The monsters he grew up fearing.
The creatures from the closet.

The ghosts behind the walls.
The skeletons under the bed.
He was always afraid of the dark.
But as he grew
He taught himself
To let the darkness surround him.
Seeping into his veins.
The creatures no longer crouching in the corners
But flooding his thoughts.
Riding his mind into the sunset
As it sank on the horizon.
He learned to lose control.
To feel the monsters in his lungs.
To hear the ghosts whisper in his ears.
To let his eyes roll back.
He discovered the beauty in the shadows.
Befriended the silence.
He found peace in the isolation.
He didn’t fear the dark.
He became it.

- p. winter

I remember the period
Of rich, suffocating gloom
That I've written of
Millions of times before.
But more than that
I remember when
Flowers bloomed
And I laughed for the first time
In two months.
I wish I could remember
What was so funny
Or with whom I was so content.
But I remember
That the feeling
Inside of me
Was dangerously wonderful.
So I promised
Right then
To never go a day
Without a giggle
Or two
Again.

- p. winter

If ever I forgive you
For the emptiness I feel,
Know that it took all my strength
To force my pride to kneel.

And if ever I regain the sense
My heart alone has worth,
Know I fought to find it
When you left me in its dearth.

- p. winter

Let’s swing again on asphalt
To music only we can hear,
Or waltz beneath a tree of fireflies.
The schoolyard is a ballroom
When we let logic disappear
Beneath attraction’s innocent disguise.

- p. winter

and so it begins,
and so healing unravels,
and so i succumb

- p. winter

I can’t explain, my dear,
Why some days I feel like an albatross with wingspan wider than the Pacific ocean.
Feathers reflecting the hues of forget-me-not blues and tiger lily oranges as the breeze carries me through the ever hypnotizing sunset.
And yet,
Some days I am but a turtle facing skyward. An anxious bundle of awkward kicks and pathetic wobbles as my feet try to ground themselves once more. The very shell protecting me from danger having betrayed me as it holds safety in front of me on a fishing rod, like a carrot tempting a mule.
I can’t explain, my love,
Why every evening I pump myself with capsules of chemicals to dissolve into my bloodstream like sugar into iced tea: It’s sole purpose to sweeten my taste and leave everyone begging for more of the refreshing treasure that is my happiness. Knowing very well that without my sugar, I would be nothing other than a glass of bitter herbs in tainted water. My ice cubes melting as I sit in the sun, unwanted.
I can’t explain, my darling,
How your eyes are flames that pull me out of every darkness except that that leaves me rocking under the dining room table. Not because they don’t have the power to, but because I have grown too tired to let them. Too tired of the pity you hide so well in the colour of your irises. Too tired to let you bring the laughter you once found in me back to the surface. It has been drowned one too many times.
I can’t explain, my treasure,
Why, after years of fighting, I have yet to win this battle against myself. This war, within these bone walls, that I have slowly been losing… praying for the relief of a white flag… no longer caring which side wins.
Why my blood stained thoughts — cognitive gun shots — dye my snow-white mind a furious shade of scarlet; poppies on a cross grave.
I can’t explain, my everything,
Why bridges start to look like trampolines
And razors feel like skipping stones.
Why God no longer sounds so mighty
And families make you feel even more alone.
I can’t explain why,
Some days I can soar

And some days I’m stuck on my shell.
But to love once again,
To see beauty in life,
For that
I am fighting like hell.

- p. winter

If you had not reminded me
The choice we made is right,
I'd have run back to your bed
With twenty poems more to write.

For even at my strongest
I am nothing more than weak,
And I gladly would have suffered
Just to have another week.

- p. winter

I apologize in advance,
For none of my love songs will have melodies.

I will laugh in euphony and cry in cacophany, I will bleed with every typo and breathe with every verse. I will think in metaphors and speak in rhyme.

I will tell you I love you
Not by using those three words
But by writing my own; pages at a time.

I will compare your eyes to lighthouses in the mist
And your laughter to a lark's opera.
You won't just hear me say "you're beautiful" (though you are), but go on for chapters about every little freckle.

You won't understand why I think so dramatically. Or why I take so long to choose my words (because I always know I can find better ones). You will become angry when I sit down and write because I just can't say what I want to with my voice.

