just trying to take each day
separately from the others
maybe then the similar moments
won't run together like muddy water
down the roadside of a week or two
and seep through into the grass
of culminating time and too much rain

trying to pick the hours apart
and keep the bits and pieces of patterns
away from each other
so they'll just stop dancing around me
for now
it's true that they somehow make me whole
but i've thrown logic aside for a little while
just wanna see how the other side lives, that's all
let me do this, i need to justify
myself

can i be justified?
turn me into a philosophical debate
and justify me, prove me as a theory
concrete as an idea
make me an argument, defeat what makes me wrong
teach me myself
and i promise i will learn, just please
make me right

je ne suis qu'une femme
qui cache un enfant derrière son visage
cette fille qui me tient la main
et qui me suit avec pieds lourds
yeux soit au soleil ou au sol
mais jamais devant elle
et moi, je dois toujours
regarder derrière moi
pour faire certaine qu'elle n'est pas tombé
encore sur la terrain que nous traversons ensemble
ensemble, mais pas du tout
la même personne
je suis une femme, mais pas encore
fini mon enfance

I shoved that day aside
the moment it started.
Grey skies
with only patches of blue,
internal rhyming
in each casual phrase
said,
tossed,
that meant more
than at first glance.
There were too many forced alliterations,
too many under-the-breath mutterings
cluttering the belly
of every once-white cloud.
The ground was too hard,
the world shifting
too easily beneath my feet,
and the air was too supple,
too slippery to breathe.
Not just another day;
no catastrophe in sight,
but no rainbow ending either.
And no word from you.

sun shone down
moon broke away
and spring became a possibility

i spent time wandering the halls
of my mind and my body, up and down
my veins
until i found the oxygen

today i dug my nail into the knuckle
of my pinky finger
for an hour
because without the pain
i kept sliding into grey
amid a room of voices
that i knew i had to listen to

and it's ok, i mean the mark is barely there
but that clarity scared me

i think i'd rather fall asleep
than rely on crushing hard into soft
dead into alive
just to prove dead is alive
no matter how it may feel when untouched

and i have been left untouched for days
so when my heartbeat made itself known today
i was afraid, and i wish i knew
why

sun hid behind the clouds
moon ate at the sky
until there was nothing left

part 1 (this)
**** this
i say to myself
hoping the harsh words will strike me down
for i want to feel the cold pavement jar my bones
just
**** this
i say out loud
hoping the sound of it will hook into the back of my sweater
and reel my mind up to join my body
i say it and turn round
to see if anyone has noticed my efforts
and yet
i still feel the same
shock me
please change me
please bring me back
find the strings that connect my soul to my body
and tug
pull
bring me down from the cold blue sky
because
****
i want to know
if i'm happy or not

part 2 (search)**
and so i searched space
space bar
enter
an easier world
and i looked for myself amid the definitions
and questions
and stars
and i tested myself
without thinking
answers automatic
yes i know what's happening
and this is how i feel
but almost
not quite
and now i have a diagnosis
i have ten
one for each time i tried to define it
letting someone else do the job
and yet
i can't seem to label myself
and the screen lights my face
but not my heart
no
i have not yet been found
so i tap out the pattern
of how i think i would feel
if i felt
on the keys and i press enter
enter space
space bar
search
where am i

i step further forward
with every breath
and down deeper
with every step
and i'll give my excuses out loud
to everyone around
except you
branches intertwining above our heads
roots down below, invisible
everything is so much more poetic
less with the carefully thought-out adjectives
and well-placed commas
and more with the phrases
that just drop from the sky
leave the capitals and punctuation behind
i'm forgetting the english language
and i kinda love it
further forward
with every breath
and down deeper
with every
single
lower-case
step

the scratch and scrape against my soul
of days gone by, of words unknown
to my ears
the rush of air across my cheek
hair on end, fingers tingling
unsteady footsteps and too much oxygen
all at once
life comes rushing in

life comes rushing in
and i run into hiding
guess i just don't want to be trampled
guess i'm just not ready
to stand up, turn
and join the herd

the back and forth, neither here nor there
seems like the words, the letters
are never in the right order
it all makes sense to my body and logic
but something's off, something's wrong
it's a puzzle i have yet to put together
afraid to set that last piece in
and see the whole picture for what it is

life comes rushing in
and i hold it back
Moses parting those red waters
my hands, pressing on either side
against the **** tide, against the **** grain
against the refrain of harsh truth and soft air
and sweet breath and smooth hands
and familiar sounds
and safety

i'll stay in danger a little while longer
still afraid to feel safe
still afraid to calm down
still afraid to let the Red Sea wash over me

blue skies wavering above
and i blink them away
i'll stay under cloud cover a little while longer
still afraid of the sun's rays

