the sound of your laugh is the sound
of me not wanting to die anymore
the last day of this month could quite possibly be
the saddest day of this entire year
this has been the best month of my life and i don't want
it to end.

how
can time be both a curse
and a blessing
all at once?
i suppose it's similar to the life of someone
who is trying to die but keeps
on existing
someone who keeps the door for second chances
closed but never
locked.

one thing i've learned recently
is the difference between someone
who will love me always despite anything and everything
and someone who says they love me
because they're weak with word withdrawal and need
to hear it back.

i used to trust everyone, anyone
who would show a little bit of affection, attention
toward me. i'm glad
that phase is over.

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.

i don’t know why or how or when
the exact moment was when i was too far gone
to pull myself out of the quicksand of love with you
but it must have been long, long ago,
before our lips ever met because right now
i’m trying to remember how to breathe properly and
last night i accidentally found myself at a small house party
surrounded by people i adore but had no
desire to make meaningless conversation with
but i did anyway, because that’s what you do
on the Friday night of the week your heart is broken
“do you mind if i smoke?” i asked, not listening or caring
what the answer was or if i had ruined my reputation or first impression
all i could think about was you and how
you hadn’t answered my text, again, for the millionth time
and how i just needed something to inhale,
right then right there right now
as a substitute for you and your
absence.
the eight of us sat on the three story balcony and i was
the only one removed from the conversation, consumed
by the fact that the sun was setting and the full moon was
beckoning me like a pale magnet
as if to say,
“i’m still here, love
i will stay.”
i thought about promises and how i don’t believe in them,
i thought about you and how long you hesitated
when i asked you if you love me,
i thought about me and how stupid i am for
doing this to myself again,
all the while sitting there pretending to laugh
at a story somebody was telling about something,
something, i can no longer remember.

the wind abused me today
while i was walking home from work
it screamed at me
to get going, move along
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR
it chucked dust in my eyes
and messed up my hair
it was loud and i began to cry
because my mind was also loud
and before i knew it, they began competing
in cacophony
until
i couldn't distinguish the difference between them
all i heard was
you're not good enough no one wants you
your mother doesn't love you you're a failure
waste of space waiting always waiting you're going
to spend your whole life waiting
what a pathetic little girl you are keep walking that's right
one foot after the other keep going don't stop
nothing will turn out how you want it to
you don't deserve anything good you never did you never will
and i just wanted to scream but i couldn't
sometimes i feel like if i'm quiet enough
then the physical silence will be like a lullaby
that will slowly lull the internal thunder
to hushed lightning
but that is rarely ever the case
i hate the wind
i hate this city
sometimes living gets so hard that it's a wonder
we all don't get a million dollar reward for living
through the worst hours, minutes, seconds
of our days
when we get so tired of existing but keep existing
anyway
how do we do it? how do we keep going like we do?
is it bravery or just necessity or just indifference?
i'm so tired
tired of existing
i just want to put ear muffs on and stay underneath
the covers forever
the hardest thing in the world
is being paralyzed with fear of the unknown
and living through it anyway.

i look for you
in the faces of strangers
they have your eyes,
eager and sad,
the eyes of instability,
the same brown as an old bruise.

i often wonder why i didn't
inherit your eyes.
perhaps it's a metaphor for all the differences between us?
there must be a reason
more significant than the obvious.

it's easier in the daytime,
when i don't have to think of you.
when there is enough light to keep me concentrated
on the endless distractions
that keep me smiling,
for there is always something to
smile about.

but nighttime is a different universe,
the moon, a lonely thumbnail.
it reminds me of how you used to chew your cuticles
and place them neatly in a little white pile
while we would watch an endless stream
of ****** infomercials.

sometimes you don't realize how much you were in love
with someone's naked habits
until they're gone.

when i was sick,
you would always make sure the washcloth on my forehead
stayed warm.

i miss that.

