, I remind him of Tuesday evenings and dinner on the table.
I don't need him to keep me warm through the winter, I want to hold his hand in the summer, too.

What if I told you I could only sleep on the road and in hotel beds, and when I dreamed, I dreamed of coming home to the girl from the summer.
I only remember bits and pieces of June. Alcohol has been a good friend lately.
Let my recall the events that stick in my mind.
Staying up until sunrise, and even later.
I remember the sunset at the lake, singing on the beach at 2AM
I remember pulling her into the pool fully clothed.
She had me dancing in the streets of downtown Toronto,with the two blonde girls. I spun them in circles and kissed a stranger. I think her name was Veronica.

I remember the harbourfront with her in my lap, stumbling back to the train station. Jack and coke.

I remember cologne and cigarette smoke and that song in the back of the van.
She kept kissing me and people kept watching. I didn't care and neither did she, we were becoming something beautiful.
I didn't know what to make of that but I was figuring it out.

When there was no calming her, that's when I knew I was I loved her. She was a storm. She came in fast, but left even faster.


At least we started out as something beautiful.

I will go back to the lake and I will forget her.

Recalling these memories is not painful, it should be.

SHE WANTED TO KNOW ME AND I SWORE I COULDN’T TAKE IT, I WANTED TO TELL HER GO AWAY, SHE WANTED TO KNOW MY MIND AND NOT MY BODY AND IT MADE ME FEEL SICK I WANTED TO TELL HER TO **** ME AND THAT I AM USED TO FEELING DISGUSTING I WANTED TO TELL HER TO LIE TO ME SHE HAD TO STOP BECAUSE I WAS JUST A GIRL AND SHE WAS GOD AND SHE PUT EVERY SINGLE STAR IN THE SKY ONE BY ONE WITH HER BARE FINGERS
SHE WANTED TO KNOW ME SHE SAID WHAT DO YOU DO WHAT DO YOU LISTEN TO WHAT DO YOU EAT IN OTHER WORDS ARE YOU BORING I SAID I’D DISAPPOINT SHE SAID *******
IF SHE WANTED TO KNOW I’D TELL HER IT’S BEEN MONTHS SINCE I’VE SEEN MY FATHER BUT IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE SEEN MY DAD AND THE LAST TIME WAS THE VERY LAST WARM DAY IN FALL 2010 WHEN I LOST HIM TO ANOTHER WOMAN AND I’VE BEEN COLD EVER SINCE
ABOUT HOW BACK IN 2013 I’D BEEN CONVINCED I FOUND HIM REINCARNATED UNTIL I LEARNED I’D LOSE EVERY MAN I WILL EVER LOVE TO OTHER WOMEN AND THAT WAS THE DAY THE HOME WRECKED BECAME THE HOME WRECKER I AM LONELY BUT I DON’T REMEMBER THE LAST NIGHT I’VE BEEN ALONE I’VE CREATED MY OWN DEFINITION OF FILLING THE VOID I HAVE A JAR OF HEARTS HIDDEN UNDER MY BED AMONG THE COUNTLESS EMPTY BOTTLES
IF SHE ASKED I WOULD’VE TOLD HER I WANT TO MARRY IN THE AUTUMN IN HOPES TIME WON’T BE FROZEN ANYMORE AND HOW I ONLY SLEEP ON THE ROAD AND IN HOTEL BEDS AND WHEN I DREAM I DREAM OF COMING HOME
SHE WANTED TO KNOW ME AND SHE ASKED MY FAVOURITE COLOUR AND I TOLD HER IT WAS RED LIKE THE COLOUR OF HER HAIR AND YELLOW LIKE WHAT SHE WAS WEARING THAT DAY I THOUGHT I SAW HER IN THE SUMMER

SHE WANTED TO KNOW ME I SAID DO YOU REALLY - j

Emptiness consumes me as I search
long and deep for my next inspiration.
I search to feel something, anything.
Overwhelming nothingness is building
up inside of me, pumping through my
veins, consuming me, deteriorating my
insides. The lust for feeling turns into an ache similar to paralyzing hunger. Suddenly, it hits me. I light up like a
switch was flicked inside of me and I am beaming with all of this glow. The
excitement, the glory!
But suddenly, I fall, and my bright, glorious light falls to pieces.
It flickers one last time, and dims to nothing but smoke. So i unplug to avoid destruction of my surroundings.
I am already destroyed. I am known to cause house fires, electric shock.
I am better just being nothing.
Feeling nothing.

I don't know why I've been writing it all down. I know that my mind feels much clearer when it's all left out on paper. I keep writing because the thoughts keep rushing in like the tide on the east coast and I prefer quiet swimming pools rather than oceans and violent undertow.
Maybe I write it all down because I want to create something beautiful out of the mess that fills my mind. I know people often relate their writing to an "outlet" but I prefer to call it a "power converter." I write because I want to turn these thoughts into something more bearable.