But, most of all, I apologize for the way your face will fall when you read my poems and discover who I am. You will awe at how I can hide so much in those little notebooks. You will hear stories about me that will never escape my lips. You will tremble at the exhausted self that remains after I pour all that I am into the pen strokes on the paper.

For these things, I am sorry.
So please excuse me for being a poet.
And please excuse yourself for loving one.

- p. winter

is not
always
radically
tantalizing
a passionate storm
it can be
a
rosy
tenderness
gentle and warm
an artist's soul
in tangible form

- p. winter

Whether on good days,
Or on bad, either way just
Take me as I am.

- p. winter

As dew is to the emerald blades,
So are your graceful eyes:
The refreshing taste of morn
As Apollo wakes the skies.

As snow is to great Everest's peak,
So is your mountainous smile:
Bright and kind but dig and find
What others have defiled.

As thorns are to the rose's stem,
So is your hand's embrace:
Threatening to danger
But, to the flower, soft as lace.

As water is to sailboat's hull,
So are you to me:
Wanted to be happy
But needed to be free.

- p. winter

I have a picture of you saved,
For no eyes but my own,
That I take out of my drawer
Every day when I come home.

I pretend you're here in front of me,
As your body remains statuous,
And cry into the picture
As my grief for you grows fatuous.

For though your captured smile is still
I hear your loving laugh.
That joy can't even be contained
Inside this photograph.

And though your captured skin is still
I feel your heat reach mine,
Radiating through the frame,
Its mem'ries stopping time.

And though your captured eyes are still
The beauty of your gaze is just
Too much for this poor photo
To be able to contain.

They say a thousand words
A single picture can confess.
But your frozen lips say nothing
As the sun sets in the west.

In your melancholic silence
I place the picture in the drawer.
Tomorrow I'll take it out again
And grieve your love once more.

- p. winter

finger in my throat
my reflection watches me
flush my weight away

- p. winter

i come with baggage
more than i can hold, i pray
that you are stronger

- p. winter

I know that it hurts
But darling, beauty is pain.
Now, back to the scale...

- p. winter

Blackbird baby
Wings of charcoal
You think the sky is falling.
Your lonely song
Straddling the wind
Searching for an audience.
The home you grew up in
Had white walls and high ceilings.
Pure and sheltered.
You thought the room was shrinking,
Pinning your wings to your sides.
But baby
You were just growing.
Destined to break down the door.
To let the art of your dangerous spirit
Use the clouds for a canvas.
Blackbird baby
You've been raised by doves.
They've passed on their sparkling reputation
But it doesn't suit your matte feathers.
You're a whole other kind of beautiful.

Blackbird baby
Wings of charcoal
You think the sky is falling.
You feel so alone
You don't see how they envy you.
Your mind is a weapon, my dear.
Never doubt it for a moment.
Your body is a treasure, my dear.
Love it like nothing else.
Your time is valuable, my dear.
Don't waste it on what brings you no joy.
These lessons you have yet to learn.
You see only the thunder in the sky.
But there's a world of rainbows to be discovered.
Blackbird baby
You find it so hard to believe
That you are loved.
But you are everything to me.

Blackbird baby
Wings of charcoal
You think the sky is falling.
You see pieces of it hit the ground.
The end in sight.
Let me hold you.
Let me hold your whole world
So tightly that all the pieces of the sky
Fit back into place.
Afraid of what could go wrong
You pin your own wings to your sides.
Force of habit.
But without them
How will you fly?
Blackbird baby
Open your wings for me.
Show me your dance of ebony
Like a silouette on the sunset.
Blackbird baby
Hatch from your prison

And soar.

I promise that I'm healthy.
That I've never felt better.
Even though you don't know
That I keep finding myself
Back in this position.
Rocking myself to sanity.
Chained to the ground.
Blank eyes
With blank intentions
Looking for explanations
On blank walls
And blank ceilings.
Waiting for the day
It all goes blank.

- p. winter

i write expendable stories on paper

but the anthems i can't let myself forget
i carve into my wrists

- p. winter

At night the walls turn crimson red,
Your phantom chest is ‘neath my head,
The smell of comfort settles in
Among the tingles on my skin
That still remain from days ago,
My ribcage in your hand to show
We fit like jigsaw pieces do.
But night no longer summons you
And so I watch the walls return to blue.

