i wonder
if i stripped this black liner
from my eyelids
if I scratched the pink
from my cheeks
if i showed my true colours
(not much different from the mask, but still
it feels like it to me)
i wonder
if i pulled my second skin, peeled
away the layer of doubt
would you still find me
beautiful?

Sometimes
I like to break,
pause the fighting,
sit down
and try to think my way out of this
instead.

And I realize
that's why I feel so trapped:
Because inside my head,

I am free.

Only a crack,
a fissure between the fabric and the wall;
but the sunlight is bright enough
to make me want to close my eyes.
I don't, though;
darkness is not an option today.

things i have begun to remember:

the last time i stood in full sunlight
i felt like i was drowning

the last time i swam upwards
i broke the rough surface, gasping for air
and you were there

i have not met your eyes
in a year and a half
at least, not in person
and this brings me to my knees
and in my head, i hear you
saying drink

the last time i stood in full sunlight
i was drunk and drowning in you

i slipped out
into the waves of watercolour
that broke themselves upon the shore
of the horizon
and i disappeared
as they darkened into black

i escaped through the sunset
as words were climbing up my legs
setting fire to my ears
and forcing me to retreat away
from the choking letters and sinking ink
that tattooed all this sound into my skin

at first, the sunset saved me
and the waves that gently hit the dock felt like a heartbeat
telling me that this was how it would always be

but soon, i began to miss the panic
just for the simple fact that it was a feeling
and the sunset had stolen them all from me
leaving me bare, black and stretched high above
unable to land on the ground again
unable to even blink stars down onto the grass
unable to do anything
other than wait for the sun to rise again

but solstice has already passed
and the dark hours grow longer again
and i am pulled thin, veiling a world
that accepts me as the night
and doesn't even miss the stars

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

you make me feel beautiful
and that, to me
is a superpower
your cape of words, your compliments
keep saving me, and i swear
there’s something surreal here, insane
i feel lifted, caught
by more than just the wind beneath my feet
no, i’m more poetic than that
i feel
almost worth it, almost beautiful
almost ready

Before you fall in love,
you think you want it
and you let that want
put you to sleep at night
like a lullaby.
When you're in love,
you think you understand it,
bathing in the dangerous comfort
that keeps you up at night
like a fast-paced song
or an off-colour thought.
But when you've let love run its course,
no remorse,
low pain, high tolerance
and closure
that settles into your skull
like fine, wise dust-
then, you actually understand love,
you get it now,
and the colours painting the world around you
move in different strokes,
some cynical, but now you know
that nothing will ever be as clear, or
as clean
as that first time,
and that some bittersweet
is okay when it comes to memory-
you're done with clean, now it's time
for gloriously, beautifully *****.

"surprise me"
that's what i wanted to say
ever felt like i held back? well i did
but it's not what you think at all, no wall
hiding unknown i don't love you's
or small problems just waiting to erupt, no
that isn't it, i just wanted to say
"surprise me"

but i never let myself ask
and i truly believe this was the right decision
because i can live with suspense
and with secret resentment
and comfortable silence, but never
never with disappointment
and i know for a fact that "surprise me"
would have surprised you, taken aback
you would have been like a fish out of water
that classic old term, gasping
for the air necessary to comply
and you would have died like that, thrashing out
a clear pattern onto the soft grass, spelling
"sorry"

and maybe this image is too violent
for such a trivial thing
but the fact is, it's like that to me
a life-or-death moment, that question
because if you can't surprise me
"please, anything, do it for me"

if you can't surprise me
then nobody can
and i know you can't
so nobody can

there's gotta be somebody out there
who can surprise me

i step out
and the rain greets me like a blessing
bestowed by some great silence
i speak to each sunday
and i take this as an answer
because why the hell not

i am suddenly sure i have left something behind
but no, my bag is there
notebooks tucked under my arm
ipod clutched in one hand
phone safe inside my jacket
consorting with my keys
(proof I've got somewhere to go)
travel mug empty, wallet full
of receipts and loyalty cards

finally, pricked by the bent arm of a button
i give up, knowing it's all in my head
and i have everything i need to survive today

still, i feel like something's missing

my right hand clings to my scarf
fingers tight, knuckles white
as if to say
"give me something to hold onto"
and the rain that stings my face reminds me

i have everything i need to survive today
except you

these are my apologetic heartbeats
i am sorry but i will be late
because my arteries are running behind
and you will get there before me
but please don’t take it to heart
(that’s a pun
to lighten the mood)