they say write what you know
so here it goes -

I know
that i was dying and you left and saying goodbye didn't even come out of your own mouth
I know
i quit a lot of things that day including wanting to live
I know
that if i regained the will to live after that then i can regain the will for anything
I know
that i used my body as a cutting board for your opinions
I know
that you think i gave you my worst and that's why you left
I also know
that if you couldn't handle my worst you can't come back saying sorry and expect me
to give you my best
I know
that i am proud of who i am
I know
that my heart may not be bullet proof but it is fool proof and that makes all the difference
I know
that you are a fool
I know
that losing me was your loss, and it's time
to put on your big boy boxers and deal with the remnants
of a deformed heart and a brainwashed mind
I know
that i did not feel safe as a child or as an adolescent
but that does not mean that i have to feel that way now
I know
that you made me feel judged and unsafe and unloved
and used and worthless
I know
that i don't need you now to feel okay
I know
that forgiving is not forgetting
I know
that i don't forget
I know
that if someone doesn't love you enough to stay with you
then they don't deserve you in the first place
I know
that silence is louder than *******
but that doesn't stop me from writing this anyway
I know that
i'm stronger than your fickle words
and the lack of character and compassion
they reflect.

ever since i stuck that letter in your mailbox i have:

cried myself to sleep
slept for 12 hours straight
felt sad for having to wake up
smiled at people
listened to my coworkers complain about being overworked
folded napkins
broke a candleholder and swept up the glass
walked into a table and felt the brewing of a bruise
spilled coffee all over the bathroom counter
missed you
wondered when you would read the letter
or if you already had, then i wondered how
it made you feel
came to the conclusion that i am a terribly clumsy person
when i tell the truth.

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.

Your words, so pretty they enter
My brain and flood it with dopamine butterflies
Triggering thoughts and memories and I missyous and I love yous and
I hate yous and where are yous and I want yous but I cannot
Digest them anymore. I refuse them. I cannot do not believe them for more than
A few seconds.
Even now, I train myself to cringe. I train myself to deny. Reject. Avoid.
Love, a temporary season for you to give me
I am nothing more than one of the many melting ice cubes down your shirt.
I am melting,
Melting. I am
The puddle at your feet
You are knee-deep in spewing your
Words are what I longed for, for so many years
Had I had them then I might have swallowed them thoughtlessly.
Now I am closed up. Afraid. Your words are tempting yet
Your actions piercing evermore. I seem to attract people of the most intense,
Most compassionate, most real, most ****** up.
Most likely to be inconsistently there. Your fire breathing words melt me
I am
Melting
Melting
I am
Nothing
More than
The puddle at your feet, it's growing now
You are knee-deep in it

i still feel self hated’s foliage
wedge its way into the garden i am currently trying
to cultivate for myself.
and on most days,
it’s still hard for me to look in the mirror.
but despite how much i still think of dying
it is no longer myself I want to ****. it is the parts
that were trying to **** me.
i can barely remember your lips and
i completely forget how your voice sounds.
and that’s the tragedy i suppose,
once you forget the sound of somebody’s voice
you know that’s really when detachment
is finally setting in and making a home
underneath each and every one of your scars.
i still think it’s sad,
the way it all ended. how you can keep on
loving someone even though they’re long gone
from your each and every day.
i still want to call you, ask how you are.
but i don’t because i’m not that person anymore.
you don’t matter as much to me as you once did.
and i think that’s beautiful because it’s honest.
remember how much we hurt each other?
good. i hope you never forget.
remember how much we loved each other?
good. i hope you always remember.
some things will always be worth remembering.

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.

lonely people do lonely things
they make homes out of
empty theatres
while they hold
an invisible hand that belongs to
an invisible body that sits
in the seat next to them.

lonely people have lonely habits
they roam the corridors of empty malls,
finding themselves seeing
an entirely different person
in each reflective surface they pass.

lonely people hide in lonely spaces
like the bottom of an empty wine bottle,
or the inside of an out of tune grand piano,
gnawing on the strings and getting them caught
between each bone of the ribcage waiting
for someone to come along
and pluck them just so they can
call it music.

lonely people fall in love with lonely things,
like the inconsistency of the moon
and the overwhelming light of the sun,
getting caught between which one is better to be
in love with,
over which one will keep
the loneliest heart of all
the most
safe.

remember the first time you got drunk
your best friend brought over a 2'6 of *****
and you drank it like it was water like you had been
stranded in a desert for 40 days and 40 nights
your parents were outside too oblivious to notice
recklessness was a contagious disease in that house
and you all had caught it sadly, willingly, restlessly
by the time 6am came around you woke up with your
best friend on your right, and a pile of puke on your left
you placed your sheets in the washing machine without rinsing
the ***** off of them first
so it was just sheets mixed with puke and water,
swishing around,
and it took you years to realize
that nothing could ever get clean
that way.

