i inherited an entire library
full of books that offer explanations
as to why you are incapable of loving me.

the romance section was laughable,
giving me bullet point commentaries
as to why i am doomed to never
be loved or feel loved again,
reasons why i settle for beautiful boys who
enjoy my company because i'm quirky, cute, time killer material,
not anchored, solid, strong, soulmate material.
but that's just it, i guess, no one can deny it-
(everyone knows when they are in the presence of precariousness.)

the mystery section offered me nothing but
a full buffet  of questions i already had,
questions that always seemed to give clues to future answers,
delicious questions that tasted sweet at first
then turned suddenly sour,
questions that made me understand the meaning
of a deceptive cadence.
(these books made me wish i didn't leave fingerprints
on everything i touch.)

the fiction section made me feel like a child again,
these were the books that reminded me why hope
is and has always been my favourite bedtime snack.
(these were the books that reminded me that just
because i couldn't make you love me did not mean
that i couldn't make believe you love me.)
since i've stepped out of my fins every step has made me wish
for the courage to throw myself into the sea,
to dissolve in an instant,
to be a daughter of the air forevermore.
(perhaps Hans Christian Anderson was the only person in the world
who knew just how much it hurts to be a human being.)

the self help section gave the illusion of answers,
the way a fortune teller with a foreign accent
doused in flattery and jewelry might seem.
i have spent hours of my existence with these books,
laying on my stomach, furrowed brow, fingers turning white
from clutching the ballpoint pen for dear life thinking
maybe if i just keep
underliningunderliningunderlining
things will start to make sense again.
(because, don't you know? the more you underline
the parts of your life that are relevant on paper,
the closer you are to having figured out your life so perfectly
you eventually will walk by these books wondering
which unfortunate person you should donate them to.)

i inherited an entire library
full of books that offer explanations
as to why you are incapable of loving me.
i think maybe there are some things
that we are never meant
to know.

he died on his birthday,
he was born on his deathbed.
we were all there, standing in the same room
when his last breath
escaped.
“he’s gone.” someone said,
it’s all a blur to me now.
the moon was full that night
as if it was trying to fill
the emptiness in our hearts.
we watched him die,
we watched him live.
he was a brother, an uncle, a father, a son.
there’s no harm in remembering him.
but please, don’t give up your life
just because the pain of having people leave you
is too much to bear.
you couldn’t save him,
i couldn’t save you.
i hope one day we can all learn
how to save ourselves.
we deserve that much, don’t you think?

to grow out my health
to grow out my self esteem
to grow out my sense of adventure
to grow out my happiness
to grow out my honesty
to grow out my bravery
to grow out my laughter
to grow out my openness
to grow out my vulnerability
to grow out my forgiveness
to grow out my potential
to grow out my inner mermaid
to grow out my trust
to grow out my creativity
to grow out my perseverance
to grow out my patience
to grow out my motivation
to grow out my willingness
to grow out my beliefs
to grow out my soul
to grow out my desire
to grow.

twenty one and burned out
like a cup over a candle.
"you're so young, you're too young,
you're too young to even realize how young you are."
he said to me before i went home the other night.
i laughed and tried to believe him, while trying to laugh in a way
that would display the many lives that lay within me.
i wish the world would start noticing
how looks are deceiving and hearts are receding and bodies are forgiving.
i've spent too much time living the lives of the ghosts that haunt me.
i'm exhausted from moving out and moving in,
trying different lives on like clothes that don't fit -
peering into the lives of other girls who tell me
that they are addicted to feeling accomplished and not
defeated, while i nod in silence,
then spend the entire night awake, wondering
what they mean.
i've dreamt up a million ways you could have said goodbye.
i've spent two years in the waiting room of hope,
only to be called into the office of indifference,
which happens every time i show up
to my appointments with forgiveness.
i'm still waiting to meet him.
but it's alright, my name will come up on the list
of names soon.
it's all over now and i've grown into being glad.
i learned patience the way i learned to walk.
sometimes i miss it, the way the sadness was a lifestyle,
but novelties become exhausting and boring and
so overly dramatic and annoying.
i'm still frustrated, you know.
even though i make it look easy.
being pretty is like putting on a movie you have no
intention of paying attention to.
it's easy and i don't care.
by saying that, i mean i don't need you,
the way you think i look like i do.
what i'm trying to say is, i still love you
even though admitting mistakes is not
something humans brag about very often.

you spoke of romance as if it were a disease.
you treated poems like pick up lines.
you said there was no point in writing anything if the writer
did not have an audience.
you asked me who my audience was,
and as soon as i answered your question,
i stopped writing.
it's easy to stop writing about someone once they begin
expecting you to.
i still think part of me was wrong, but most of me was right.
there is a point to writing beyond having
someone who will read it.
it is a desperate demanding kind of feeling
that wishes to remain
anonymous.

sometimes i watch
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
over and over again
on the days when missing you
hits me right in the face and makes me want
to call you, see you, hug you
to replenish the memories i have of you.
it makes me wonder if having you
erased from my mind would make this
whole thing easier, this new
chapter of my life.
the letting go, the detaching.
getting into the habit of walking by flowers
and not plucking their petals to see
if you still love me or not.
the realizing that it doesn't matter if you still
love me or not,
but being frustrated with the not knowing
anyway.
i don't want to erase you from my mind
out of hate or spite or resentment.
i want to erase you because the desire to go back
and do things over again is stronger
than the desire to accept things for how they turned out
and move on.
i don't know if it's missing you
or missing the person i was when i was with you
that is driving me crazy.
i think it's a little of both but mainly just the fact
that i want to tell you i'm sorry
without it seeming useless.
i feel you in my heart still and i guess i just want
you to know that.
but i also want to forget that because it hurts.
so i watch
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
on repeat
to forget about it all,
if only for a little while.
why is everything always so intangible and bittersweet?