nothing but the metaphorical truth
because i speak better in images
and pretty thoughts
and objects replacing feelings
so i can actually hold them
touch them
prove their existence

i think i’ll take this tightening in my chest
and turn it into a rubber band
stretch it between my two hands
and snap it
releasing the tension

i think i’ll take this weakness in my stomach
and turn it into a butterfly
which is pretty generic
but i want it to fly away

i think i’ll take this somewhat guilty weight
and turn it into a stone
grey and lifeless
and pointless
and i will drop it into the water
see the ripples spreading outwards
and touch them for good luck
tasting the tips of my fingers
to alleviate the cold

i think i’ll take this weird emptiness
and turn it into a poem
so i can raise the words up and run my fingers
through the letters
so i can print it and frame it
and smash the glass
and take the blood
and stain the paper
and crumple it up
and throw it down
to prove that it exists

and see if
when i look down at myself
the words are there
the glass is there
the blood is there
the lines are there
and i have been thrown onto the ground

these are my apologetic heartbeats
saying
sorry
but you cannot make us concrete
until you write us down
are you happy now?

this is something I don’t usually say:
“talk to me.”
no, seriously, I hate it
when those words appear before me
and your mouth moves,
all serious and stuff,
no smiles.
I like your smiles,
they’re part of your face
and I like your face
and when you say
“talk to me”
your eyes straighten, open
wide like your mouth
which has shrunk
and your cheeks are hollow,
smiles pushed down your throat
and the words form
from that unnatural emptiness.
it troubles me, really
that you’d say it.
it troubles me more
that I’ve said it now,
that my own mouth has created this monster
because I know you will say “yes”
and I know I will comply
and I know the conversation will be full
of things I don’t like
like serious words
and ugly phrases
and honest emotions
(because I don’t know how to lie)
(except I don’t know how to feel)
(so I guess I’ll have to lie)
and then when it’s over,
will I feel better?
it’s something I don’t ask myself,
for fear of having the answer:
“why won’t you talk to me?”
I’ll talk to you.

There is a lesson
among the others
that I have failed to learn.
A mother's wail,
a child's cry,
the tortured sighs
and lonely eyes-
these signs,
these misgivings,
these misguided reasons
become lost on me.
It's the pain,
the uncultured beginnings
of a slowly spreading weight
that I fail to see
in full colour.
I look to the sky
at the words;
tell me it's raining
and I will believe you,
but the water will not touch me.
I look up,
searching
for the tears among raindrops,
the carbon
among the breathable air,
looking for the cats-
looking for the dogs-
but finding only a beautiful rain.
And ashamed
for not understanding
the pain that it takes
to be like the people I see,
sitting at the window
just like me,
but whose blank stares
and sighs
mirror nothing
inside my own soul.
I have wished to feel that pain,
if only for a day,
just to understand
the way it takes hold.
I have searched
for that sincerity,
and found only the clarity
of somebody who skips through life
making eye contact easily.
But sometimes,
instead,
I look down at the ground,
trying to find what they search so hard for;
trying to pick it up again
and lift it towards the sky.
I don't need a reason why
I just do.

hey you
i’d just like to offer
a silent, heartfelt thank you
for a few words that struck me
down, falling through
that veil of reality
and arriving, finally
in a place where i was alive for a moment
so weird, breathless
that i actually held my hand
to my chest
if seeing is believing, then
i truly believe
that the palm of my hand
saw my heart beat, so
hey you
i’d just like to offer
the smile that cracked my jawline
wide open, i’ll hold it
in my hands, saying
hey you, look what you did
you broke me
thank you

this is what you get when you are honest
like, really honest
like, the kind of honest where it takes you an hour
to find the courage to be yourself
and have it choked back down
by your own clenching jaw, saying
stop it with that honesty, idiot
you're making a fool of yourself
if those tears let loose
your pride will trickle out with them
and we can't have that can we?
this is what you get when you are honest
no
this is what you get when you try to be honest
a reminder
that it's a virtue best left untouched
or at least framed
like a pretty picture
a painting of pride
once the acrylic has dried
(and it doesn't take long)
you'll be fine

