the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is,
well,
me
traits, quirks, moves that are innately built in to my genetic makeup
are also the things that prevent me from who I am
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is this tight kilted skirt
so tight, in fact, that because I can hardly breathe I find it hard to say what I need to
held in by this waistband that divides me in two
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is this bottle of wine that I have lost myself in,
one, two, three times
alone,
unfocusing the lens of my present onto a picture of the past,
to recede,
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is this profile that I hide behind
this picture of me, head cocked, sly smile, eyes wide
is that really me?
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself is my big mouth that drags me into unfortunate situations,
reveals too much or too little,
gossips, quivers, spits fury and turns upward in a forced motion of supposed happiness
am I –
happy?
am I –
myself?
this city keeps me from being myself because I’m afraid that around every corner that I might see the face of someone I long for or long to harm
the subway keeps me from being myself because there are too many bodies pushing against mine that I am afraid if I touch one more person I might mould into them
the sun keeps me from being myself because in its light I shut my eyes so tightly you can’t see into my soul
this stabbing pain in my stomach keeps me because it’s the only thing I feel and it prevents me from ingesting new moments
my mind is the real culprit:
stories,
stuffed to the brim with tales
chock full of figures from back then and now
blurred visions of faces begged to be forgotten
she steals my eyes sometimes,
my mind,
pulls them out of their sockets and reverses them
to see the gears turning
“I can feel you disappearing”
I am gone;
a cyborg,
my body disintegrates but my mind lives on
transhuman;
transcendent
“myself”
is in photographs ,
imprinted in the sand,
(I always look back to where I sat to remind myself that I leave a mark),
and in words
in –
words
yes,
the curvature of my transcribed thoughts
I live in
words
how foolish I am!
they hold me like my favourite old sweater
smell of my skin
breathe with ease
but now: words on page should mimic words from one’s mouth,
no?
I should speak what I write and write what I speak,
should I not?
guard only my deepest secrets, but speak honestly and freely
then, will I be myself?
fine then, the truth:
once, when I was seventeen I grabbed the hand of a boy I liked and held it in mine to know what it felt like to feel another’s warmth,
when I was four, I lost my hearing to a monster that lived in my canal,
and I never speak of it because although I can’t hear well,
I can feel the vibrations of dishonesty and hate
last week, I broke a bag, my headphones, a mug and a chip in half and cried because I literally felt everything around me fall apart
there:
the truth,
now:
can you see me?
or are the pages of my body still slowly filling up with my stories?
perhaps I will never be “myself” until I lie on my back drawing my last breath
and I reread the words on my skin
and finally find
me.
until then, one last truth:
the one thing that really keeps me from being myself and the one thing I fear will continue to do so:
is me.

a folding table bearing Super-8’s
sits outside as we leave lunch

pressing viewfinder to your algaeic eye,
you aim it at the sky,

at the soles of your feet,

at the dishevelled seller

but never
at

me.

I’m anticipating the day when I wake up with no eyelashes
or when the four ones of my clock turn into two’s
or when all the stars are reabsorbed into the blackness of the sky
because I’ve used them all up

I’ve tied a wish around every lash, number and star
and sent it off into the space between us
in the hopes that you have done the same
and our wishes will collide and be real;
tangible

on those four ones, I wished that
tonight,
more than any other night,
I could hold you in my arms
in my bed, or a bath, or a fluorescently lit parking lot,
and melt you into me;
grasping at your red t-shirt,
inhaling your scent
tonight, more than any other night,
I wish I could run across the distance that separates us
and just simply touch you,
run my fingers across your skin
and feel you flutter and sharpen when I reach your heart

all the fibers of my lashes;
tiny hairs of my DNA,
are covered with wishes
to see your whole body move in sync with your voice

and all the ones are wrapped with the hope
that I can see the expanse of pink and purple sky sitting next to you
and to no longer look at the same one together
but from afar

and those stars only brighten when I think of
how badly I want to kiss all the words and symbols that cover your body

but
I only have so many lashes
and maybe one day my clock will skip the ones before I can see them
there are only so many stars that remain
so I only have so many thoughts
and hopes
and wishes
to attach them to
before soon enough,
I will only be wishing on blank stares
and ticking stares
and tar-coated skies

I only wish on these because I can feel the memory of your escaping me
some days I can’t remember what your laughter sounds like
or how your fingers felt across my back
or how your voice quivered when you asked to kiss me
those moments are escaping me
and I want to be reminded
I want to expose the film of all the photographs I took in my mind
of our time:
T.O. and B.C.:
you and me
and I want more than anything to take more pictures
and record your laughter
and put paint on your fingers as you drag them across my skin
so I am never apart from you.

and so my lashes and ones and stars are laced with thoughts
and hopes
and moments
with you
to come back
to be near
to envelop me.