The house that I grew up in
went up for sale today.
The house I lived in
from ages eight to eighteen.
The house I wrote my first songs in.
The house I had endless sleepovers in with my childhood friends.
It was in this place that I grew
(And wilted)
And grew
(And wilted).
That house is a land mine of memories. So many ghosts.
Ghosts of my uncle playing guitar in the living room.
Ghosts of my mother at three am telling me between drunken slurs how irresponsible I am for forgetting to turn off the basement light.
Ghosts of my parents friends coming over to “jam”.
Ghosts of me singing old jazz tunes with my grandfather as he played the grand piano.
The music, the laughter.
The drugs, the alcohol.
The screaming the yelling
The trying the crying.
The endless fighting.
The hopelessness and then
The hope.
The loneliness that never left me
Even when I left the house.
The late night hysterical phone calls to my first ever boyfriend,
who brought me about as much comfort as my mascara stained pillowcase.

The house that I grew up in went up for sale today.
The for sale sign is on the lawn.


I guess a home
Really has nothing to do with a house
After all.
Or at least that’s what I keep
Telling myself.

struggling to accept
that in moments like these
all i can do for you
is pray.

you came to me at a time in my life
when i needed it the most,
for it was literal life or death,
though neither of us
really knew that then.
i didn't know what hit me until later on,
when you mailed me your journal and trusted me
with the deepest darkest terrifyingly beautiful parts
of you. when i gave you endless warnings about how
difficult i am to have around and you put your hands
in the air and said
i don't care. i love you. i'm choosing to stay.
it was like i was waiting all my life to have someone
say those words and actually mean them.
you meant them.
i have, to this day, never met anyone
so completely compassionate, sensitive, intriguing, magnetic, inspiring,
funny, self aware, hopeful, wise, intelligent,
unconditionally loving, and forgiving
as you.
i often find it difficult to write
about you because i become so frustrated when
i attempt to come up with the right words
to accurately capture
how much i love you.
let me just say: there are no words for this.
words words words
i need words to describe
how everlastingly thankful i am to have met you,
how you have taught me more about what it means
to be a woman than my own mother,
how God heals me through your love and undying
support.
how i've regained so much of my self worth by having you
around, reminding me who i am
and how important it is to remember who you are,
each and every day.
this is not like any other love i have ever known.
this is pure,
this is real,
this is rare.
distance is the only thing that separates us,
but even that fails to keep us apart.
i miss you i miss you i miss you
i love you i love you i love you
you are the most precious creature i have ever
had the privilege to know.
*i will see you soon, love.

it started with me wanting you
to love me
which lead me to wanting you
to save me
which lead me to wanting you
to leave me
which lead me to wanting you
to touch me
which lead me to wanting you
to use me
which lead me to wanting you
to comfort me
which lead me to wanting you
to stop
loving, saving, leaving, touching, using, comforting
me
which lead me to wanting you
to never contact me again.

these desires repeated themselves
more times than i can count
and in the end,
i ran in circles knowing full well
you would never kick the habit
of chasing my tail.

we were silly magnets with each other.
there will always be a place for you in my heart
but some things just have to stop,
for good.

the summer passed me by
as quick as the spider that runs
across my bedroom floor when i
can't sleep at night.
catch me if you can it says,
reminding me of the
inevitable.
summer is like that,
it comes and you watch your friends
leave and you hug them and
you fill in the spaces of silence
inside the margins of your notebook
knowing full well that writing the same
sentence over and over does not make
the time pass any faster. but you don't care.
then they come home and sit you down and say,
"want to see the pictures i took on my trip?"
and you always say yes
when you always mean no
and you smile and you tell them
how nice of a time it looked like they had.
and when they ask you how your summer was,
you shrug and say "good"
when really you mean
uneventful, restless, fleeting,
unmemorable.
lonely.
you want to tell them about the two weeks
you spent home alone sleeping on the couch,
watching Disney movies,
you want to tell them how paralyzed you were
by lack of affection and touch and
laughter.
you want to tell them how the heat only
amplified that gaping hole, confirming
your sinking suspicions of always feeling like
you were missing something.
you want to tell them to slow down,
to listen.
you want to tell them how scared you are,
now that summer is over.
you want them to confess to you
how terrified they are, too.
you want to reach into their eyes and find
a river of undeniable resilience
that might sustain you for the next four months,
up until you leave this city.
you want them to spend the night with you
just so you can remember what it feels like
to be held, even if it's only for one night.
summer's almost gone,
despite the remaining heat and humidity.
you challenge the night with one-sided conversations
with yourself in the dark,
even though you know
that is the last place you could ever find
some clarity.
you count the backpacks on the children
and the number of minutes it takes
for a traffic jam to subside.
summer's almost gone,
and you are running out of places
to hide.

yes, i remember
meeting you, your candle, extended
i lighted it without you even having to
ask.

you miss that, don't you?
you miss that spark?
you deemed me an angel guiding you
through a never-ending tunnel
of self perpetuating fear and loathing
and dis ease.

yes, what we had was real.  

but i couldn't save you, and even though
i tried, i didn't in the end.
no one could.

but

i was there for you
when no one else was
we were both starving
people, then.

i hardly remember who i was, really.
i was fragmented and lonely and sad
but i was given hope upon meeting you,
and all i knew
was that i loved you
and that seemed to be enough.

but it wasn't, as i learned
the hard way. years have passed
and you contact me every now and then,
out of the blue, as if to remind me
of a person i once knew.

there are some people
you will always know
they become a part of you,
the people that hurt you,
the people that loved you,
the people that left you - haven't
actually left you.

the last time i heard from you,
you said it would be the last time
i would ever hear from you
and there was
a strange peace i felt in that.