maybe you let it happen because hearing the words
i love you
had more of a lasting effect on you than almost any other means
of self abuse you had tried to drown yourself in throughout your lifetime

maybe you let it happen because you liked being able
to escape
from all of the cacophony that had been
bumbling around in your head for weeks, months, years

maybe you let it happen because you were trying to forget
something
someone once told you while they were drunk and indifferent
sitting next to you at a bar, the kind of thing someone mumbles to you
right before they fall asleep and you're the only one who can recite it
word for word as if to savour the sting the next morning,
something you feel guilty for even remembering at all.

maybe you let it happen because you knew
that all of the terrible things that had been done to you
could never be proven, scientifically or otherwise
because you knew from an early age that
words were meaningless and you'd been living so long
inside the jaded surface of their hollow shell you needed
something tangible something or someone who would
scoop you up and eat you like ice cream
even if they only did it for the sake of their own
shameless unadulterated selfish enjoyment regardless
of the devastating consequences.

maybe you let it happen because you had been left
so many times you figured the words
i love you
were better than death itself
even if you knew those words were not real
even if the person who said them really never meant them
even if you never had the chance to discover
what that statement truly means
at all

but you would keep searching for it anyway
even if you kept finding it
in the wrong places
time and time again.

remember when we were in third grade
and we would make it our goal to trample
every single patch of fresh snow that hadn’t been touched yet?
i don’t even know why we were so determined to touch
the previously untouched,
but it made us feel so happy, so proud, so accomplished.
Perhaps it was our first taste of true ownership,
perhaps it gave us a feeling similar to that of Christopher Columbus when he declared
that the world was not, in fact, flat.
Perhaps it was an embryonic stage of rebellion,
a metaphor for a loss of innocence,
trampling and touching and ruining what was once
a pretty, unadulterated patch of snow,
as if to make a statement against anyone and anything
that had ever made us feel
weak and stupid and insignificant, and
powerless.
We were the only two kids at recess who thought of it, who found such
simple pleasure in doing it, who bonded over it, and now,
we don’t even talk anymore.
Perhaps it was a metaphor
for the deterioration of a friendship, too.

oh and how fleeting this little life can be
i try to hold onto each moment before it becomes a memory
how do we survive each goodbye without unzipping our skin,
stepping out of it and screaming:
COME ON. GET IN.
how do we say i love you without making it sound like
an apology
for every tiny exhale that sounds like a discrepancy
between you and yourself and that voice in your head
you know three is a crowd you know you’re not
better off dead
now somehow it’s February and I am waking up to the rain
whose song is a house that lives in and out of my veins
there have been people i have loved while some adored from afar
i don’t see them anymore but they know who they are
i received a letter from my mother today in the mail
she’s trying to become yet terrified to fail
i tell her she’s allowed to have a thousand breakdowns a day
i tell her she’s a miracle simply because she decided to stay
i’ll never know how we manage to survive each other’s love
it’s too small to hold onto and too big to conceive of
and yet there will be heartbreak, great loss and despair
i am going to keep listening to the sound of what’s there
as for time, well he knows he is a great thief
i made love to him on the nights i was devoured by grief
and sometimes i wish i could go back to my old self and say
that she didn’t have to shatter, that things would be okay
it can never be for sure that all things have a purpose
i try to believe in a God without getting nervous
the universe is holding us in the palm of her hand
just know that you are loved,
you don’t have to understand.

you keep buying more paint
to add on to your collection of bruises
black and blue and purple and yellow
hues
you insist on emphasizing
the different phases of your history of having been
beaten and battered and broken and used
you ask me to touch them
just so you can feel
the hurt that you say they bring
you ask me to add to them
just you can admire the spectrum of stories
you feel so compelled to sing
but

i don't have the heart to tell you
that the bruises i hide
are real
and that paint, my darling,
washes off

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.

whenever a boy smiles at me or looks at me for a few seconds longer than normal

or catches my eye and looks away all embarassed

or comes up to me to ask me a stupid question

or simply just stares without being embarassed

or sends me a message being like

hey how are you these days? i miss you!