You
do not rhyme
with me,
and I can see that.
-even from here-
One day I passed you
-or you
passed me-
but only I know
that you did not see
me
-only I know
the difference-
you looked
but did not see.
We do not rhyme,
-you and me-
together
we make
-dissonant-
harmony,
we make
-useless-
eye contact;
we do not
-wish we could-
rhyme,
you and I.
One day I saw you
-not just looked
but saw-
and
it scared me,
the
-obvious-
thoughts
in your head,
the
-unrhyming-
poetry
written on your face,
the
-unfailing-
-unwavering-
-unrelenting-
-untamed-
knowle­dge
that side
-by-
side,
we do not rhyme.
And so I wrote
-one day-
-one afternoon-
a ballad
for you and me.
It doesn’t rhyme.
It can’t be put to music.
It can’t be
what you might expect,
-never-
but
this is how I am.
Unrhyming.
-sorry-

In the bag,
you can find a dictionary;
you can find words
like
“alone,”
“gone.”

You can find
a week’s worth
of candy wrappers,
too many empty pill-bottles,
blunt pencils
and ripped pages
and crumpled notes
and band-aids
that didn’t help.

If you looked deeper,
you might find lottery tickets,
forgotten phone numbers
and puzzle pieces
and more empty things,
bottles,
containers,
bags,
hearts.

More words:
“lost,”
“missing,”
“unknown;”

some dust
and pennies
and elastic bands
and plastic knives
and drastic decisions
and

nothing

except
maybe

a few more words

explain to me the difference
between open and closed
negative and positive, for i am told
that it is negative to be closed
and yet being proactive, a positive person
i am shut down, and fine with it
sometimes
i give in, and i open
some small window
every once in a while
somewhat drunk, under some influence
and i give in to the theory
the convention
that it will make me feel better to do so
so i do
and instead, i feel
different
that’s all i can say, as the breeze drifts through
the rift i have made
and the air is cold as it touches my veins
and i want to close the window again
but the glass is broken
and i will never be the same

wet shoes
sit by the fireplace
drying, socks too
sweet smoke travels upwards
trying to find the stars, but
it's still got a while to go

i'd laugh more often
if life was funnier
wouldn't you?
but it's not, is it?

more likely to make you cry than anything
so it's nice to get away
from the furnace of regular life
isn't it?

that, i can laugh at
my own hilarity
seems stale when i'm alone

can you help me out?
make me laugh?
make me cry?
make me want to breathe deeper?
i need that need, you know
just like you do

and you do, there's no denying
the shadows and spiderwebs creeping
over your face
you can't replace
the smell of oxygen
with the smell of car exhaust
and expect it not to show
can you?

no, you can't
it's not even a question
make me laugh, will you?
i'm feeling tired

someone take me for a ride
run down the side of some old tumbling hill
i'm tired of slowing down
steady snapping of fingers
in my pocket, deep within
i have this rhythm fighting to get out
and it's echoed in the beating of my heart
an uneven, fluttering drum
trying to interpret this morse code
relay the message

but what is the message?
all i know is
my limbs are heavy and my fingers are weak
my mind is strong but somehow
my heart and soul just won't play along
today is a lead-filled day
all sullen footsteps and empty thoughts
and lines scratched into the sand
wiped away by the slow shuffle
up and down stairs
as my feet try and find the right place to be
at the right time
and the clock screams out its lines, telling me
i'll always be too late
i'll always be one step ahead
i'll always be right in the middle
i'll always be like this, nowhere and everywhere
important and invisible

what is the message?
my eyes are dim and my ears are dull
and my senses are sleeping
while i, trapped inside
am trying to escape a cage
whose bars are made of nothing
bent by nothing, shaped by nothing
i am held in by nothing
am i nothing?

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

cold morning, warm heart
and burning concrete beneath feet
that are tired of playing along
to the off-beat rhythm of the cars that pass
covering any other sound

and i contemplate the difference
between the ocean and the sea
in an effort to stop thinking

well, there it goes again
no matter the metaphor, i'm always full circle
swinging back into this pattern
looking for noise, looking for colour
looking for a distraction

distracted from myself, i turn
to speak to empty air, just trying
to start a conversation with less meaning
than the days have been holding for me

give me weather talk, give me politics
give me capital punishment, for crying out loud
give me something to debate
that will not affect me

and i contemplate the difference
between me and my feelings
in an effort to prove that they are
without a doubt
separate beings

cold morning, warm heart
beating away from my chest
as fast as it can

there was a man in front
of me on the bus, sitting
cross-legged, casual with
one arm draped along the side
of the seat next to him as if
it were his long-time lover, and
there was a ring on his finger so
i guess it worked out
and he glanced back at me
and i looked out the window
trying not to be curious or poetic