because

certain wounds eventually stop
reopening, certain theatres eventually
end up closing,
certain seeds eventually
need some sowing.

always hoping for the best
and expecting the worst,
i see the sadness in everything,
but i also the the beauty,
which is why
i laugh too hard, i cry too easily,
you will find yourself always asking me
either "what's the matter?" or
"what's so funny?"
and i will find silly answers for both
that will never suffice because
i never have any.
i am looking for them just as carelessly
as you.

and i think we both know
that you don't mean it when you say
"see you soon"
because how soon is now?
it's always later than sooner
for most things, anyway.
it's hard not to spend a lifetime
waiting wasting wondering
when something extraordinary is going to
come along, when you will stop feeling
like dry eraser remnants sprinkled across
an old writer's desk,
when you confront the fact
that you've always only ever been
a big and lonely mess
of please love me, please leave me, please show me
how to start being more and stop
being less.

it’s exhausting,
to try to put a memory to a face
to each face,
to your own face,
in each photograph that you see
that has captured
each underlying entity
that make up an entire sea
populated only by
the ghosts of who you have
and haven't been.

I am so completely aware of the fact that I have a voice
and so completely afraid to use it because
of what I might say. Because I have a lot to say.
I might say things like I'm not
okay. I might say things like I'm lost and I don't know what
i'm doing, I'm scared and I'm sad, and I'm selfish too. I might
say things like trying to be a better person is hard and
exhausting and sometimes giving up is as tempting as
failing a final exam out of sheer indifference because you know
someone is going to do better than you anyway. I might say things
about being a woman, and how it's so easy to remain silent
in this society, how easy it is to pretend like you don't have an
opinion, you don't have a voice, how easy it is to believe
that you're just an object for men to look at and call you
****, that you're a threat to other women because they're too insecure
to realize that they are your sisters and that sisters should be sticking
together, not mocking or criticizing each other
when the other isn't listening.
I might say things about how sometimes I wonder why
I was brought into this world, because it's cold and it's violent
and it's difficult and it revolves around money. And money is scary
and intimidating because it will never bring anyone happiness and yet
it is the one thing that everyone wishes they had more of. The one thing
that nobody has enough of.
Enough.
I want to feel good enough.
I want to wake up in the morning and feel proud to be a woman,
I want to stop seeing and treating myself as if I am an object,
I want to look into the mirror and have oceans of self respect
pour out of my eyes and nourish my heart.  
I want to be able to walk through a mall or browse social media networks
without being bombarded by images of the latest female pop star
who is making the current female generation look like
self degrading cheap *** objects whose primary purpose
is to please males acting as a an open welcome sign blank canvas
for humiliating labels and comments and
spreading shame as if it were a highly contagious disease.
I want to tell you that you hurt me.
I want to tell you that I used you to hurt myself.
I want to look at you and tell you I am sorry.
I want to tell you that I am trying and have you believe me.
I want to walk outside and hug a stranger and have them say
"Thank you, I needed that."
I want to make a difference, I want to use my voice.
I am so completely aware of these things.
I am so completely afraid. Vulnerability comes
with living a true and fulfilling life. And I am afraid
of that. I want to be a leader in the sense
that I don't continue to act as a vacuum, always *******
false words out of people, consuming them as if they were my last
meal on earth, as an attempt to heal the tiny wounds underneath my skin,
as an attempt to feel whole and wanted and useful and important,
as an attempt to pretend to have never been the people I have in fact been.  
I don't want that. I want life. I want to open my mouth and have
floods rushing into the ears of others screaming
"HERE I AM AND I AM AND YOU ARE TOO AND THAT ALONE IS ENOUGH."
I want to look up at the sky and know
that God himself created this masterpiece for all of us,
because he loves us. Because God has no grandchildren and
we are all precious and worthy and forgiven.
I want to say I love you and I want you to feel it.
I want to say that to myself and really feel it too.
I want to know myself.
I want to know you.

today
I found out my manager’s mother
passed away
today
I walked by a couple
that were getting their wedding
pictures taken,
I told the bride she was
beautiful.
today
I swam 20 laps and relished
in the moments I was holding
my breath
1,2,3 breathe
1,2,3 breathe
1,2,3 breathe
life is so
devastatingly
fleeting.

that music brought me back
to when i was sixteen and still in love with him
the year the words “let it die” should have been tattooed
in black letters across my entire face,
and the remaining years after that
up until he left for good.
that setting brought me back
to that one summer when i was
trying very hard to limit my recklessness
to a small cough or a sedative,
until it seeped out
and the stains on my hands gave me away.
i wanted to look over and sing the lyrics
with you but you were lost in your head,
you were somewhere else.
i wanted my friend to put her arm around me
and say “i am so glad we are here together” but
my friend is somewhere else, as everyone seems to be
lately. i don’t know why
loneliness swallows us so wholeheartedly
when we are among a crowd of people,
inhaling their silence and laughter and meaningless
chatter. i wanted to float up into the magenta sky,
i wanted to feel my wings carry me up and over
the city skyline,
i wanted to disappear into the abyss
of music itself.

once when i was hurting,
i took a picture of a wall
where someone wrote in yellow letters:
all i want is healing
healing is all i want.
i looked at that wall every day
for a year
until someone painted over it
and all that was left
was the photo i had taken.

after that,
those ten words
became my secret mantra.
i would stare at those words
during hopeless nights
with nothing but myself
and a small blade i used
when the noise got too loud.

i thought a lot about
how i felt about those words -
what they really meant,
if they were the utter *******
i was beginning to believe they were,
and what my response would be
if someone ever spoke them to me
out loud.
until finally,
on one particular suffocating evening,
i carved the words
healing is difficult
on the very top of my
right thigh
and i thought, yeah
that's a pretty good
****-you
to the world and its hope
for healing.
count me out.
healing is hopeless.
healing is a myth.
healing is difficult.
and that is the truth.

it wasn't until this year,
after my scars have long since faded,
that i think back on those ten words
and know what they actually mean.

yes, i do want healing
and yes, healing is all i want.
i'm doing it right now
and i am scared
and i am shaking
but i am doing it,
i am doing it.
truth is,
i've waited for this kind of bravery
all my life.