life comes rushing in
and i turn away, holding it at bay
like Atlas, shouldering the weight
but never looking it in the face

neither here nor there
the Red Sea fades away

i'm seeing you in bright green and blue
calm, cooling colours
neon against my eyes
full of this feeling, but empty
ready for more

bring on the whole nine yards
every shade of serenity you can find
every familiar colour comes to mind
when i think of you

i see myself in dark red and grey
regal and lonely in muted shades
soft against my skin
every warm, safe feeling comes to mind
when i cover my body in the morning
and when i hide from myself at night
amid a curtain of navy blue
and light starry sheets
above the rooftop

bring on the whole nine yards
from red to blue to sudden violet
to pink across my cheeks
every shade of my existence comes to mind
when i think of you

under a long sweep of colour across the sky
i exist
when i think of you

sure, silent jump into thin air
and the oxygen spreads over my mouth
like a blanket, leaving me
gasping and falling
and reaching out
i'm in a hurry to breathe
i'm in a hurry to hit the ground
running

and it's colder than i thought cold could be
you know, i never imagined
myself freezing to death
and i like to think that's why i'm here again
grasping onto thin fingers of warmth
moving in closer to share breath
and forget the frosted trees above
i like to think it's that fear
that keeps me coming back
and not the simple comfort
not the feeling, not the thoughts
as i step outside for a moment
to freeze the words
before they can take hold of my tongue
and voice themselves

i like to think it's the ease
with which i sink into this depth
that keeps me from staying outside
and not the need that i ignore, masking
it as something more innocent
material, consistent
warm and partially true

i like to think it's the fear
that keeps me up at night
and not the warm comfort
i feel when i'm thinking of you

cold cement reminds me
of the steps outside school
where i balanced myself on the railing
and stood on that column
feeling better
than the people below me

cold cement makes me think
of the road outside my house
and the way the potholes filled
with wet maple leaves
after a day of autumn rain

cold cement, in my mind
is that long, straight road
hot beneath the summer sun
but still cool in the shade, and somehow
riding along that stretch
was always enough to calm me down

cold cement, to me
is the end of the line
and the transition from earth to rock
from open sky
to cityscape

cold cement, to me
is a love-hate relationship, really
as it began to grow on me
fond memories overlapping
the edges of the sidewalk
and washing over the toes of my boots

and cold cement, today
was somehow comforting
below me as i wavered
between burning and frozen
on the steps outside

i am no longer alone

shut out the light
shut out the sunshine that reminds me
of how much i will have changed
when i leave this place

i have hardened my skin and my resolve
to ignore time until it favours me again
i can't stop the shifting days, and i don't want to
but i can't hurry them along either
and i need to

basic needs will be met, sure
but you are more than just basic

you are complicated and simple
and everything in between a smile and laugh
that i have memorized and forgotten and saved again
a million times

shut out the light
and take it from me, take whatever you need
take it all before i notice the change
that pervades the air here
as my skin darkens and my smile tightens
and my resolve buries itself deep in the places
where winter still keeps me pale
and you still keep me warm

i'd take a whole summer of this grey sky
just to know you were spending your time
under sunshine

the sun shines crookedly
into the cracks that beat the light
into my head
and i blink away the weather, but only for a moment
as i am temporary
and it is forever
and i feel like forever too when i'm walking down this road
but if i look behind
my footsteps disappear into the melting snow
and i know that i will fade

but how? i feel like concrete
man-made and unmoving
while the leaves crushed into my surface
by rain
are the transient ones

i will remain long after i am gone, if only in spirit
since my mind and my body
have not been friends for a long time
when the time comes, i will cast
that shadow from my skull
and my thoughts will be the weather

if i beat you to it
(i don't dare think that thought, just this one time)
will you hear me on the wind?
will you smile back at the sun?

you know that you're the reason
i can say those silent words
and yeah, it's a burden
but it will be you who makes the sun shine

and now i'm done with that morbid thought

words, make me eternal
let each scrap of paper ***** with my letters
speak the truth, and nothing but
the stupid truth
but is it so stupid?
the truth, to me
is becoming less of a fear
and more of a blessing

and sure, it's still a fear
since the blessing scares me
but the sun has become less of a shadow
and more of a light
and i'm pretty sure that's a sign

i'm pretty sure you're a sign
that i should wake up and go outside

black sky, black road
yellow lines like warning signs
i turn my head away
from those flashes of colour
and look out the window instead
at the grey fields of evening

grey fields, grey grass
bulrushes like sentries
and one bird that calls to me from beyond
as if it understands this feeling

some days it mocks me
other days, it lets me speak
and i hear it often late at night
telling me to dry my eyes
and sleep

black sky, soft wind
that creeps through the netting across my window
and sweeps the salt water from my cheeks
while the coyotes howl, voicing what i cannot
and the crickets play their violins
as if i needed a soundtrack to this