“the beauty of life as seen and created by a person.”

we draw shapes in

steam on each other’s backs

worthwhile chatter and brave silences between us
our home is wood-paneled and

rehabilitated

tell me you love me in the kitchen
between hot breath and under salt water moons
pull exoskeleton from steamed baths and sunshine beds
sleep soundly on chests;

your moon and mine are the same, the same sky

I long to
crawl and lie in the hollow between
your shoulder and collar bones

sew roses on your jacket

I’d pluck out all my eyelashes so all my wishes
were yours

slide under my word covered sheets
hear my thoughts as you duck under them
of all the songs I’ve heard, yours is the most tantalising
even in a snow covered maze I’d find you

heaven is coming home to you at my table with a cup of coffee.

making do with what we had, we rolled dank ****

into receipts from the bar.
For once, I wasn't worried about getting

caught smoking in a bus shelter.
I fixated on the cheap shots of tequila
and this paper joint
and heckling overdressed blondes
on a Sunday night in

November.
**** "cuffing" -- latching onto a person for warmth and
intimacy as it rolls into December.
For now, I'll stand against this graffiti wall while those

closest to me take ****** iPhone pictures of me
covering my face.

For now, I'll walk up Bathurst
and discuss whether or not beards are a dealbreaker.

I'm picture-locking every look,
every turn
and sound

One day I hope one of my closest
calls and says:
"Remember that night when time stretched out?
Our three sets of footprints cemented a time when we were
in our bodies
and not in our heads."

We left our heads on Queen Street that Sunday.

a wall has been erected in front of me
“new construction, do not pass”
right now it is made of bricks and mortar,
but in the past it was made of wood and bamboo
I have slaved away, day and night building this wall,
a barrier,
in front of me
because I would rather look at bricks than my own reflection
this wall protects me from my greatest fear, which just so happens to be myself
myself, particularly, in love
I spent months constructing this wall
slathering between the cracks all the food I haven’t eaten
painting on all the brick the words I should have said
and tacking pictures of myself in different positions of aching:
curled beneath blue sheets,
inhaling scents of a ratty sweater,
and so this wall is a reminder of who I become when I fall in love
and I have been walking around, behind this wall, with contempt
with ease
because I can laugh and engage and smile behind it
but no one falls in love with me
and I fall in love with no one
right?
until…
you
a six foot small framed high-octane energy bright spark sees me
he saw me
looked through me
past that wall
an anomaly
before I felt my bricks burning at the thought of another looking at me
and the mortar oozed out when a stranger’s arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer
and I boiled over and erupted
and I frantically built that wall right back up
stronger mortar, rougher brick
and continued along,
I have braved the inevitable
I was free from love
yes, finally
but you:
who forget words when I speak
who challenged me to a thumb war to feel my hands before my lips
who wants to make me smile above all else
you are a rarity,
you are air finally entering my lungs,
you see me
you’re chipping away at that wall so slowly
but I am so afraid
before, if someone showed me any sign of love I would leap into their arms
I yearned for warmth and space and heat and rush
I drank bottles of truth serum and I spilled it all until I was empty
this wall never existed
but now:
when you asked me when was the last time someone told me I was beautiful, I cried
and when you told me you wanted to know my past without judgment, I cried
and when you said how you fell asleep looking into my eyes and looked into them hours after yours were closed, I cried
and my chest keeps swelling and sinking and pushing
and it is because I feel as though I am so tainted that you shouldn’t want me
I feel so much; I am a walking hurricane
I breathe nothing but fire
I no longer see stars at night
because I want love more than anything
but I am so deathly terrified of it
this familiar coat of all feelings; a patchwork of combined thoughts
I’ve worn it so many times before that it has ripped in so many places
it’s lost its shape
so I pinned it to the wall
but you,
you stood on the other side of the wall
at a distance, where I kept you
and you took the smallest hammer
and began chiseling away at my brick
and I panicked
because you said I was beautiful
and you loved my eyes
and you see through me
but I stopped myself from building it back
you see through me,
past me,
I should let the rubble surrounding my feet be a reminder of my strength instead of a weakness,
a break,
demolish me
break me into pieces until I am surrounded by dust
you should see all of me
tear down the wall.