-People need you more than you think they do, especially during times of intense personal change. It’s important to watch the people that you love grow and change and move away and make mistakes, and to be there for them 100%. Don’t make it about yourself. Looking past your own selfish wants will do you a lot of good and you will be doing yourself a favour in the end.

-React: cry, scream, throw things, write things you don’t mean, say things you don’t mean and reach out when you need help. Give yourself a limited amount of time to feel pain and suffering. Say to yourself “I am ANGRY about this RIGHT NOW. I am going to give myself an hour, five hours, a whole day to feel this pain." Then let go of it. You can’t be happy again until you feel that pain, and let go of it wholeheartedly. You can’t appreciate happiness without contrast. Life is all about contrast. The day you let that pain define you is the day you are actively choosing not to grow.

-Don’t judge or label yourself for “overreacting." Iain Thomas once said: "The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are.” The sooner you accept this, the sooner you can accept yourself and your feelings just as they are. No strings attached.

-It’s important to abandon the idea that you have of your parents. They are not wiser, more intelligent, more experienced than you just because they created you. They are not heroes, they are humans. They are going to hurt you just as much as you can hurt yourself. Forgive them. Love them. This is what being a family is about.

-Stop expecting people to treat you the way you treat them. Just because you believe in being a good friend to someone doesn’t mean they are going to treat you the same way. Don’t stop being a good friend just because of this fact. Don’t shut off the “come in, we’re open!" sign of your heart just because you’ve been disappointed or hurt one too many times. Your goodness is rare. Just because your heart is too big doesn’t mean it is a flaw. It is unique and special. Cherish that.

-Your siblings need you to be there for them more than you think they do. Make sure you tell them you love them as much as you can, don’t just tell them, but SHOW them. Actions speak louder than words, and trust me, if you actually show them you love them, they will never ever forget the way you made them feel.

-Try not to worry about money too much. I know it’s hard when there are a lot of things you want to accomplish and experience in order to feel like you are living a full life, but money doesn’t have to be one of those things. Just because it is a necessity does not mean it should take away from your potential to be truly happy. Whatever you’re doing to make ends meet is enough. Try to find solace in that.

-A wise friend once told me to live every moment of my life as if I had chosen it. Working a long and tiring shift? You chose this. Be happy you chose it. Having a long and annoying conversation with a stranger? You chose this. Find joy in it. Counting down the days until your next vacation? You chose this timeframe. Find joy in each day before you go away to find joy somewhere else. Have you lost or feel like you are losing someone who is very important to you? Don’t worry. You chose this. Love is not lost just because the person you love is changing. Love is all around. You still have time.

-Give people a lot of chances. People don’t often realize that your presence is actually a huge gift in their lives. There is only one of you, and people will take advantage of you, use you, walk all over you, and be careless with your heart because they don’t realize how precious you are. Just because you're fragile doesn’t mean other people know it too. Forgive them for this. Everyone is doing their best with what they have and it really has nothing to do with you.

-Laugh as much as you can, especially on your worst days. The best feeling in the world is knowing you have not lost your ability to laugh on the days where you want nothing more than to not exist.

-Sometimes it’s important to give more to people than they give to you. You may feel cheap and used at the time, but when you look back on how much you gave to someone, whether it be love or time or conversation, you will realize that they needed it more than you thought they did. This will be a gift that you are unintentionally giving to yourself.

-Be brave. People are going to shut you down and contradict you when you open up to them. This has nothing to do with you. People unknowingly project their pain and jealousy onto others without even realizing it. Misery loves company. The day you stop keeping miserable people company is the day they will try to keep defining you as the meek and miserable person they want you to be, and they will resent you for it. This doesn’t mean you are a bad person. Sometimes it just means that you have to let those people go, even the ones you thought you wouldn't have to. Anyone who doesn’t want to see you happy is automatically someone not worth having in your life.

-Pain is not something to be feared. It’s hard to realize this when you’ve spent a long time trying to numb yourself, but as soon as you stop running away from whatever it is you were trying to numb out, you will see that it’s actually not as scary as you thought it was. Avoiding pain is often scarier than confronting it.

-Have a support system that is not family-based. This is especially hard if you come from an extremely sick/co-dependent family and are used to being unhealthily dependent on family members and are not able to distinguish their feelings from your own. You don’t need to share everything with your family just because they are your family. And often times, you will be doing more harm to them than you realize. Get a therapist. Tell them everything. Make the choice to be more careful with your words and actions around your family. You don’t need a thousand friends to feel supported. Even a twelve-step support group you go to once a week can help. Do anything but stay in the same never-ending cycle of codependent family interactions.

-Try to be as honest as you can, especially with yourself. Even when it hurts.

-Keep a journal. Wake up and write everything you wish you could say out loud down in there. No one has to read it. It doesn’t have to be good. Just get it out. You will feel a huge weight lift from your shoulders, I promise.

-Cherish the people who have stuck around when you were at your worst. Cherish the people who never stopped believing in you when you had stopped believing in yourself. Thank them for not giving up on you. Thank them for teaching you how to not give up on yourself.

-Try not to worry so much. Treat every person and situation in your life the same way you would treat a newborn baby. You will not get from 0-100 in a single day. It is literally one day at a time, especially for those who are trying to get better from extreme trauma, addictions, or mental illness. Be patient with yourself. You are doing the best you can and I am proud of you for that.