there was a man diagonal
from me on the train and he looked
familiar but i could not place
his face, maybe reincarnation is an actual thing, i thought
to myself as he exhaled and turned
the other way, so
i guess not because if it was
meant to be then his eyes would have stayed
and he looked twice at me
like a stranger
and i felt ashamed

there was a man behind
me on the street and his steps were
uneven, swaying in difficult sound waves
along the cement and i could hear him
muttering under his breath but
i didn't look back for fear he might
raise his voice
because there is truth in madness and
i am afraid of that

today my poetry was
staggered and the people around me were
ragged and worn and familiar and torn and
my sentences broke off in the wrong
places, spaces hovering between letters and
i tried to explain my fear of
the human race
but this is just a poem and
the line breaks are weird and
i am sorry but
this is how my mind was today
and i am just being honest
these people make me
afraid

I walk forward,
'nets gripping my thighs
and goosebumps raining from my arms
while warmth spreads through my body,
shedding the chill
as if by magic.

Silk and buttons and pretend lace,
cheap boots,
expensive lipstick,
a night out
with confidence by my side.
There's a laugh here too;
it keeps echoing across the bare valleys of my collarbones
and finding its way to my ears.
I resist the urge to turn and share.
Instead,
I smile, taking half-part,
saving a few for a rainier,
colder day.

A shoulder bump,
warm skin brushing against thin cloth,
pulling away from the wrong
and inventing the right;
stepping to the left
and creating space,
solidifying the distance.

I walk forward,
'nets gripping my thighs,
holding onto my skirt
and letting that chill back in,
discarding the easy warmth.
I walk forward,
giving it up,
giving it away,
shedding the feeling,
shedding the idea of it
as if by magic.

Fishnets,
holes,
spaces,
filled

by warm magic.

and one day i thought
i’d like to see the world through my father’s eyes
all roots and vines
and the simple need to create
and the feeling of dirt between your fingers
what does it feel like
to understand how the world works?
not its people, no, more important than that
how the seeds and the buds
and the soil interact
how to make something from nothing
from a small speck enveloped by your hand
i don’t understand
but you do
and we are the same height, but when i look at you
i am looking up
i am looking forward into the horizon
trying to see the sunset like you do
trying to understand the weary way you sit down
and the tired vigor with which you rise early each morning
to begin the cycle again
and i see you standing there, immobile
leaning for a brief moment on the handle of your *****
and i see the world dancing around you
just waiting for the movement of your hands, waiting
for the next order, the next command
the next request, as you begin again
and i try to understand
today, i thought
i'd like to see the world through my father's eyes

drying my eyes with the crumpled plane tickets
that brought me here
as the new ones slowly print, inch by inch
and the ink dries upon my cheeks
and the time has been tattooed into my eyelids
ticking away, ticking closer and closer
to the end

closing my ears to the sound of cars
passing by on an open road
as the sound of wheels on concrete presses
into my memory and suddenly
i am in a taxi, speeding towards the last drop
of this city, and part of me is left behind
among the crashing water of spring
and the wood chips of an abandoned playground
and the puddles that we avoided as we ran
uncontrollably down the street
laughing

i am not laughing now, except to appear
alive as the boy who makes my coffee
makes me a joke too, free of charge
and i don’t want him or anyone to worry about me
so my mouth opens a crack, and my eyes fold inwards
and he smiles, placing my drink on the counter
and i burn my tongue trying to drown
that fake laugh

the tickets are done printing
the zipper has been forced
over the gaps between my fingers
where your hand should be
and the puzzle wavers as i pack it, but
the pieces stay together, at least until
i close the suitcase
and somehow, i am confident
that it will remain intact

i crumple the tickets in my hand
in an effort to make them look old
as if the summer had already passed
and i was on my way back to fill my empty palm
with warm skin, soft words and a hard press
of my mouth to the sound of something akin to home

i can feel the push and pull of two places
that have shaped me and are shaping me still
as my body curves around the ribs
and hips of a new kind of comfort
and the stiff seat in this airplane
reminds me that i am never as comfortable
as when i am with you

and i resign myself to sunny months
and warm music
and the discomfort of a puzzle
that is trying its hardest
to stay together

and i resign myself to dipping my toes in the water each night
pulling out the glue from between them
and keeping the pieces together
pressing my hand into the soft wood of the dock
in an effort to shut out the cold air