I saw two grown men cry this week.

heaving their bodies, weighted with wails

my father with guilt burrowed in his gut
live streams his tears asking anyone for
answers to fix his sick son

my lover wishing to be shattered into dust,
logging each passing thought in emails
parceled with regret

I carry them;
I bundle and swaddle and embrace

I light three matches for each of us,
the flame kissing my index finger

we are one

in the ember I hear

we have taken only one family vacation
I wanted to cut off my finger and send it to you
you promised to protect me

my father is martyred
my love is sleepless
these are my men

and although this week I have had
black thread weaved underneath my skin

and I have carved out my name in my stomach
with worry

and I have been swallowed whole by the memory of
my favourite small town in Long Island

he is black
he is in a drought
he is marred too

I once knew a girl who dragged cheese graters across her ribs
just to hear them clatter against her skin
she would repeat on end:
if you hold your hand out the window long enough,
something might rip it out of its socket

when she was young she would poke the pin of a poppy under her palm on the 11th
and jump from one barrel of hay – she flew for three summers;
someone came one night last month and clad her in stone
her face was pressed in a pillow and she didn’t scream.

she pulled her nail back farther than it was meant to
she was told she’d see a map of her thoughts underneath
she just saw the marsh where the grass used to brush her
-- the pussywillows

if you push a button she will slide down a conveyor
right in front of you
you can take her clothes off with your teeth
put your ear near her mouth to feel –
proceed

a zoetrope of faces, bodies
if you press hard enough you might see
her blood line pulsing
if you find it, track its beat.

I peel

away the enamel mask from your hollow bones.
when the bullet hit, you

said it felt like “a glass
bottle dropped into a porcelain bathtub.”
I mould a

foreign flesh around a sunken cheek,
and you wish to still make love to woman
under a willow tree

and run into a tattoo
parlour to engrave moments across your chest
your breath escapes between your porcelain teeth

glancing over at the wall of borrowed expressions,
you ask which one will

be yours,
covering the blemish.

I paint a new disguise for you:
afraid of water
fond of caves
enamoured by hurricanes
down to delicate hands

I hope it fits

I hope to see you buried in this mask
and not by a second shot
through the skull to gray matter
below the surface of your skin.

today,
while waiting for the 8th Avenue train
a woman with a straw hat and a shopping cart told me:
“Today is going to be a good day for you”
and for once,
in a long time,
I believed her
I believed I no longer had to sit alone with my thoughts in my Davisville apartment
I believed I could walk down 9th to 34th and 35th and 36th and not shatter into a million pieces
I believed I could finally find myself as a whole
and not pieces:
my upper lip on Queens Quay,
or my right elbow on King,
or my grafted skin on College
no,
here, I am one
I am everything that has happened to me
and everything that will happen
I can speak uncensored at the little ******* the train with a yellow sundress
I can leave my laughter echoing across Brooklyn
and my breath floating on my favourite rock in Central Park
I can pass people on Lexington and not break eye contact –
because I want them to look at me
I want them to see me, all of me
and all I am worth
because no one knows me here
and it is so exhilarating to know that they can know me
all of me,
uninhibited
not carrying ten or eleven or twelve bags’ worth of past anguish on all my limbs
they see me here
my soul is alive here
amidst the millions
for too long I have searched for a place of solace and strength
and if you had asked me three years ago if I loved it here
I would rip my hair to shreds and close my eyes and think of home,
Toronto,
but now
if you asked me:
where is home?
if you asked me:
where are you yourself?
if you asked me:
where are you the most happy?
light blue and yellow light streams across my face
and I breath a little easier
and I sit a little taller and I say:
New York City
because on hundred year old streets
clustered with thousands of strangers
surrounded by words from all over the world
I have found myself.