-Wherever you are at right now is where you’re meant to be.

i showed you the con
tents of my crooked heart and
you left me stranded.

you say it takes a whole community
to raise a musician and that what we are
is a great community. i remember that feeling.
i was innocent then.
and then i learned, it takes a whole lot
of solitude to raise an artist for
only a true artist knows what it feels like
to be completely alone. and what we are
makes me want to be
completely alone. you don’t
remember that feeling. because you surround
yourself with what you call ‘the young
emerging talent.’ i remember that feeling,
i was that emerging once, like a bud.
but the talent doesn’t stay young and
the young doesn’t stay talented.
i long to divorce myself of this city and
all of the musicians in it
because none of them make me feel
like i am part of something.
but the idea of it is nice.
if i go to a party i don’t usually partake
in the partying. i sit alone or perhaps
with one other person - watching, observing,
eavesdropping. sipping a few things,
exhaling a few things, rarely saying a few things.
you can tell a lot about someone just by the way
they behave at a party. you can learn a lot
about yourself by what you do not say
among a crowd of so-called
peers. i am not one of them.
i am one and i am alone. and it will remain this way
until i leave.
for i have nothing to prove
to them when they ask me what i’m doing
with regards to the pursuit of my creative
endeavours, for all they know, i may not be
that wide eyed seventeen year old soul
they once knew me to be. i don’t believe
everything everyone tells me anymore.
they tell me i am beautiful and i smile and say
thank you and that is all. because i know
better than to take what everyone says
for face value. i can’t even take a five cent
coin for face value because of how easily i know
it can be lost.
oh, how they are all so beautiful to watch.
and when they notice me,
oh, how i put on a fantastic show.
for it must go on, you know.

I don’t know how to tell you
that I can tell how hard you
are trying
just by the sound of your voice,
it doesn’t rise and fall like
a never ending tide the way
it used to, it doesn’t make me
want to hang up the phone and
jump off of a bridge just so
I could feel like I was killing
one of our demons
before they could ****
one of us.
I don’t know how to show you
how proud of you I am
for going as long as you have
without slipping back into
slow suicide, without going
back to being absent from
my life like you were
before.
I don’t know how to tell you
that what you are doing
for yourself
is also a gift you’re giving to me,
for there is a strange contagiousness
when somebody starts to
take care of themselves.
I don’t know how to tell you
that just because things are getting
better doesn’t mean
that everything is now automatically
okay, because it’s not and
there are still knots that I’ve tied
in between my ribs and the backs
of my eyelids, things I have
promised myself to never give
or tell or show you
ever again.
My heart is thawing and that is
a choice I have made and I am glad
I am making it.
Life is too hard with a hardened
heart but that doesn’t mean
it can thaw overnight.
I can feel it slowly softening
with each passing day,
though I still scare myself
with what I can remember.
Darkness remains
but I am no longer using it
to fill a void.
And I am glad I can look you
in the eye and know
that you’re trying your hardest
to see, to really see
me again.

It’s been almost two weeks
since you let me have
the bouquet of flowers
someone else had given you
to show how important and
proud of you they are.
When you dropped me off
that day and said “here, you should
have these." I asked you why?
and you said
“because I have nowhere to put
them in my car without them
falling over. And because recovery is a gift
and I want to share that gift
with you. They belong with you."
And I smiled and said goodbye
I love you and you said you
loved me too
and they have been sitting on my
kitchen table in a vase ever since.
But now they are wilted and dying
and it makes me sad because
they mean so much to me
and I hate to see them go.
Tonight I will press each flower
into the pages of my journal
so I can keep a little
part of you
with me for always.

I don’t have the energy
to convince people I’m not
worth leaving anymore. I used to,
I used to fight for everything I thought I was worth to the point
of being paralyzed by my own
pointless loyalty. But after so many
failed attempts at holding on to
friendships that had become one sided
I have come to the conclusion that
it’s just like sand slipping through
fingers. A futile endeavour that will
only leave you crippled with the
weight of knowing that you can’t
undo what’s already been done. You
can’t save what cannot be saved.
No matter who it is, no matter who
I wish it wasn’t, I have watched many people come and go
as they please in and out of my
life and in the end they always leave.
I think it’s a miracle if you can find
one person who does not leave you.
One person who you grow to love
and trust, who waters you until
you have blossomed into the most
beautiful and potent flower in all
of existence. One person
who does not save you
but helps you save
yourself. I have. And that
is the greatest gift of all.
Leave, leave, leave. Go ahead.
They all do.
And it’s alright. Because I found an
angel that will always be right
beside me even if right beside me
is a thousand miles
away.

I am
trying to find new ways
to deal with this
acute emptiness that has surrounded
me from the moment I
got home
instead of going back
to the same old familiar
mechanisms that have always
left me emptier than before.
Picking up the phone
and calling someone
who is actually sane
was a good first start.

Sometimes the people in your life that you love and trust a lot won’t always be there for you when you thought they would be and even though I have known this for a long time it is still one of the most tragic truths in the world I think.

I haven’t been held
by anyone for a long time
I’m beginning to wonder
if I have been held by anyone
ever at all
and how many things I used to have
that I now miss
more than anything in the world
like being held and being
kissed
and if any of those things
have ever actually
existed. Lonely
refrigerator.
Tap water
over hard boiled eggs.
Ice cubes sliding down your
shirt.
Being pushed off of
a very tall building,
everything must serve
a purpose I guess.

i wrote down the definition of
loneliness
and then i wrote down the definition of
solitude
directly below it,
so that i will always have some kind of reference point
for when i confuse the two.
(which is often.)

i was leaning against the wall
waiting to use the washroom
and then i looked up
and you were standing there
and a flood of joy came rushing through
the tiny cracks of my open heart,
for you were the only person i wanted to see
and the last person i thought i would ever see
in that place in that moment at that time
and i couldn’t stop hugging you
because i could see in your eyes
that you loved me, too.
Love is something that cannot be expressed simply by saying the words
"i love you" - it is in actions, often quiet ones,
that guide us toward some kind of intangible light
that we don’t know a name for other than some kind
of God. You have that effect on me, and it is a gift
to simply be in your presence. I can confidently say
that you have changed my life, and can honestly say
that you have also saved it.
I watch you
give and give and give and never run out
of love.
You make me want to grow out of my cocoon
and into
the beautiful butterfly of a woman
that you truly, beautifully, absolutely
are.
You said that i am a special girl
and i like to think that that is because
i have been touched by you.