i cringe because

romance is sickening and it’s just like

please

go

away

there

is

nothing

to

stare

at

so

mo­ve

along

now

stupid

boys with their butterfly filled heads trying to get close enough

for the butterflies to fly into my mouth and multiply in my belly

well nice try but

it’s not gunna happen

*sucka

maybe i’ll never be able to pin down why
this feels so different from all the others
but there isn’t such a sense of doom
as there was with the rest.
perhaps it’s me - my heart is no longer
the dilapidated instrument i used to consider
a metronome - back then it possessed no concrete purpose
except to keep time to imaginary songs that reminded me i exist.
having abandoned my expectations to be completed,
i know now that that which feels forever is in fact
perpetually transitory, and though this has always been
among my most profound of fears, leaving its
teeth marks in every place of every part i’ve ever been touched -
it is also one of the most exquisite - a placeholder among other things
one may deem irrational, like the fear of success or love or happiness.
in a world where fingerprints can leave scars
and kisses can leave question marks,
you don’t see me as a collection of calamities that
you are burdened to undo.
i am not born from your rib, i do not bleed to watch you burn.
you do know this, you do.
i do not know what it is about you but there is something
inside your heart that mirrors my own and you can
deem a myth a prayer or a truth because
some people find each other and know right away
that they belong together.
and even if you tire of my muchness (as you surely will),
i will not dim myself down - i will not be ashamed
of the wingspan of my love.
but the thing is, i know yours is just as wide
and perhaps that’s what it comes down to, really.
for the first time in my life i feel
like i am made of more
than just
wax.

sometimes i see the little green light
beside your name on
facebook chat
and i stare at it for a while, hoping a little
"hey! how are you?" might pop up
wondering how long i will have to wait
for you to notice me.
but then i feel pathetic because it's like
the majority of my life has been spent on
waiting
for people to notice me
and while half of me wants to be noticed,
the other half strongly wishes to remain
an anonymous quote you happened to
stumble upon in an abandoned library, or
a figment of your imagination
where every aspect of
myself
has been starved from each of your
senses
where you are left alone to wonder
if i ever actually existed
at all.

it's really cool
when you come full circle
in one sitting,
like,
sad to depressed to suicidal to scared to lonely to bored
to hopeful to silly to laughing to crying to laughing again
and have someone see
every single part of you,
and have them
stay
and it's like
****, i've finally found a soul
i can tell anything to
and they won't be scared away.

and it's like
oh,
THIS is what love is.
finally finally finally!

and it's like,
yes. miracles do happen.

y'know?

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 spend my evenings wrapped in blankets
repeating memories through body
we inherited a hurting
that began far back before
either one of us
were alive

now

we are left, we are here
we should be celebrating
the survival of our ancestors
just by being together
but instead i spend my days alone
waiting for you to
say you love me again.

It's okay to stop missing people
It's okay to fall in love with the wrong person
It's okay to trust too easily
It's okay to have your heart broken
It's okay to fall apart
It's okay to love someone more than they love you
It's okay to put up barriers
Because sometimes that's the only way we can truly be protected.
It's okay to choose anger over sadness because sometimes anger is easier to feel
But sadness will always return.
It's okay to pick up the pieces of yourself because only you can actually do that
It's okay to laugh as hard as you'd like to cry,
One thing at a time.
It's okay to recognize the damage you've done to your own life
It's okay to feel bad about it
It's also okay to take responsibility for it
It's okay to say sorry to the friends you've pushed away
It's okay to thank them for still being there after you've acted
Like a total self-absorbed disconnected disillusioned *****
It's okay to look in the mirror and hate what you see
But still say out loud: "I am beautiful and I need to be loved."
It's okay to cut the sick people out of your life, the people that **** you dry with their toxicity and false love and promises, the people whom you can do nothing for, and who can do nothing for you.
It's okay to wish you had a better mother or father or childhood
It's okay to leave and never come back
It's okay to give into the healing process
Because our bodies were programmed to heal.

It's okay

Maybe one day you will cry as hard and as long as you've been avoiding life itself
Maybe one day you will no longer be afraid of feeling the pain
Maybe one day you will see that this too, shall pass
Maybe one day you will see why I cannot have you in my life
Maybe one day I will see why you cannot have me in your life
Maybe we can all ease into forgiving ourselves and
Love a little harder,
Laugh a little louder,
Feel a little deeper.

It's okay if this happens,
And it's okay if it doesn't.