and the next morning, my door opens
revealing brown skin and a summery smile
and when the sun hits my face
i feel the cold embrace me once again
feelings washed from my body and escaping
back to my bed, waiting
for the sun to set and for my body to hit the sheets
and for my mind to remember a day full of nothing

and nothing sinks into my tear ducts, opening up
the river, and i cannot for the life of me
remember why i am doing this, but i am
and the black sky watches without comment
as i take the bird's advice, drying my eyes
and sleeping

the sun rises again each morning
and so do i

i'm no Houdini
but sometimes i feel
like more than just an everyday
escape artist
as i climb over the walls
of yet another situation

more and more i find myself
performing my way out
of heavy conversation
writing paths across the words
that i'm walking away from
building ships so i can sail
across the thoughts i've been swimming in

i'm no Houdini, there's no need
to prove myself with cuffs and chains
just the simple strain of too much meaning
if you want to see me

slip away

april cut into the city
in long fingernail scratches
of running water and suddenly brown gardens
and the air fell heavy onto the eaves
of houses eager to open their doors

i stepped out and spoke
into a space filled with spring
just trying to hurry things along, i guess
trying to warm the air
trying to clear the path
trying to make some sense of this transition

i stepped out, leaned forward
and spoke
too soon, i guess
because the mercury sank coldly back into the glass
and the rain became needles, the trees thread
threatening to sew winter back into the sky
and the air retreated back
into a dull winter chill
as if afraid of my open chest
displaying december's frostbite
and january's cold words

and i apologized silently
to the city and myself
for thinking winter could be defeated so easily

“where do we go from here?”
a line that haunts a million songs
like a small, aching insect
creeping in through the cracks in the lyrics
and spreading its wings to infect the expanse
of music that reaches my ears

do you ever feel like there’s a theme to your life?
some familiar collection of words, some thought
that pervades the space around you
and finds body in the world that follows
your every move
some chord, bright or dire or dim
that resounds in the echoes
in the tunnels you pass through
and sings silently after each word you speak
ringing softly beneath your footsteps
colouring the air you exhale

“where do we go from here?”
the first time i heard those six words
i have no idea where i was
or when
but i remember the thought that came to mind as
desolation
and it made my heart hurt
and i was happy
because i now i could prove its existence

“where do we go from here?”
one day i heard those six syllables
as i often did, above me
tinny and abrupt from the speakers
hidden in public places, among the plastic clouds
and spiderwebs
and i, at the precipice
of some great beginning
felt that thought beneath my step
and my soul sang, it breathed in deep
and i was happy
because now i could prove its existence

“where do we go from here?”
one day i found those words
etched into the notes of some electronic
heartbeat or sellout tune
and i, in the middle of a slow tumble
towards the realization of a loss
of a feeling i had worked so hard to find
felt the emptiness between my fingers
and the ground pressing into the soles of my feet
and the ache once again in my mind
and my heart and my soul
and i knew now the existence
of the feeling inspired
by the downturn of that phrase, six words
that speak to us all

“where do we go from here?”
i thought of this line on my own time
and never knew how to use it
until today, aware of a familiar scent
in the air, i sat down
and faced the six words haunting my ears
and embraced their meaning
closed my eyes and breathed in their truth
felt the confusion and desolation and joy
that seeped into my bones the harder i tried
to join myself with the forever aching phrase
that i now know was written
to describe the way i move through this life
and today, as i walked
with false purpose along the real lines of the road
i felt words pressing sharp into my cheeks
and i turned to you but could not let them free
six words, a simple door
into the patterned floor and closed curtains
of my untidy mind
and so i let the sentence be
swallowed it whole, let it sit in my lungs
a while longer
and i still have yet to ask you

“where do we go from here?”
has there ever been an answer to that question?

nicotine is nasty
(learned that in school
sitting behind you, distracted
but i remember the cancer part)
so maybe it is
but i think the simplest way
to explain the way i revolved around you
would be to say
that if you'd offered me a cigarette
i would have taken it
and smoked it
that's how much i loved you

feeling like something of a pharaoh
ignoring the pain of crossed legs
and just sitting here, still and trying
to be a little bit regal for once

could i be a royal?
would you listen to me?