and i resign myself to the confidence i feel
knowing time will be on my side
when i need it to be

i throw the old tickets in the trash
and slip the new ones inside my passport
ready
to keep myself together

things i have come to realize:

i have not lit a candle in a very long time
and i miss that real flame

i have not gone a day without music
since the last time life was silent
i was afraid

i have not heard your voice
in a year and a half
at least, not in person
and this strikes me to the ground
and in my head, i hear you
yell timber

i have not lit a candle in a very long time
not since the last time i got burned

This is why I am here
instead of there.
It’s all because of you
and your twisted neck,
turning too far
just to smile once more in my direction.
It’s because of you
and your reasons,
your forward thoughts
and backwards compliments,
chasing some dream
that I know you’ll achieve
because that’s just how it works.
It would be unfair of me
to point out the possibility
of failure.
It’s because of you
that I look on the bright side.
“If not today,”
I think,
“then tomorrow.”
With you,
there is always tomorrow.

once i was drunk for the first time
i wanted to be drunk all of the time
but thankfully
i was too broke
to be an alcoholic
that feeling didn't last long
anyways, so i guess i'm safe
got the money now to self-destruct
and yet i shy away
glad that when i felt that pull
i was too broke
to be an alcoholic

sometimes
i read my own writing
and wonder what it's like to know me

hoping the words will open a window
let the clean air in
so i can climb through the frame
inspect the damage, avoid
the broken glass
turn on the lights

wishing the words would be more straightforward
yes and no
black and white
this is how you feel
deal with it

well, i feel done with dealing with it
in monochrome, shades of grey
stealing away the colours
of a cartoon landscape
i think that this would be easier dealt with
if i could see it all through stained glass
diamond-shaped panes
breaking up the scene, shattering
the illusions unseen
and through rose-coloured glasses
black and white become so much more obvious
to my strained, searching eyes

sometimes
i read my own simple, twisted writing
and i wonder what it's like to know me
not the words, not the straight lines
that curve around my soul
but the soft ones
that make up my body, that protect
my smile and my eyes
and the ones that lead gently down to my hands
twisting around each other
in some dance
that attempts to hide the constant urge
to write out my disbelief in the existence
of myself

yes and no
still escape me
but i keep finding shards of stained glass
like a treasure hunt, like some accidental quest
picking them up from the damp sidewalk
discovering them cutting into an open palm
and i take them, then accept the offered hand
looking off into the sunset
through the bright blue and blood-red
of sharp reality

sometimes
i find the words
before they find me

I looked down today,
down past the cracks
in the sidewalk,
into a clear sheet of water
unmarked by time
and I saw you.
It sounds so poetic,
but it's true;
the chance to speak your name
and give life to the past-
it felt natural, and
comfortable
in a way that scared me,
settled there among the new snow
and the crowded room of strangers.
Your smile, just the idea
that I should defend you,
every imperfection
within which fault could be found
was laid down before me
and trust me, I know
how to look past each twisted corner
and make the edges fit
and see you there before me
as if you'd never folded yourself
in the first place.
Unbend, I want to say,
unfold your wings and fly
into today.

words swim
free-spirited *******, never there
when i want them to be, just
please
for once
make me a sentence that will kick-start my brain
into productivity
and i will be so grateful
words laugh
at my rigid fingers, poised
above the keyboard, swearing
in black-and-white
at the screen, as the words wait
in space above me, dangling
teasing me, **** this
procrastinating again
and the only words that come to mind
are not appropriate
for a university paper

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

as the white moon roared over the mountains
and the black sky slid down toward the sea
my silent footsteps screamed the words at me
a violent sunrise is on the way
and nature's never been
more dear to me
than now
i answered back, threw my thoughts
across the sand
and shattered them on the horizon
watched them fall among the trees near shore
and heard the roots beneath me rustle
foreign land shifted around me
and here, hours from home
i felt glorious and alone
as the blue sun rose up from the water
and the waves crashed down at my feet
and the violent sunrise was over
leaving daylight
clear skies
and me

want

to touch something,
anything.
to feel surface, electricity,
rough, smooth, endless,
anything.
to be somewhere,
outside or inside,
somewhere with light.
to feel a knee touching mine,
to feel the movement
of somebody else's breath.
to connect,
eye to eye
and palm to palm.

need

to be there now,
in contact with clothing
or skin
or both,
to be moving in time with the rest of the world.
to feel a knee touching mine
and staying there,
to have heat pass through space
and join us.
to connect,
eye to eye
and soul to soul
and palm to palm.

reality*

i am floating

I wrote this on the spot,
without a thought
as to who might read it.

