how I fall in love:
unexpectedly and uncertainly
usually under the guide of wine or whiskey, depending on my mood
drowning in a blur of voices and bursts of bright lights
an aura surrounds you; something jumps out at me
tattoos, or a woollen hat
a remark is made,
obvious or otherwise,
about your person
I can’t really see you clearly but I can tell who you are
your eyes are bright
rimmed with red, just like the amber Jameson you’ve downed
but they shine
you shine
I fall backwards into the ocean that are your eyes
I am smiling
when you hold me, I m e l t,
blend into you
I feel stable and erratic all at once
afraid to disappear completely into you
but wanting so much to
your arms are warm, humble and all-encompassing
you hold me
my tongue finds your both inside your mouth and out
it freely expresses how much I need
for once, we are speaking the same language
of patience and comfort and ease
and although I feel free and easy
inside, I race
my heart and thoughts
am I in love with you because you are in love with me?
afraid to
wait,
to give in to your attention to detail to the shape of my body moulded against yours
to the unease and confusion that plagues my mind
to the baggage I am carrying on all my limbs as I am lifted into your arms
to me and what I want
I can’t give you everything just yet
there’s a lock on what I will save until the perfect moment:
when we are laying in bed
yours or mind, no difference
and that secret or feeling or thought is pulsating, vibrating, screaming to be said
and because you are warm
and bright
and a knight of valour
I will say it
all of it
and I will fall backwards into the ocean that are your eyes
and allow myself to be saved from drowning by you.

this room
a room with a view
towering coasters littered with fireworks
a suburban landscape that grew
eighteen years
for a while I thought there was no view beyond these walls
these four barriers that hold
all of me
where I g r e w
eighteen years
from a stumbling child
with pink bows and sturdy white iron
so small in a space so large
I couldn’t fill it
I couldn’t find myself within it yet
this sea of pink frills
but
I curled up with a book every night from what I remember
and I wrote in my first every diary on this bed
and I listened to that prized stereo over and over and over
and as I blossomed this pink palace faded
change
i
changed
so that pink was torn down
and replaced with blue
and green
and purple
and for a while it remained bare
I remained bare
but as I g r e w I was marked
graffiitied
plastered
a rejection here
a death there
I was no longer solid; plain
like these walls, images appeared stuck
who I should be
where I should go
what I should wear
and soon all I saw were these walls
and myself within them
they spoke to me
sometimes in pain
other times in anger; frustration
this cave and sanctuary was my only retreat
writing on the same desk from my childhood about love lost and dreams unfulfilled
I sat in a closet covered in fabric and lost myself in stories
I dance alone facing a mirror, scrutinizing every angle

who was I?

within these walls I found a path
an acceptance
a moment well received and earned
I finally cried tears of joy
new steps, new space
new paint, remove old
images stripped away
from these barriers
red, white, brown
calm
these “barriers” slowly became
arms
they held me
during times of struggle and self-doubt and stress and fear
and I still looked in that mirror and scrutinized
and I still yearned for more of a view
and I still lay broken and heaving in this bed
but I also
g r e w
I left and came back changed one irreplaceable July summer
and
I spoke freely and bravely through the mouth of my pen
and I
smiled brightly at his face on that screen
I g r e w
eighteen years
these arms, once barriers, once only walls
hold everything
all of me
and to leave is bittersweet
for I want to stay
and curl up in this bed
and see my past selves
sitting there with me
to remind me of where I’ve come
I want to sit at that desk and hear
the incessant drumming underneath my floors
I want to hear my mother call me down for dinner
and my father’s hearty laugh
but although these arms hold me
I know they are letting me go
eighteen years
letting me go
to keep on
g r o w i n g
to return changed
but to still see
myself.

In this world I am taught that if I am weak no one will love me
That if I search for it, it may or may not find me
Love, or otherwise
I am taught that to speak loudly or roughly or brashly is unladylike
I must cross my legs and keep my mouth shut
In this world I am told that when I turn sideways I should disappear
That a pile of flesh beyond my hip bones is too fat
That if my bones don't pull against my skin and show I'm not fit
I feel like in this world I have to sleep with anyone who offers just to be touched
To rely on everyone possible because I'm scared to be alone
To say everything, spill it all, to avoid missing a connection
I feel in this world that my brain is too big for my body
My thoughts are lead weights, pushing
That even when silent there is too much noise
and if I wrote down every thought I had, the book would be too long for anyone to read in a lifetime
I wish I could take a flame to every thought, every person, every place that haunted me
enchanting and blessing my brain with a new scent,
a new thought to replace the toxic one
most of these thoughts repeated mean the same thing the second time as they do the first
like on rotation; a rotary
"what can I think of now?"
must keep her occupied
nothing must be blank
think e v e r y t h i n g through
once, twice, three, maybe four times
continue to analyze and dissect and ****
until it is a slab of meat with slices, cuts and bruises over it all
and yes, I meditate
and yes, I breathe
and yes, I gaze
but that does not mean that behind every moment are those thoughts
"what did he mean by 'no feelings'?"
"how can I afford all this?"
"what do I do when I get over there?"
permeating
like black gloves reach from nowhere
take me out of one moment
brilliant and strong and vibrant
and drag me into another so sordid
and destructive
and bleak
back into my head
to the continual rotary of destruction
again and again
"you are not thin enough"
"he won't love you, you're damaged"
"she doesn't like you because you're a *****"
knives and swords
how can  a skull withhold all these punctures?
how can a soul, either?