I’d give anything to be back
writing our names in the sand
on Pensacola beach
feeling your joy seep itself
into my body as if
it were a sponge, the tide
touching my thighs as if to wish me
a safe flight home
as if it knew that the only real home
I would ever know
would be there,
with you,
as if it knew it would be
half a year before we would be able
to embrace each other again.

There is no one in this city
I can be my whole self around
and I cannot help but feel guilty
for claiming loneliness
because there are a handful
of people I could call right now
that would come over to hold me
if I expressed my emptiness
to them. But none of them
are you and that
is the greatest
tragedy I have ever known and so
I can’t help but stay here as I am,
alone.

I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you.

sad lonely restless
mind weak with old thoughts that are
more like bad habits.

I woke up this morning hitting the snooze button at least ten times and not wanting to wake up. But then I finally dragged myself out of bed and as soon as I walked upstairs I could hardly open my eyes because the sun was shining so bright.

I got ready for work, and left the house. As soon as I started walking I put on “Hey man" by Nelly Furtado and immediately started crying. Not because I’m sad, but because it occurred to me that everyday is another chance. Another chance to live, to grow, to feel the sunshine, to try and make our lives and our world a better place.

I was crying because this time last year I was not waking up thankful, I was waking up and dreading every waking moment. I was waking up and wishing I were dead.

I just can’t explain how amazing it is to wake up and feel LUCKY just to be alive. I have SO much love in my life and it is actually a miracle. This feeling of complete peace and gratefulness is so pure and beautiful and I’m writing this down so I can always remember that I felt it once. And if I felt it once, I can feel it again. Because miracles work that way. They happen a few times and then things get bad but you always remember that they will happen again. Things will be good again. And they are.
Life is good. And if it’s not good, it will get better. I am living proof.

"Hey, man, don’t look so scared
You know I’m only testing you out
Hey man, don’t look so angry
You’re real close to figuring me out

We are a part of a circle
It’s like a Mobius strip
And it goes round and round
Until it loses a link.

There’s a shadow in the sky
And it looks like rain
And **** is gonna fly once again
And I don’t want ambivalence
No more."

you’re so beautiful
sometimes I don’t think I’ve ever
seen a creature more beautiful
but then I remember how much
you hate yourself
and suddenly am aware
that you aren’t as beautiful
as you could be
if you recognized your own
beauty. Because self hatred
is not pretty. Although there is a strange
beauty in it, it is not pure.
It is not full. It is cryptic
and raw and utterly
selfish. There is beauty in that.
But not enough to make me
fall in love with you
again.

i think maybe you'll always be someone
who takes up a small amount of space
in my heart. sometimes i feel like i cannot control how
often i think of you - it's like a bad habit i turn to when i remember
that we happened once. and so i go looking
at pictures of us so i can prove to myself how happy
we were. even though we weren't happy,
but if you look at a picture of two smiling people
long enough you can convince yourself
otherwise.
you won't talk to me now, we haven't spoken
for six months. i've tried reaching out but you never
respond. i can't say i blame you, but i think it's just really tragic
that you can have such a strong connection with someone
and grow to care for them so much in such a short
amount of time - and when you don't give them what they want
from you, they all of a sudden will never
talk to you again. and they don't give you any
warning. i can't say i miss you, but i suppose i miss
the way i could make you laugh or the way we talked about
real things. maybe the silence between us just makes
me lonely.
i hope you're happier than when i talked to you
last.

I never thought I
would say this but happiness
suits you, yes, it does.

no, darling. i do not hate you.
yes, darling. i am forgiving you. i am purging
myself of all resentment, hate, anger, conflict, and hurt
i am sweating it out, i am accepting how life is
as life is right now. ***** the idealistic idea of how i wish it were.
life is what it is and that is
enough.
you are enough.
the Mediterranean sea is in my eyes,
I am inviting you to come swim in them. I am asking you
to never dry off. You can breathe under the water
in my eyes. I promise I won't let you
die. Well, the good parts
at least, for death is a requirement for
healing. I can feel parts of me
dying with every passing day,
in a good way, in the way an undiscovered insect dies
so that their body can be used as fuel
for their young.
yes, darling I still love you.
no, darling you do not need to be perfect.
Come, dive into my eyes. can you feel the fresh sea water
embracing your skin? Are you smiling yet?
Take a deep breath and know
that you can breathe here forever,
a mermaid child that lives in the bluest eyes
of the purest heart. i promise i will let nothing
keep us apart.

it was a painful transition,
the adjustment
of not having you in my life
anymore
thinking our story was over
not aware that it was
to be continued
I was prepared for twenty years or more
of silence
and now that you’re back
and trying again
I do admit
that I am still
expecting the worst
because I know all too well
how fast things can change
I’m expecting you
to leave again
I don’t know any other
way to feel safe.
I love you
and even though needing you
is purely unavoidable,
I don’t know if I will ever
stop trying
to avoid it.