i feel like something of a peasant
low down to the ground, but comfortable
being at the bottom

i could never be a royal, really
even i wouldn’t listen to me

at every moment
there came a pause beneath the glass
as the cold passed through us
and the wheels rolled on
and the oxygen around us moved slowly
and we were safe

or at least that's how the day felt
warm and soft
a comfort to my scrambled, savage soul
as deep down below me
the beast
(the road)
was defeated

guess the world just seems to me
a place that needs to be defeated
every so often

guess the same could refer to me
now, that's a thought

i wrote this for you
because i knew you'd never read it

fear rules my words, rules every breath
as i walk, head down, avoiding the rain
that seeps into my hair as if to tell me
i can't escape
i will always have these cracks, these splits
that let the rain and sunshine in
and lately, they've been letting in
too much water

maybe i'm drowning
in the river we dipped our feet in
in the rain that divided our differences
and washed them down the street
the first day i held your hand

but differences are tougher than us, i guess
because they've still found the strength to shade the sky
with charcoal grey and light blue worry
that keeps me up at night
even now that they've finally done their damage

i wrote this for you
just as i always did, honest and rough
because i knew i couldn't say the words out loud

i wish i had, though
because there's not much poetry can do
to fix this now

a winding road
and up ahead, a dark expanse
of water
it rained recently, and i'm wearing my boots
and for some reason that puddle is just
too tempting
you know that feeling?
it looks like fun
the damp leaves above my head whisper
go for it, what's the harm?
after all, you've got your boots on
so i step forward, confidence heavy
upon my chilled shoulders
and that is when i realize
just how ******* deep this puddle is
you know that feeling?
it looked like fun
and now the muddy water is spilling
over the tops of my boots
and my feet are swimming
in stale rain
and it sounds stupid, but i feel like i'm drowning
and the dead brown leaves on the rough cement whisper
now you've done it
you're in too deep

and i try to let go of your hand
but something stops me
some casual phrase, a few words
stitched together
and the thread tugs at my skin, saying
what's the problem?
we'll fix you
and i read the words again
realizing just how human everyone is
and feeling excluded
i don't get it
except maybe now i do
and i try to extract my arm
from around your waist
but something stops me

and the crooked bare branches above our heads whisper
now you've done it
you're in too deep
and the water is so ******* cold

finally
after days of dark, threatening clouds
and anxious birds tracing signals into the air
and trees waving back at the lightning
while the thunder rolled around this valley-

finally
it rained

the sun fought against the sky and lost,
instead blazing behind the curtain
and turning the sky a dangerous yellow
while the trees accepted the sepia rain
with defeat

i stayed inside and watched their branches
waving lazily back and forth
as if to escape the rain, or maybe
just to dance beneath it, i don't know
but i knew
i didn't feel like dancing

i felt like dancing
when we were alone in an old building
whose walls echoed the tinny swing music
back at us and whose floors were already printed
with the patterns needed to teach you
the basic formation
and we fell out of place a million times
only to fall back in again

if you were here, i'd take you out
into this rain
and dance until the thunder came back
and celebrate the lightning's wrath
and fall out of formation a million times
only to fall back in again

with you, i always feel like dancing

the hum of a fluorescent lamp
old, but
it still works

the creak of the bed
as I slide in

the whisper of a foreign room
and the breathing of a strange house
fill my ears

yellow light floods my vision
from the left
the wall, to the right
bears my shadow

I turn
try to catch a glimpse of me
but I am blurred
stretched
in this place
maybe
I am not myself.

feet just tappin’ it all out as it comes along
got this down, inscribed in my mind
findin’ more every minute of the day
feelin’ like old-time slang
like easy chords and lyrics
that just spell out my day like i can’t
my words are nothin’, not even
written down the way i say ‘em
just can’t describe today
the way the music can
and that’s alright, ‘cause i’m the one
who’s gonna put music to it
will you play the drums for me?
just need me a walkin’ rhythm
and i’m good to go

after moving
shifting bodies, from here
to there
and back again
after seeing the time zones
float past my tired eyes
out the window of an airplane
new year's just isn't the same
january arrives in the future
and i am stuck, held back
in the past
waiting another three hours
for the clock to tick past twelve
so i can feel in time
with the rest of the world
i guess it's just a young cynic's view
on the big picture
but just the same, i give in
and every year i make my list
although lately, it's been in my head
and the lineup of wishes
gets shorter every time
and i arrived at the end of this december
with only three resolutions in mind

one
to find myself
to look past all those outward words
and blurred reflections
and improbable emotions
and find my inner demons
identify their faces
line them up like dominoes
shake their hands
and become friends

two
to know myself
to listen to my lines
as they trail off into cold air
to see through the bones in my body
and find the skeleton in my closet
so i can finally put him to rest
beneath my feet
to understand my own thoughts
and to read my own writing
and to listen harder
when i try and speak up

three
to love myself
as crafted as that sounds
this goal resounds within me
every time i catch my own eyes
and look away

it's just a young cynic's view
i know that, yes
but i like to think
that the simplest, oldest dreams
to find myself
to know myself
to love myself
are the ones i should hope to achieve
and as the clock bends time and space
and i am pulled forward
by my beating heart
i swear
to take that very first step
and finally know its weight