It's okay if I do these things and it's okay if you don't.
It's okay if you do and it's okay if I don't.
It's okay.

want, need
heal, bleed
skim it over, pretend to understand
let go of my love, grab onto my hand
tell me you’ve listened to every despair
pull it out of my throat, cut it out of my hair
demand for a reason, cling to the silence
question every decision, imaginary correspondence
if i could only dream up a single way i could breach
myself without turning to destruction to teach
me the flow of the stream, the ways of the wind
a calm way to turn my legs back into fins.
if there is such thing, if fear is not truth,
then with ease i shall release
the string of my youth.

i wish for you to be all yours
before i can ever call you mine
but i'm afraid you've gotten so used
to belonging to someone else for so long
that you forget what belonging to yourself
even means.
you love me,
i can see it in your eyes,
i can hear it in your laugh,
i can feel it in your kiss.
but love foreshadows loss and i cannot pretend
that some days i feel more like a fool than a warrior
for going through with love, again
one more time, i can only hope
it is the last
for there is no one else i could ever wholeheartedly give myself to
in the way that i do you.

i wish for you to be all yours
before i can ever call you mine
but i am acutely aware that you lost yourself in someone else
for so long that you might never be able to get those
parts of yourself back, not to give to another lover,
but to keep for yourself, to be who you are,
who you aspire to be.
i want the best for you, even if that
doesn't include me.
yes, i am selfish
yes, i am sad
when you tell me your plans to sit down with her tomorrow
was i supposed to be glad?
she had you long before i did, and perhaps i'm afraid
that she will always have some sort of claim
on your heart.
i'm trying to be understanding of the fact
that this is part of you facing yourself,
necessary closure, somewhat of a fresh start.

i wish for you to be all yours
before i can ever call you mine
and sometimes anticipating being left
comforts me more than the concept
of passing time.

last week i got myself a day-planner,
willingly buying into the illusion that i could somehow
better manage my time if i could open a book
and have the present, past and future
laid out in front of me
“keep it simple”, my therapist says
i like to think
i’m trying.
i have a to-do list as long as my fears
and a to-do-not list as long as my hopes
and lately,
your name is not on either one of them.
it’s September and the leaves are changing and it’s that
time of year that gives me goosebumbs under my skin.
because i’m getting older and i’m realizing what that actually means.
because my life does not revolve around you anymore,
i’m not sure what it revolves around except
life itself,
saying yes instead of no,
feeling instead of not feeling,
trying more often than not trying.
it’s a process and perfection is still something
i struggle with believing does not exist.
why do i still search for things in people that
are impossible to find let alone possess?
i want to be as good as i can be
but even goodness can be confused with pretension
even love can be confused with hate.
i don’t know anything about anything but i do know
that i’m proud of myself
for the little things, like not being afraid
to wake up and seize the day anymore,
for choosing to live despite how terrified i am
and will probably always be,
of failure and the inevitable passing
of every precious moment.

i scanned the room and wondered silently how many of these people
would care if i died,
how many would come to my funeral,
what kind of things they would say about me if i
ceased to exist.

i sat by myself
watching them
all the handsome talented boys interacted with the other
handsome talented boys
all the dilettantes interacted with the other dilettantes,
and all the other people just
interacted with the other people.

they made it look so easy,
so comfortable, so almost fun.
so impossible

i became so far removed from myself
i could hardly breathe
i was watching the people and all i could think of
was how badly i wanted death
perhaps not literal death,
but i wanted desperately to **** the part of me that would never be like
the people,
the part of me they don't
understand. the separated
part.

it's an illness.

so i sat alone in a bathroom stall waiting for the next musician to start
wondering when he would call me up on stage
so i could sing
and leave.
the stage is the only place
i feel at peace. i don't have to talk for them
i only need to sing for me.

they were everywhere, i was surrounded by them
i sat alone,
watching them
watching them
unable to complete a single sentence
or feeling
of any kind.

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.

I don’t want to be put on a pedestal

I don’t want to be a trophy or a prize

Hanging onto somebody’s hand as if to say

“Look at me! Look at me! Aren’t I special! Aren’t I rare!”

I don’t want to be with someone just so that they can say

I’m theirs

Because I don’t belong to anyone but myself

And the sooner the next person who chooses to love me can realize that,

The better off both of us will be.

I don’t want to be with someone who’s addicted to something

Because it will just be a repeat of my childhood

And I know for a fact, I don’t deserve to come second.

I deserve to be worshipped and loved unconditionally

I deserve affection and attention and honesty

I deserve admiration and space and understanding

And most of all, I deserve compassion.

I don’t want to be with someone to fill in the other person’s blanks

Because I am not a puzzle peice

Or a drug.