the heat is turning us into
*** crazed
hazed out junkies
looking for our next fix
of some kind of switch
that will turn our power
back on just so we can sleep
in a working refrigerator
long enough to remember
what winter feels like
until we get so numb we
start biting our lips until they bleed
pleading with the grinning dentist
to inject us with reverse freezing
we’ve all got a mouthful of cavities
with all the words we can’t bear
to say
words we keep swishing around
in our mouths like mouthwash
as if it were the cure
when we all know
prevention is better than any cure
there ever was
remember when I told you that?
remember when you wrote a song about it?
it’s a song you tossed into
a wishing well as deep as my fading
desire you tossed it so quick
as if the illusion of a clean slate
would change you and your fate
I suppose it did, in a sense
you can change your life
whenever the ******* want to
and you wanted to
and you did I was just a kid
disguised as an embryo
**** **** *******
on the *** of denial
you said “babe, I know you just
wanna be on fire"
and I said yes and doused myself
in gasoline and said
"light a match" and ran
but you could never catch me
because I became
a map
just so I could prove
that all was not lost after all
you were just a teeny tiny sigh
in the cathedral-like brothel of introspection.

timing is probably the most important thing
in the entire universe
when you really think about it -
it's like when a certain record comes out
and it defines that entire era
of your life
like the summer of 2001 when I was nine,
in the car with my dad on a hot summer day
and he stumbled upon "I'm Like A Bird" on one of the stations,
and we turned it up, rolled the windows down,
and we knew that that song would always be
ours.
and it's truly just so crucial to our existence,
the timing of things -
like when I met this beautiful person on the internet
who soon after became my best friend
and turned my whole life around. but the timing of it
was perfect and had i not met her right on that day of that month
of that year, i probably would not be remotely close
to who i am today.
and I already know that this summer is going to be associated
with Daft Punk's 'Random Access Memories', with "Get Lucky" blaring loud
on every stereo in the city,
it will remind me of Eisley's album, "Currents", and the song "On My Balcony"
by the band, Flunk.
Six months from now when I look back on the summer of 2013,
I will think of those songs and those records,
I will think of how hard I was trying to stay afloat and become
a better person, for nobody but myself,
and how good of a job I was doing with the action
of letting go of things that were toxic for me.
I will think of blonde hair and dancing in the rain, hot sweaty shifts
running around a crowded restaurant, being sad about how much time
I still have left until I get to see my favourite person again, and I will think of
boredom and sunburns and bad poems and love and hope and willingness
to overcome fear. And music. So much music.
This isn't really a poem but more of a very lengthy acknowledgment
regarding the importance of timing, especially perfect timing,
and how even bad timing is usually disguised as
perfect timing in the end.

i remember when you handed me a cloth
and a bucket full of soap and said:
"scrub."
i started to cry and said:
"you're treating me like i am Cinderella!"
you got so mad i hid in the living room closet
for four hours before you realized
i was gone.

i remember going grocery shopping with you
just so i could ride in the front of the cart.
you would always let me eat a chocolate donut
from the bakery section and i would always
make sure to be finished it by the time we got
to the till so you wouldn't have to
pay for it.

i remember the first time i stole a pack of gum
you didn't realize i had taken it until you watched me
unwrap a piece and stick it in my mouth right in front of you
when we got to the car.
you took me by the wrist and made me apologize to the
cashier, you told me i was bad and to never
do that again.

i remember being little and not wanting
to go to school because i didn't
want to leave you. sometimes you would let me
stay home and cuddle and watch movies with you
when i felt especially sad.

i remember you giving me piano lessons
and telling me to count out loud while
i practiced, meanwhile i had already
memorized the entire piece and was
making up new songs of my own.

i remember you telling me that i could always
tell you anything, that you would never judge me,
that you would always be there to listen and
comfort me. i remember believing you
and i remember the first time i realized
you didn't even know you were lying.

i remember sitting in the backseat with your
head on my shoulder while my Father drove you
to the detox centre. you kept saying how scared you were,
lighting cigarette after cigarette, squeezing my hand
so hard it cut off my circulation. your tears stained my sleeves,
and your vulnerability stained my heart.

i remember deciding it was time to lose you, finally,
on my own terms, for i had so many times felt as though
you were already a walking crime scene without the yellow
tape to ward people off. i tried but i couldn't make
a home out of that. it was time to learn the meaning
of safety, again.

i remember hearing your voice over the phone
after not hearing it for what felt like years,
and although you were a mess of tears and withdrawal
and ******, i could hear the love in your voice
and for once i felt my heart fill
with the temporary thing it has always wished for
consistently.

I told you I didn’t want
to go out with you again
you asked me why I changed my mind
I gave you no in depth explanation
because there isn’t one
I told you that
sometimes I just change my mind
and that it just doesn’t feel right.
you asked me when it would feel
right and I said
I don’t know, man.
most people don’t like taking
no for an answer
but when you give them no choice
it feels pretty **** good because
no is a perfect answer
and sometimes yes is a perfect answer
but there is no right or wrong answer.
All I know is that saying no
feels good and I don’t owe anyone
anything and I can do whatever
the **** I want. At all times.
you thanked me for inspiring you
to write a poem and I said
you’re welcome because I already know
I’m ******* inspiring.
we only went on one date but
I bet it’s the best ******* poem
you’ve ever written.
Or maybe it’s the *******, but
either way, I know no matter
what pretty words you came up
with, not one of them could ever
sum up my beauty or complexity
because words can come close
but in the end they will always
always
fail.