hold your tongue, i said
i'm tired of these bleeding words
and i passed you the gauze
slipping my fingers through the maze of your palm
and out through the cracks
hold your tongue, i said
i want to feel these words instead
pretend i am paper
and bend me, press your lips
to me and whisper the letters
and i will fold myself over them
hold your tongue, i said
i love the noise but i love the silence more
just the sound of me
drinking in those phrases, swallowing
air as i try for more
hold your tongue, i said
hold my waist, catch the words
as they drip down from my forehead
sweating ink onto my shoulders
use the silence to soak up the meaning
of each and every one
hold your tongue, i said
and the words will come, riding
upon waves and i will swim
with you to dry land
give me your hand, and i will guide your pen
down along my spine, across
the sand dunes of my shoulders, through
the space between my collarbones
let the ink bleed into my hairline
let the words sink into my skin
as i let you mark me up, graffiti
in the best sense of the word, badass
but secretly
hold your tongue, i said
and take my hand
pretend i am paper
unfold me

roundabout, unsteady weight
of my feet upon the sidewalk, sinking
deep into the cracks of drug dealers
and ambling adolescents
and old mothers
and young fathers, and whatever else
this city has to offer, its population
unknown to me, bewildering
since where i come from, everybody
has a name
and i know it
so this is weird
the imbalance between known
and unknown, the strange feeling
of a shift in the atmosphere that follows me
the loss of control that i feel
when i step down from the bus and make my way
through the crowd, feeling drunk
and off-kilter, feeling like
a drifting newspaper, out of date
trying to find some sense of community
but instead i find only small relationships
each separate from the other
each with a different dynamic, a different colour
a different reason for staying together
a different reason for falling apart
(and that happens
so much faster here)
and yet somehow i find that
i like it this way
having so many little lives, towns
to choose from
that there is always somebody, somewhere
willing to brighten my day
and so i think i’ll be okay, i’ll transition
into a city girl, all hardened and shiny
and maybe even stylish
with only the roots of my home peeking out
from beneath my feet, saying
don’t forget
and i won’t
i promise
city slicker pinky swear

ears spilling rain, water found
when i tilted my head up and tried to listen
at the wrong time, i guess
but hey, i'll listen to your rain
catch it, absorb it, drink it
and shed it through tear ducts like mirrors
reflecting your weather
you don't have to smile, i'll find some way
to light the wet pavement in front of me
that involves no lies, no "i'm fine"
no way that's going to keep my head high anymore

eyes spilling honesty, feelings found
when i opened them all the way
just for a moment, but it was enough
to let something in, something clean
and *****, small but somehow
it filled me right up to the brim

and now i'm spilling over
with four-letter words
care
or ****
because of the fear
or love
because there really is no other word for it

vim and vigor
**** and vinegar
stale old sayings that still ring true
and i'm people-watching again
putting words to their steps
pulling phrases from the books i read
when i was a child
and dressing them up like dolls
in their own descriptions

some game, i think to myself
as the lines drift round their heads
like prickly crowns
we define ourselves with these words
with things unthinkingly said
and we wear them
like capes or like armour
like medals or like long baggy sweaters
displaying or betraying
the true poetry inside

i'm people-watching again
noticing how we take these words and use them
to excuse ourselves, to explain ourselves
to take the disdain and refrain from believing
our own homegrown lines
for some reason, the words that come
from other mouths
are the ones we take as truth

vim and vigor
now that's a compliment
**** and vinegar
take that with a grain of salt
by default, your own voice comes first
so describe yourself wisely

i'm people-watching again
shielding myself from the poetry of it all

a few untrue facts about myself:

i stand up straight, with pride
in my sturdy spine and my upright gaze

i speak loud, strong and faithful
in the value of what i say

i sit here with the knowledge
that these words might make a difference

i know the value of silence
lies in the promise of truth after the silent storm
and i never break my promises

it's not about luck, you know
it's about reading the cracks in the sidewalk
and taking the route that your heart beats toward
and saying the words that feel right
and reaching out when your fingers itch to
and reading more into luck than just coincidence

i swear, it's all a pattern
sure, we shift like tectonic plates
all over the place, but we are still
when it matters most, time moves around us
and you've just got to recognize that quiet
submit to the current

it's not about luck, you know
it's about reading too much into the little things
and ignoring the big picture
just for a little while

playing cards, flinging numbers on the table
conversations leading nowhere
and i sit on the outside, watching us
and analyzing the game
i see your head tilt, i see your mouth crack
wide open and speak
and i see the words, read their shape
and watch the colours fade in the air
to match the grey of today
and i wish that i could reach out
and touch them, try to brush
the colour back into your voice
but instead
no matter how hard i try
the words are stale, the cards are bent
by the time they reach my ears
and land lightly upon the inside curve, soft and dark
still nice, still present
and i guess i don’t mind the lack of colour
besides, i know that if i really wanted to
i could move closer and catch the words
catch your voice
as it leaves your lips
and intercept it before it can fade
taste the colours instead
and it’s nice to know i have that option
so i stand here and watch this interaction
watch the card game, hearts and spades
and analyze each move
black and red and white
and colourful
just waiting for the game to end