I feel like a field of land mines are going off in my chest
like a poison has strategically been injected into my veins and my heart is struggling to beat
all I see are splotches of grey and black appearing on my lungs; an X-ray laced with bad news
a wash of thick and viscous sludge poured into and onto my body,
the struggle to push past the gunk
a pile of questions and answers and thoughts and concerns growing exponentially until I
ultimately
e x p l o d e from stress
I sit silently at this desk for a table and hear scattered conversations about dream kicking and the Super Bowl and acting like a zombie
but inside my head are bees creating so much noise I can feel it behind my eyes
and I am checking in with myself,
my outer body telling my inner mind
you are fine
who cares? it's better to sleep alone
who cares? you are working on this one piece
who cares? you can wear your hair however you want
but also I'm coaching myself to breathe, as if I've never learned
one  inhale one  exhale
two  inhale two exhale
three
clear it all
wipe it clean like discarding snow and ice from my mind's windshield
I have never wanted more than to think about nothing at all
to be clear and free of all thoughts
all this noise
whatever happened to silence?
white noise would be preferable at this moment
truthfully,
I would rather be floating in water
the sun shining past my closed eyes and shedding light into my brain
and I am just filled with this l i g h t n e s s that is completely inexplicable and yet so distinct at the same time
as if my outer body is floating beside me
brushing my hand with hers and saying
isn't this just wonderful?
you are f l o a t i n g between reality and fantasy
without a single care
isn't it wonderful?
and it is.

Books
stories lines pages
numbers letters
form
words
words said and unsaid
left whispered between tongues
trapped in mouths
lost in heads
unable to grasp and say aloud
but what if all words were said
all lines were recited as we had imaged them in our minds
what if everything we thought of came pouring out and we meant it
we didn't apologize for the thoughts left in our minds
sometimes I wish I could say everything and anything I feel and mean it
sometimes I wish fear wasn't a factor of life
sometimes I wish we could all be easily loved and could love easily
sometimes I wish the sun shone forever and that
I had naturally blonde hair and
I never bit my nails
and sometimes
I wish I had the fastest metabolism ever so I could eat pizza all the time
and sometimes I wish my little brother would willingly give me a kiss instead of me having to always ask
and sometimes I hope that someone out there thinks about me
and smiles at the thought of me passing through their mind
and wonders where I am now
and wishes me well
and sometimes
I think about where I'll be in five years
and if I'll be more or less happy than I am now
or if something will have happened that changed me forever
and sometimes I wonder what it will be like to outlive my parents
and if I'll be able to go on
and sometimes I wonder who is out there that pulls the gravitational force of people together
and if some guy I've never met knows I'm gonna meet and fall in love with them
but sometimes
I have to let it go
and let the universe take over
and let whatever happen, happen
and let my thoughts run free and just
accept who I am
and what I'm becoming
and be proud of what I do
and who I will be.

We're like two subways passing each other in a tunnel, you and I
There are lights that dot the sides of tunnel,
attempting to guide us through,
but we hardly acknowledge them.
We can see each other in the darkness,
the subtle outline of metal,
the red and white indicators of our existence.
We're carrying so many people in our cars,
people from our past that sit in cars,
each representing different stages of who we are.
And we try and steer these subways through the dark,
searching for one another.
Yours just as full as mine.
The rickety tracks push metal against metal that ring through the hollow of our ears.
And we become distracted by this screeching,
this friction between the rails and our wheels,
and lose sight of each other.
Every station we pull into -
Museum, Queen's Park, St. Patrick -
we expect to catch a glimpse of one another -
going in opposite directions but comforted by the fact that we are in the same station.
We might pick up the same passenger but at different locations,
at different times.
Our paths cross haphazardly.
But I keep wishing that one day
all the lights will point towards me,
and your wheels will stop inches from mine.
And you will look into my cars
and see all those people that have made me,
and I will look into your cars and see all the people that made you
and you will realize
and you will say
"I don't want to keep going from station to station.
I've found my passenger."

Lights are on,
off,
inside and out,
shattered and steel,
sturdy and delicate,
like you and me,
flowing past our eyes as we drive through a tunnel,
as we walk along Yonge and Dundas,
Christmas lights; your favourites,
green and red,
lights that make you want to go out of your way to see
lights that you would be late for work for
lights that shine on this time of us,
this new development,
the next step in this ladder which is built of solid wood
solid,
sturdy,
structured,
able to hold an enormous weight
it pushes down my spine into my sacrum,
it's like all of you is pressing on me,
into me,
and I want it,
not the weight of your body but the weight of your want for me,
need for me,
don't you feel that weight?
it sits on me and it says
"this is what you want,
don't run away,
too long you have tried to run"
but wait
here I am:
in your bed,
my legs tangled with yours,
my lips close to yours,
my heart racing,
and when you kissed me I said
"this is it.
this is right.
I am safe,
I am where I'm supposed to be.
With you."