The next time I fall in love, it better be with someone

Who knows what the **** they’re doing

Who knows the fragility of who they’re dealing with

Who won’t tell me they love me

And change their mind the next day.

your guilt trips aren't working on me anymore

there's a difference between craving support
and craving attention
there's a difference between being fragile
and actually knowing it

i am fragile
and i know it
and i respect it.

you don't respect me you just want to take all the good
and leave the bad
i used to be indifferent but i'm no longer
staying sad

for once i want what i deserve

all i want
is real love

you're still wearing a mask

i want so much to see myself through your eyes,
beautiful and unadulterated,
interesting and true.
i'm sorry i'm not that girl
i'm sorry i am so ruined
and sad
and lost
and so preoccupied with death.

i know my purpose is not to die
but i just can't get a grip
on what is real
and what is false
i want so badly to see myself through your eyes,
i'm so sorry i can't.
but what makes me worthy of your forgiveness?

i've tried so hard
i'm still trying
who knew self love would be such a challenge?
i struggle so much with finding one thing to love
about myself
every ******* day and it has exhausted me
to the point of indifference.

a friend of mine said to me today,
thank you for all of the times we have sang and laughed and played together
i began to tremble profusely upon reading
because to me, it sounded like he was saying
goodbye.
are you saying goodbye? i need to know if you're cutting me out of your life.
he said
i'm not cutting anyone out of my life. Things or people or situations
fall away on their own if they need to.
i told him how i hoped our friendship wouldn't fade away
and he said
i hope the friendship you have with yourself never fades away. It's the only one you always have. Self love will bring you everything you would ever want.
and the trembling turned into shaking and i tried but i couldn't hold still and i began
to cry and i was angry
because i knew
he was right.

i'm so sorry, i expect you to leave, i do
i expect everyone to leave
because everyone has left
and i'm always waiting for it
i don't feel as though i'm doubting anyone
but myself
because so many others have left and all i am left with
are voices that scream at me
well it was your own fault. What did you expect? No one would want to be around you. You're too sad too lost too tainted, such a drag.

and you can tell me it's all a lie
and maybe i can't see the truth, your truth
but what if it's my truth?
how many truths are there?
so then what's real and what's not?
what's true and what's false?
why did they leave and why does every embrace, smile, compliment
feel like a goodbye?

i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i just can't see it
through pure, brave, unadulterated eyes.

i am a lost girl
the kind who will let you stare
into her ocean eyes for free
and swallow your compliments
profoundly eagerly
while always knowing
all nourishment is temporary

i am a lost girl
the kind who has sorrow burned on the inside
of her mouth
nothing can take the taste away
not even love not even people
who said they would stay
because she knows more than anyone
that they never do

i am a lost girl
the kind whose passion will tug on your heartstrings
so hard you will be able to feel
the vibrations throughout your entire body
long after she has left you
covered in kisses and invisible bows
stranded on an abandoned
railroad pleading
for release

i am a lost girl
the kind that knows what she wants
but does not have enough drive or self esteem
to keep  a solid grasp
for certainty has always been like sand
slowly slipping through her fingers

i am a lost girl
the kind that will settle on what little power
she has left
the kind that will sing you to sleep
if in turn you will tell her
just once
that she is beautiful regardless
of if you mean it
or not.

we hurt so much sometimes
that we forget how remarkable it is
that we are all existing
right now
simultaneously
we can't meet every single person on the planet
but we can sure as hell try
because some of the people i would die to meet
stopped existing before i even started
existing
and that is a straight up tragedy

we are all existing
right now
at the same time
and it's a miracle and we forget it
because there is
so much too much
pain
but right now
it deserves to be acknowledged
because one day
we will all
be gone.

the worst things will happen
and the best things will happen
both at the same time
as much as this will baffle and
completely confuse you,
it’s up to you to decide
between the devastating sadness
or the overwhelming happiness.
and on the days where you can’t choose,
it’s okay to ricochet
between both.

it's not my job to "let you" mother me
that's your ******* job, regardless of what i
feel or act or think or say
to you
you're supposed to fight for me
you're supposed to do anything for me
i'm going to push you away because of how much you've hurt me
and you're supposed to pull me back as hard and as meaningful
and as sincere as you possibly can.
because that's what good mothers do.

you're not supposed to say it's my fault
you're not supposed to make me feel this way
*******
*******
*******
*******

i keep trying to come up
with new ways
to feel your presence
in my life
it's a weak existence though
full of boredom, fear and
a whole lot of
emptiness
there's nothing else that reminds me
you're still here,
i guess.