yesterday i was alone and walking down some tunnel
that was the opposite of crowded and yet i felt as if i took up the whole space and more
and my words ran long lines, longer than my normal short thoughts
breaking up in weird places
and then for the first time in a long time my mind spoke with my body instead of my soul
and my voice was coming back at me from the concrete walls
and i realized
i was talking to myself and i was answering myself and even as the conversation continued
i thought, all these times i’ve called myself crazy and now i’m proving my theories right
but there’s nobody here to bear witness to the fact
that i am arguing the existence of my own sanity
and i fell silent only when i encountered another human being and suddenly
i felt ashamed, even though the words i had been saying
were nothing short of some sort of honest truth, and actually
i kind of liked being crazy and i vowed that the next time i find myself
really, truly alone
i’m gonna check in on how i’m feeling
because my voice seems to know me better than i know myself
and i’d like to know myself

the game is done
the t's have been crossed
and i am on my way home, shivering
at the lack of letters in the sky

but no complaints, because today
i plucked them all, one by one
down from their playground
and stamped them into the paper
of my spinning mind, and then i spat
the sentences out, sour on my tongue
bitter in the air
damp and disappointed on the ground

as the rain tells me that yet again
i have wasted my chances
thrown another good day's worth of truth
away

but no complaints, because by now
i should be used to this failure
i should be well on my way
to looking upwards
with the strength to let some of those letters
slip by me, and the knowledge
that the silence might do me good
within and without, i have no doubt
that i am wrong in my actions
but right in my disbelief

i have wasted my chances
thrown another good day's worth of truth
beneath my feet
but one day, i know
i will wake up
and get it right

poetry should be you, on paper
in black and white
italic and bold
truth of some kind
or lies told to illustrate a story

doesn't matter, really
since poetry is transparent
opaque, solid or wavering
poetry should be fluid
weaving through the fingers and threads
of the lives of those
who have yet to be truly touched
by their own words

poetry should convince them all
to speak up
and listen

today, i told a friend
that i am digging myself
deeper each day
and it was the first time
i could admit it out loud
and the words
displayed themselves
loud and bright
across the screen of my vision
so that i had no choice but to read them

and it's true

"you're in too deep"
i tell myself
as another inch goes by
"you're in too deep"
i tell myself
as my hand disappears within yours
"in too deep"
repeats in my head
as i pull you in with me
"in too deep"
this guilty stereotype
describes my day perfectly
and as these words echo around me
i ask you to join me again
the next day

"in too deep"
i told my friend
and it's true

and she nodded, perhaps understanding
the feeling

i wished i was talking to you
so i could say
"i'm in too deep"
and you could say
"me too"

I woke up
and things were colourful,
the blanket was warm with my body heat
and that proved my existence
so I stayed in bed
just a little while longer
before standing up
and beginning the drift of day,
cold feet
but I’m doing this anyway

I stepped in
and the water was inches below scalding,
the tiles were perspiring
and I closed my eyes
shrinking, folding
back into my mind
just a little while longer
before stepping out
and beginning the ritual of
Sunday
cold feet,
wet hair assuming responsibility
for the chill around my neck;
unsure
but I’m doing this anyway

I woke up
dead or alive
determined
cold feet
but I’m doing this anyway

we place so much importance
on words, don’t we?
like these black lines
define us or something
like these speech bubbles can represent
the real thing inside
so why do we find words for things
that do not exist?
and why are there some things
that we cannot describe?
four letters, four words
an entire book isn’t enough
to explain how i feel right now
when i hardly know myself
and that’s just the thing
we place so much importance on words
as if they can say what we can’t
as if i could just reach inside myself
and pull out this feeling, confused and unheard
and words will fill in the blanks for me
but it’s not like that
we place so much importance
on something we created ourselves
and we write words down, like love
and hate and everything in between
and it seems to me like putting pen to paper
just solidifies the definition
tattoos it into reality’s skin, and it sinks in
and that word takes hold
whether or not it was true
of course, here i am
hypocritical as usual
tearing down the one thing
that lets me speak my mind
but i guess i just wish there was some other way
to figure out how i really feel

i may have accidentally
showed emotion today
oh dear, oh ****
this is not good
and i laugh to myself on the way home
because what right do i have
to be so cynical?
but the fact remains
that i looked away when somebody tried
to guess and maybe almost got it right
or at least my brain thinks that if i were alive
they would be
right on, dead centre
and the idea that somebody could fumble
their way into a place locked to me
and intellectually play darts with this alienated
part of existence,
well that is a little freaky
and so i am still up, past midnight
feeling shaky but calm
because of course i know
that at this hour
nothing is real
unless i say it is

god, at this hour
everything feels like poetry
even the silence is blooming
with words
and i don't know
if that's a blessing or a curse
desolation
or just a plain old desire for more
or maybe just an echoed question
that i ask myself, and answer back
becoming my own interpretation
of each cryptic answer

am i going through something
(well, are you going through something)
or do i just wish i was
(do you really wish you were)
for interest's sake?