I wrote this on a whim,
sink or swim,
I told myself,
trying to catch my thoughts as they floated by,
grab on
and make it to shore.

I wrote this sitting there,
on the rocky bank
of my escaped fate,
dripping with grateful water
and empty.

I wrote this empty,
trying to fill the space left over
from the thoughts that did escape;
I caught a few
and saved myself

but of course
I wasn't satisfied.
Sink or swim,
I told myself,
you knew how it would go.

I wrote this sitting there,
ashamed
and childish
and wanting more from myself.

I wrote this on a whim,
sink or swim,
I told myself,
write it now
or you'll forget.

I wrote this on the spot,
without a thought
as to who might read it
or why.

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

spent years wandering halls
cutting the "i" from my sentences
forming words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

guess that describes me pretty well
all consonants, harsh "t" and definite "d"
and the ever-slippery "y", like me
never making up its mind

felt like a half-learned language
still do, really
like someone forgot to learn the proper nouns
forgot to turn the sentence around
grab the sound and speak it

there's an accent colouring my life
awkward and stuttering, unsure
and never fluent enough
to step in time with the music
for long enough to make it matter

words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

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?

I don't feel
present
in the moment.
Looking from the outside in
and yet
trapped
inside my body.
Handwriting,
familiar;
voice,
silent;
thoughts,
ignored.
A few steps behind;
a few steps,

and I'm right back where I started.

In this past year I have become dormant,
confidence
invested somewhere safe
and then left behind,
no trail,
no evidence.
Only me.
Now, among these tall trees,
emerging buds
and flowers,
faces tipped toward the sun,
I lie down.
Eyes closed,
I surrender
to who I used to be;
almost willingly,
with an ease that scares me.

And I'm right back where I started.

all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
wild sister of the street
wild mother of the hungry sky
something poetic
like wild girl, roaming
more than just a wisp born
of country air
wild wind, ******* forward
through the field
across a country deep and cracked
until i reach the skyline
scrapers extending beyond the reach
of any mountain, and the stars rest
above the smog of the home
where the wild ones rest
where the wild ones lie awake
and i can camouflage myself
in the darks and reds and glittery bedspreads
and be wild
in a different way
paint me wild, paint me
green and blue with envy
paint my cheeks white, paint over the pink
of stale summer air
all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
break away, go some place
where i can tell my story a million different ways
and they might believe me
make me wild in another way
no more ***** shoes or burdock-ridden hair
give me sharp heels, black combat
sleek and shiny, change me
make me wild
and i sink to my knees
sink into the soft, welcoming concrete
and say please, city
change me

I kept hearing poetry today,
and like a true critic
I skimmed the cream off the milk
and saved the best bits for later,
dismissing the rest as trivial, general
life.
I edited, cut, nip-and-tuck jobs
to the words that I found on the road,
and the ones left lying under my chair
I straightened out, ironed
until they were good as new.
I took glue to my wanton collection,
pasted together each part of each story
and tried to make the edges fit.
I kept hearing poetry today,
and this is what I made of it:

it's not so bad out there today
sit down, girl, you're gonna fall
he's wrong again, i'm tired of this
i agree with you, go for it
sometimes it's good to talk about it
well, that's messed up
here, let me help you with that
you're beautiful
a compliment always does the trick
are you ready yet?
the day is finally over, thank god

That last one was me
as the door slammed shut
and the wild poetry was left outside
to consort with the wind
and bother somebody else.

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

on the way home
i listened to music
that made me think of you
blessing each note
with my mind, saying
"thank you for understanding
every single time"
and i say this to the music
because i cannot say it to your face
and yes, i just compared you
to the corner of my life
where everything is sound and i feel safe
and yes, it is
a compliment

honestly?
your happiness makes my throat drown
in some sort of almost-tearful
rise to the occasion
of your smile
and every sad word, or quick avoidance
dries me up, aching
with a strong want for the alleviation
of whatever it is that drags your footsteps
whatever it is that brings you down to my level
and closer to understanding me
and perhaps it's that fear of complete openness
that makes me rush to brighten your day
or maybe it's just the fact
that i care
either way, i do what i can and more
to paint the clouds away
for you