I struggle with understanding the concept of
"Coming out"
as being gay
as being bisexual
as being anything.
I get that it is important for some people to inform other people
about their personal preference,
but at the same time,
no one feels the need to "come out" as being
heterosexual
or being
smart or talented or sad or confused or angry or irritable.
If someone asks, of course I'll tell them,
but I have become a rather private person in the sense that
I don't feel the need to make a huge announcement to everyone
on all the stupid social networking websites with regard to
how or what or why I'm living.
I guess that is a contradiction because
I am writing this poem and am clearly releasing it to the world for a billion strangers to
potentially read, but I'm a writer, whatever that means so
cut me some slack.
I like boys and I like girls and I love
whoever walks into my life at the right moment and it's
as simple as that.
It's nobody's business and I like being okay with that.
I don't love someone so I can flaunt them
I don't love someone so I can make other people jealous
I don't love someone so I can feel good or validated or worthy.
I love because I love.
Boys are simple, and I have grown rather tired of them I must say.
Girls are complicated and emotional and gentle and sensitive, and perhaps
it would be easier if I had a preference,
but I don't because
my love has no preference
my love has no gender
my love has no conditions
and if someone isn't okay with that,
then that's fine because
it's their problem, not mine.
And that
is just,
that.

though we do not talk anymore,
i still think of you -
not my idea of you - but how you were,
as i knew you to be.
beautiful, like a swan
cute the way you would lose things
like your wallet or phone,
the way it almost seemed like you lost them on purpose
just to give yourself something
tangible to look for, to distract you
for a little while.

though we have spent more time apart without talking
than we probably ever thought we would,
i still smile to myself when certain memories
float like little clouds shaped as animals
over my heart.
like that night we took black and white photographs of ourselves
in my mothers bathtub, beautiful pictures
of us smoking cigarettes, and you said
"two girls. black and white. naked in a bathtub.
it doesn't get more honest than that."
and i smiled because you were right
and it felt like we had accomplished
some artistic feat, like the love we had for each other
was finally depicted into something that we had both
created, in the way great artists create things,
beautiful & brutally honest,
and i felt so much joy and beauty
in that.
i still look at them sometimes,
when my heart aches for you.

though you have hopefully replaced me
with better, kinder, balanced, healthier, supportive people in your life
i still think about you,
and although i do recall how deeply we both hurt
each other
i do wish the best for you
and i hope you're really
happy and that you finally feel
like the goldmine
you are.

one thing is for sure:
it's easier
to replace something
than to change something.

for a long time she turned away from the mirror
and watched herself replace
scars with *****,
validating it because at least
she was only hurting herself
one way and not both.

for a long time i moved away from my mother
and turned into a doormat disguised
as a magnet that attracted
people that used me just as often,
and loved me just as little and wondered
why i still felt the same level of worthlessness at the end of the day
that i felt as a little girl.

for a long time i pushed people away
and to this day
i wish someone would have told me
how childhood abandonment will stick with you
through the long haul of adulthood,
but no one did and so i watched people leave
and wondered why they left, where they went
and for the people who stayed, i wondered
why they were still here, and how much more awful of a person
did i have to be
to get them to leave me.

"you wanted this." some would say,
when they found me drenched with sweat and blood and tears
sobbing on the floor
"get up. stop crying. you're being pathetic."
and i agreed with them, because i didn't know
any better.

it's easier
to replace your feelings with somebody else's
it's easier to blame yourself for why others left you
it's easier to assume no one will ever love you
more than they love getting drunk and having fun

but a good friend of mine once told me,
the easy thing is very rarely the right thing
and that maybe she should take her own advice
and that in retrospect, yes,
replacement is the signature replica of how you were raised
but real change,
that is the true definition of a life transition.

sometimes I throw pennies
in the space where you used
to fill my heart
I listen to its hollow echo
the wish is always the same

all this time and I still don't know
why I didn't let you love me
perhaps it was because
we were partners in creativity
and I am by nature a restrictive
girl always cutting things off
so that they don't ruin each other
I always do this as if to save myself
just in case I find something
better
(this is called fear)

because too many things have bled together
inside and outside
of me
like permanent watercolours on a tablecloth,
and I've learned to stop the painting
from being finished before
I ruin everything again
stains like this have been stuck
inside of me
ever  since the moment I realized
you weren't coming back
to try and love me again

all this time and I still don't know
why I didn't let you love me
tonight I cast another penny
in the space where you used to fill my heart
now I know I was afraid of you
now I know that fear has been living inside of me
ever since the moment I realized
you weren't coming back
to try again

and that moment
is right
now.

the wish is always the same.