maybe it's a mistake
a confusing stanza to read, for sure
but hey, that's how it works
swirls around untranslated
in my mind
and i thank my lucky, silent stars
for the ability to strain out the bracketed pieces
and still appear sane to the world

am i going through something
(well, are you going through something)
or do i just wish i was
(do you really wish you were)
for interest's sake?

soft, cold tread
of careful footsteps on the ice
and it's so ironic
that i'm holding your hand
to keep from falling

and i thank you without thinking
a knee-**** reaction
to each time you make my day
while inside my head the obsession
replays
asking myself in circles
twisted, burgeoning circles
is this just the game again?

and i love that rush
icy lights above, hard seat below me
and then your mouth is soft on mine
in the middle of everywhere
and i have trouble opening my eyes
when you pull away
and i am ashamed when you notice
the shifting colours in my cheeks
because i am afraid
to betray
the easiness with which i sink
into you

we are too familiar, you and i
too similar, too scarily in tune
and it didn't take long, did it?
where did this comfort come from?
these questions carve my tongue
into ribbons, and yet
you never notice
when yours meets mine
and the guilt is swallowed
before you can taste it
just in time

and i ask, again
where did this comfort come from?
or are we just two people
in the middle of winter
taking solace in the warmth
of each other?
will we part ways easily?
somehow, i find myself
dreading that experiment

where did this comfort come from?
this heat that spreads
across my chest
and through my stomach
and down into my frosted knees
as the cold melts away from me, forgotten
like the hour and the place
as the wall behind me
is crushed into my spine
and i am strong again
our bodies create a hole in time
so perfectly fragmented around us
and the clock fades into grey
tugging at my fears

and i want so badly
to keep feeling this way
all through winter
for as long as i can
but
i just wish i didn't care

where did this comfort come from?
and will you meet me there?

all grown up and here i am
a child again

you've taken me back to the easiness
of jokes and meaningless words and smiles
that mean nothing more than happiness

childish tunes of light footsteps
and heavy touch of hand on hand
and cold air burning cheeks bright red
and heaters bringing out the best in our ability
to just lie still and complain
about things we know don't matter, and besides
with you, it's all a joke, it's all a game
and yet there's a seriousness to the smile in your eyes
that pins my chest to yours
and my mind to your words
and it's this combination that keeps me here
after hours, after the walls have been emptied of echoes
and the windows are darkened by cold and near-midnight

with you, growing older and younger
and happier
simple words come to mind
so here they are

let's keep growing together

been spending an hour or so each night
convincing myself
that crying is something i never do

but i guess i can make an exception
for you

I already miss it,
the lazy crawl of time,
hurried waves across the water,
fast cars glinting under the yellow sun.
I miss the easiness of good-byes,
with the knowledge of their flimsiness
in this drawn-out frame of time,
long days
and warm nights,
the flight of feet across pebbles and sand.
I’d live there forever,
memories replaying,
never growing tired of those colours,
only tired from the day;
and yet
two or three hours will do it,
curled up with the imprint
that a warm body makes next to mine,
and if they’re there,
really there,
that’s fine.
But summer is when I don’t mind
being alone at night,
because I’d rather be perched on those rocking slats
of old wood,
water lapping at my heels
as they tease the water.
You could plant me here,
roots digging down through the cracks
and around the ancient tires
that keep this dock afloat;
you could plant me here
and I would grow.
I have grown
in these months,
as I always do,
mind, body and soul
drinking in the new words I learn
and the songs that repeat endlessly on the radio
and the lyrics I find in my head,
only to dig up later,
much later,
and put to wistful chords.
Bare toes,
freckles emerging,
hands seeking refuge in each other,
tinted glass peeling
to reveal more of the interior;
the leather seats
and empty bottles
and eyes lined with smiles
that show through those perpetual frames.
I’ll sit and wait
for as long as it takes,
until that shimmering sun takes its leave
and the only light comes from the old lampposts
that stick out of the water like totem poles,
protecting their darkness.
And when it’s over,
I’ll sigh,
summer escaping from my reddened lips,
you
escaping from my carefree arms,
sand washing from the creases in my old denim shorts
and trickling down the drain,
and I’ll move on.
I always do.