i noticed everything.
i noticed the way you texted me multiple times
after we first met, asking to hang out
one day earlier than the day of our date apologizing
for your impatience.
i noticed the way you called me beautiful and were quick
to recite a poem when i asked you to,
but you didn't know i only asked you to
to fill in the space where i did not know how
to speak.
seduction is boring when it's easy
or perhaps most boys are easy
but either way, i didn't want you to attack my mouth
as soon as i sat on your couch.
i didn't want you to walk me to the bus stop
and i didn't want to always be holding
your hand just because i was walking beside you.
i noticed everything.
i noticed the way you rambled on and on
about your wealthy parents who are still
happily married, about your younger sister
who you don't get along with, and about the
extraordinary places you had been to
throughout your life.
i noticed the way you didn't listen when i told you
that i write poetry every day
and i noticed the way you didn't ask me once
if you could read it.
i noticed the way you tried to pay for the bill
until i handed you 40$ because you weren't expecting
it to be that expensive, i noticed the way you kept saying
"i wish you could stay longer" every time i mentioned
that i had to go home soon.
i noticed the way you talked about yourself
and i noticed the way you looked at me
like i was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
but i'm not and i never will be, and i was flattered
but i'm not yours and i don't want
to talk to you anymore and that probably makes me out
to be a ***** but i don't really care because
i'd rather be laying in the sun reading a book about Beethoven
than laying in your arms noticing the various ways in which
i feel like a bruise on a very ripe banana.

and so we meet again, raven soul,
before i entered the catacomb i was standing at the
edge
peering at the depths beneath it
when sudden ebony clouds floated over me
and attached a hook
into both of my shoulder blades carrying me
beyond the edge i was standing on,
higher than the summit of where
you once sung a song about the idea of being
happy. all of this was done
in silence for the noise resided
on the inside of my skull wanting to escape
but i could not
speak.
then there you were - with your raven hair covering
half of your face,
snakes
dripping down your eyelids, your tears were the colour
of a mermaids tail in lake water and you told me
without telling me
that this would be the last time
that it's over now
that i should be smiling because most people
don't know when
enough is enough and so they keep going
but everything stopped and so
i knew then it was time.
what i did not know was how long
you would keep me there - suspended in the sky
untangling the knots in your tears,
being swallowed by something intangible
that was promising eternal
wholeness.

i spent last night inside of
an emergency room
they took my blood and an X-Ray
of my chest
i let them see all of my insides
which was an intimate thing to do
they wanted to make sure that my insides
weren’t completely shattered.
they told me the wall of my heart
was inflamed but i didn’t know
if they meant the wall i had built around it
or the wall other people had built around it.
the inflammation
was supposed to explain the reasons behind why
i felt like someone had stuck a knife into
the left side of my back, twisted it
and left it there, for the show must go on. it was supposed to explain
why i felt like my heart was going to stop beating
at any second because every beat
was an excruciating struggle. it wasn’t supposed to explain
how much i still miss you or need you,
it wasn’t supposed to explain the way i broke my own heart
when i sent that letter telling you why
you were evicted, why there is no room
left for you now. my heart is too full.
it wasn’t supposed to explain how afraid i have become
when it comes to being loved.
they gave me anti-inflammatory pills
and by 5am, i was safe at home. but i can’t help but wish
for emergency rooms made for shattered hearts and broken minds,
hearts that ache with yearning and confusion,
hearts that forget how to beat but never forget
how to love.
i wish i could go to an emergency room
like that.
i think my heart was trying to warn me
to be more careful with it because
it’s the only rhythm that taught me
how to dance.
keep dancing, it says,
*the show must go on.

it's not that i hate this city and want to divorce myself from everyone i know here.
it's not that i won't miss the little things about being here that make it
too easy to stay,
it's just that i think it's wrong for someone to never leave the place they were born
for more than a week
it's just that i don't want to die anymore and i'm learning how to be
more adventurous
it's about taking risks, and not letting the potential for failure prevent me
from making my dreams come true.
it's about believing in the crazy things that seem impossible and ridiculous
to other people when you tell them about your plans
it's about being simultaneously terrified and relieved that you get
a second chance at life
it's about giving everything up for four months to be immersed
in a completely different world
it's about knowing that it's not always going to be sunshine and rainbows,
but not letting that stop you.
it's about not being able to take another long cold winter here
because being numb has gotten old and too-familiar.
it's about missing someone more than you can ever explain.
it's about having a long-distance friendship but not letting that
keep you apart.
it's about choosing life,
it's about getting out of my comfort zone
it's about being
undefinable
it's about having people say, "well what about after? what are you going to do after this?"
and being okay
with not knowing.

and i think when they see me on that stage
they see something you could have been
had your sickness not swallowed you whole
and i think when they see the light hit my face
they see a beacon that illuminates the cages of
lost souls
and i think when they see me open my mouth
they see butterflies and bats and birds and brand new constellations
and i think when they look into my eyes
they see oceans and flowers and dreams of a child
waiting to be born.

At least once in every day I contemplate giving up.

I contemplate just turning the repetitive “I have to be strong for myself now” anthem that I sing to myself off. Like burning a record. Never to be played again.

And then I remember how bad it was, how bad it can still get again, and I change my mind.

I’ve heard people say it gets easier. I’m just going to have to keep trying to believe that.

I don’t want to be something someone asks you about just because they don’t know any other conversation-starters.
I don’t want to be the last drag of your cigarette only for you to say “Oh well I’ll just light another one.”
I don’t want to be a suicide note you read over and over again trying to understand why you never understood me.
I don’t want to be the symbol behind your sorrow, I don’t want to be the last lilac sitting in a vase on your kitchen table watching you try to keep it alive.
I don’t want to be that song you listen to over and over trying to recreate something that you never even experienced to begin with.
I don’t want to be that picture you keep above your bed, I don’t want to be the half-eaten meal you fed to the dogs instead.
I don’t want to be compared to that thing that is killing you that I can’t control. But I am. I am. I am.
I’m sorry.

I think keeping you in my life would have killed me in the end.

There was a long time where I found comfort in that because I didn’t want to live.

Now that I’ve eliminated that possibility I’m more terrified than ever.

Well. Here’s to the beginning of living and not simply settling on surviving.

the body will always remember
what the mind will spend
a lifetime trying to forget.
And there is just no running away
from that.