It was the way his last breath escaped both corners of his half-opened mouth 
as if to suggest a lapse in memory or an opinion that demanded to be expressed.
It was the way the light leaked in through the slivered blinds of the half open window, causing my brother to squint in his sleep, dreams of staring at the sun without ever going blind before awake, forgetting to blink.
It was the way my mother gave me a one armed hug, mumbling a vague “I love you too” while staring off into the distance, handing me a half smile before driving off into the sunset of my vulnerability.
It was the way the music entered the home of my ventricles without ringing the doorbell, hitting the head of my heart until it was all black and blue, succumbing to the beat of its abuser.
It was the way I opened the flesh, the tiny red petals colouring the bath water red, planting little seeds as if to say: “Here. I am here. I exist.”
It was the way my skin grew over itself weeks after every wound, a thin layer of white snow covering it like an unwanted winter, begging to be shovelled, poked, prodded, or stepped on again.
It was like death on his doorstep, a couple of violins failing to comfort each other beneath a tired symphony.
It was the best way a band aid is to be removed. A little at first, then all at once. One clean swift sting.
It was a lot like 
leaving.

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.

constantly torn
between being here and trying to
make the best of it
and wanting to be 3,781.9 km
closer to her.
constantly torn
between not texting you back
and feeling guilty because
you’re drunk and you miss me.
constantly torn between
what I want to say
and what’s preventing me from
saying it.
constantly torn
between dipping my foot in
the ocean of freedom
and then pulling away when
the tide comes rushing in.
constantly torn between
noticing how much I remind myself
of you while also noticing
that I am nothing like you at all
and not knowing if that is good
or bad.
constantly torn between wanting
you to hold my hand every second
of every day, while also wanting
nothing more to do with you
ever again.
constantly torn between
remembering and forgetting
misplacing and replacing
trying and giving up
I’m just sad because I feel like
the word
enough
shouldn’t even exist.

A winter went by
All was quelled by the cold
Your songs kept me warm
They are sad but they made me smile
We didn’t talk about
Anything then
I learned how to feel all right without really
Saying anything
Yes, there was a time when we existed
Separately
Before I even knew who
You were
That winter was one of them
It’s funny to think on oblivion I was to be
Drawn by your beautiful bulb
Touched by your tender air
A breeze whispered to me as I walked past
Embers
I burned without showing a single
Smoke signal

Those songs saved my life.

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 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."

self-love is a murky swamp amid a stranded fog;

my mother’s failures are as abundant as her rock collection,
which always made me wonder why we didn’t live someplace
closer to the sea.
like a baby bird with its mouth wide open,
i waited for guidance until the ache of my jaw became unbearable,
so i jumped out of
the nest on impulse
and hit the pavement, hard.
every ***** was donated to the bellies of the magpies,
every thought stolen by the worms.
some strands of hair evaporated into the sky,
while others were used as material for future nests.
any left over flesh was given to the wolves,
for they recognized my inexhaustible spirit.
my eyes, hungry for survival,
dug tiny holes for themselves, and went to sleep.
by the time spring came around they starting sprouting
forget-me knots that were picked and placed
in a small bouquet, purchased by a lady
that gave the bouquet to her daughter
on the day she learned how to mother herself,
with a note attached that said:
“please forgive me.”

tastes like black liquorice

smells like skunk

and looks like blood

it wakes you up in the middle of the night screaming

“i miss you”

it tears apart your heart and leaves its carcass in the middle of an open field

for the wolves and vultures to fight over

it’s the kind of loss that tricks you into thinking

you haven’t lost the person yet,

because they are in fact, still here

in the flesh, in plain view

it makes your memory lazy when you think

“maybe this time will be different”

so you go back when they call

when they say jump and you say “how high?”

and they love you and call you baby

baby baby baby baby

then you taste the liquorice

and smell the skunk

and see the blood

and you know, it was all a lie because

that person you love so much, really

isn’t here at all

it’s the worst kind of loss there is

when the heart betrays the mind and convinces you

maybe this time, it will be different.

maybe maybe maybe maybe

but then there’s always the ***** the boyfriend the party

that was long there before you ever came along

and it will always be there

always in the background of this person’s mind when they come running back

claiming that they’re lonely

sometimes you wonder if it would be easier

if the person was actually dead

then you shrug because

you already know how that feels, but

maybe maybe maybe maybe it would feel

a lot better than this and so

you keep loving this person, because

love is what you know and you can’t stop but

even love doesn’t cure a loss,

especially a loss like this.