i guess i’m no longer unbreakable

i think this to myself as i look down
at the cracks spreading slowly across my chest
like dangerous veins in the wrong place
as my heart beats out of time
and my breath catches on the words
that try to explain the reason
i cannot speak

i guess i’m no longer hidden

i say this to myself as i step out
from behind a wall of warmth
and winter creeps over my skin once again
just like last year, only this time
it’s actually cold

last winter, i welcomed the cold
as an excuse to disappear into the folds
of a jacket enclosing arms that shut out the snow
like bulletproof glass and denial

i guess i’m no longer bulletproof

because i’m freezing cold, shivering
even under autumn trees and blue skies
i stand, knowing that sooner or later
the snow will swallow me, taking me down
into a real winter this time
with only myself to blame, only myself
to keep me warm

i guess i’ll just have to get used to it

i felt like wearing red today
like a streak of lipstick
or a drop of blood
among the grey air
and the blue snow
i just wanted to make it known
that i was alive today
in my crimson cloud
in my scarlet shroud
in all these bright alliterations
each word becoming the next
the day just flowed like that
and with red around my neck
i was calm
this colour never fails
to bring me down to earth
to bring me round again
to bring the oxygen forth into my lungs
and red like fire, i breathe in
wrapping the maroon shadow closer
cinching it in at the waist
becoming compact, safe, indestructible
becoming real, tangible, solid and contained
red coursing through my veins, i am here again
and the white clouds beckon me upwards
but this pigment keeps me down on earth
and i felt like wearing red today
for fear of fading
back to grey

The idea crossed my mind
as my fingertips touched yours
and I pulled,
ever-so-slightly,
trying to create a new gravity field;
and I think it might have worked
because the air shifted
and outside our oxygen cloud
everything went grey
and we floated.
So maybe I have killed science,
or maybe I have created it.
Either way,
the idea crossed my mind
as this image crossed my heart
(this new science,
gravity sideways and
smiling always)
the idea that perhaps
I should reach down into the endless confines
of my bag
and pull out a pen,
clear plastic betraying the dark ink brewing inside,
uncap it,
and put it to your skin.
I thought of marking it up
with my name,
once,
twice,
three times,
scrawled across the joints of your thumb,
hidden between your two longest fingers,
neatly tucked away when you make a fist
as the letters disappear
into the privacy of your hand.
But it's too soon to sign my name,
too late to ask
or blame the changing times;
so instead,
I leave my weapon where it is,
concealed
within the confines of my pen-and-paper heart,
and I keep my name to myself.
The idea crossed my mind
as the world shifted back
to normal,
colour draining from our little scene
and bleeding back into the solid bones of real life,
and we began to move again,
freed from a slow-motion scene
in which my name fell apart
in the spaces between us
and mended itself
as we moved closer
and closer
together.

i am small
gotta crane my neck to make a connection
look down to feel safe
close my eyes to feel whole again
look in the mirror to remind myself
that i am taller than i think

i am small
in that i lower my voice automatically
when afraid that i might be wrong
in that i look away spontaneously
when afraid that eye contact
might mean more than i want it to

i am small
in that i describe myself that way
and therefore i am
gotta have some excuse
for the crooked, sneaking way
i move through this world
gotta have some reason
for the volume at which i express myself
at 2 hours into the morning
loud and clear upon virtual pages
trying to tell myself
that i am louder than i believe i can be
and that i am right, have been all along

i am small
and i don't mean in age, of course
because my years betray nothing
of true experience
to be honest, i feel like i've lived
decades within my own mind
it's more that image, that casual description
thrown about
of a girl who sticks to the edge of the staircase
a girl who smiles just enough to warm hearts
a girl who looks away before her eyes can speak volumes
a girl who only wants to be a few inches taller, really
even if it's just my soul that grows
or my self-confidence

eight hours is all it takes, i guess
to erase the cobwebs from beneath my eyes
and today i kept reaching up
with shaking, caffeinated fingers
to softly press the skin there
and feel the bruises disappearing
as sleep became less of a constant ache
and more of a comfort

eight hours still seemed impossible
and yet here i am, awake and able
to close my eyes without slipping into grey
able to stand up on solid legs
without fear of buckling and falling

i'm just taking it all in, all these nights
that i have spent wisely
because the countdown in my head
tells me that soon enough, i'll be back
to my old ways, dazed and euphoric
as two or three hours try to rub the shadows
away from my eyelashes
and i will once again be painting my skin each morning
into clarity

i will once again be hiding
behind a curtain of half-lives
and half-lies
and i will once again ignore the need
digging dull nails into my palm
to keep myself in sync

i'm just taking it all in, all these nights
that have brought me back to life
savouring each moment
while the countdown echoes in my head
and the spiders are waiting, ready
to spin their cobwebs again