- p. winter

Running into the arms of every shadow that
Resembles your silhouette,
I follow a bread crumb trail of empty words
Through a forest of empty fantasies.
With each step, I fall.
With each step, I learn.
With each step, I grow.
With each step, I get one heartbreak closer
To finding you.

- p. winter

the sun's goin down
as my journey begins
surfin the desert wave of the milky way
on a leather saddle
the wind whistlin harmonies to my lullabies
the stars guidin me to nowhere
the horse's tail swishin
my home village fadin
further into the distance like a tumbleweed blowin
i'm leavin for the desert
you'll find me findin myself
straw in my lips as i hum
my breakup blues

- p. winter

breathe in
the smell of tension
think the words
we'll never say

breathe out
the yearn
to hold me close
then turn and slowly
walk away

- p. winter

A lonely loon cry echoes through the morning mist as it crouches over the lake.
The trees rustle quietly as the breeze performs its awakening dance through the branches.
Each icy breath leaves a temporary imprint in the brisk air, before fading away into the forest fog.
And though I'm free from all distractions,
In the stillness of the woods,
I think of you.

- p. winter

Some people in the world are simply loved.
By everyone.
And usually they are the people who will become whomever the person in front of them wants them to be.
But even still, they walk through life and know that, whatever happens, they will be fawned over.
And it’s annoying but it’s true.
And they don’t always deserve it.
And sometimes you watch them change right before your eyes and think “how could I ever know which one of you is real?”
Like watching a chameleon change colours so many times you forget what it truly looks like.
But regardless, you fall for the version you get.
Because it is hand crafted for you.
Personalized.
And you wonder how you can be sure you love something so uncertain.
And then you lose it.
And you think… oh.
That’s how.

- p. winter

How heartbreaking,
They see us now
And think that we are strangers
Who never held each other
High above the city lights.
How sudden are the changes,
How short the autumn nights.

- p. winter

the desert whispers…

water, at last, in my reach!

all mirages fade.

- p. winter

Can we afford the clemency
We grant unto ourselves
When giving in to hope and weak desire?

St. Anthony is weeping for
The pieces of my heart
I'm slowly losing sight of in the fire.

- p. winter

i have tasted gold
yet still i return to coal
in hopes of diamond

- p. winter

although the butterfly stage is
wonderful in every way,
where hearts race and hands shake
with every second of eye contact,
there is also a comforting beauty
in the kind of love that is
just existing together
in silence
drawing lazy circles on
each other's backs.
no need for racing hearts
and sweaty palms.
i love to love you
in the calm
and the quiet
of your company.

- p. winter

You can gain a lot in a year.
Enough to hide what once was
Or once wasn’t
On display.
But never enough to
Eliminate what always has been
And always will be
Hidden in the crevices.

- p. winter

You can hurt someone while loving them.
Just like you can crinkle sheets by hugging them.
You can apologize, yet never change.
Like washing sheets to crinkle them again.

- p. winter

a thousand barren daisy heads
are strewn across the floor
each more gruesomely dismembered
than the one before
and so i sit
and so i cry
and so i watch them rot.
not e'en a thousand daisy heads
know why you loved me not.

- p. winter

Father, forgive him,
For he knows not what he does.
Cast him not aside
With the thrown dice
And torn clothes.

Forgive me, Father,
For it is I who knows,
And it is I who throws
The dice and clothes.

- p. winter

How miserably
Yet freeingly
I cry

- p. winter

you know how badly i want you here
how badly i want you here
i want you here

say it again
say it again
again

how badly do you want me there
how badly do you want me
how badly

enough to come home
come home
come home
home

i am here
i am here

you know how badly i want you here
i will always be here
always

- p. winter

I scream my love for you
In the canyon of your ribs

But all I get back
Is Echos.

For other explorers have been here before me,
Each one briefly passing through,
Taking a piece of you
As a souvenir.

And now,
You have no heart left
To love with.

My love bounces back.
Just an echo in the canyon.

- p. winter

Your kiss, without a warning,
Turns to poison on my lips,
As fervour, white with brilliance,
Into sudden darkness slips,
And morality reveals itself
'Neath verity's eclipse.

- p. winter

Darling, when you smile,
The brightest stars become but
Embers in the ash.

- p. winter

hey you, deli boy
if you're reading this, then stop
reading my poems

- p. winter

I must be
Who everyone wants me to be.
I don’t know who I am anymore,
But I know it is not enough.

- p. winter