“please be as
big as your space.”

shelve
every moment, big or small for all to see
consume sushi burritos, ice

cream tacos, disappointment and success
you are both the product of your upbringing and
the slick Toronto streets:

your inherent judgement your guide
slide breath into books
and memorize landscapes

and capture soundscapes both mundane and enigmatic
ensure both shoelaces are tied
blazer pressed straight

ensemble thought through;
never neglect finishing touches
absorb Toronto skylines from an Ossington rooftop

walk through frayed soles until heels become flats
leave yourself enough buffer time after clocking out to say
yes to lakeside movies

be here now

you almost drowned that day, as we drank

in the sun by the coast. I mistook your flailing

arms for ones of praise, for the ocean smelt like safety.
I was selfishly tempting the rays to coat

me with a new skin, while she braided her salted hair and
you inhaled mouthfuls of souls lost at sea. When rescued,
all you said was:

“What a day.” And yes, the sand absorbed with ease between our toes
and the waves’ tantrum ended –
but it was the day. We became women who had to put on sunscreen

and eat three full meals and
lie in bed for a day after heartbreak.
My skin was coated with rules and reminders
and her hair was braided with questions
and your lungs inhaled fear.
We were different.

light
this light casts a shadow on me,
one side,
one half,
but I am trapped between the light and the darkness,
this penumbra
a shadow draping itself across my cheek,
cloaking my left arm
and covering my hips
this shadow of the past
from yesterday, last week, last month and beyond
it is so warm and inviting
I feel safe in this cloak of my past
all that has happened up until now
the moment the colour rushed to my cheeks when I saw you
and when I was drained of my blood completely, when I saw you
(with her)
when every meal I ate was a plateful of screws and nuts and bolts and slowly my energy escaped from my shell of a body
when I was pinned up against a wall and swords were thrown at my body by my best companion,
my soul mate,
this blanket of darkness pulls me further back,
it grows arms and legs and claws and grips and seizes me
but I see this light,
this aura,
it is unclear of its shape but I see flashes of myself in the future
in a city where no one knows my name
but where I have found myself
surrounded by faces new and old,
who have lifted me above their heads and are passing me along, in a crowd
until I see you,
whoever you are,
you are so opaque
but I can see your smile from this darkness
and beside you, whoever you are,
stands me:
buoyant, vibrant, clear, strong
my head no longer swivels on my shoulders but is ******* on tight
and my eyes are fixed on one point and breathe life into whatever they are fixated on
I look so sure of myself,
I look like me
and this light brushes my right hand,
and my right temple,
and my right thigh
stroking me gently,
summoning me
she is so vivid and kind
but this darkness,
he is so strong and rough
I have been back to the umbra many times,
****** back into the blackness until the light disappears
it is the only home I’ve known and where my mind wants to go
but this light is so new,
I can stand in front of her,
move into the antumbra,
move in front of the darkness, escape the grasp and shower myself in her
in this new me,
who I want to be,
the struggle persists,
he is my serpent in the garden of Eden,
the Jekyll to my Hyde,
the strongest bottle of absinthe,
and so I am stuck
in this penumbra
shadow clutching; light washing
and I must turn my gaze inward and decide:
which force will I allow to win?
which force will rule me from now on?

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."

I am searching for my bones;
fissured and brittle,
scattered haphazardly amongst full, upright skeletons
between the hairline fractures lie Polaroids of moments,
I slid them between the spaces so they wouldn’t fall out,
I took the sharpest point of lead to all the surfaces and traced the pattern of our descent;
– mine,
have you seen my bones?
I am sifting through dirt and sand to find them,
through shrub and bush,
through strewn sweatshirts and muddy shoes;
the archaeology of my body is missing,
I am weathered;
decayed and holed
I give each bone away in the hopes that maybe later it may be rediscovered
I gave you my wrist for you wanted to write upon it how much you want to hold on to it
and I gave you my pelvis to grasp and grip as I feel yours slide against mine
and I gave you my foot to pick up and place where I should be.
I feel extinct –
do I exist without that which holds my mass of muscles?
I collapse under their weight
I strung up my fingers and hung them around your neck to feel them on your chest when I couldn’t
I broke off that rib and moulded it around your coffee cup to see every morning when you inhale its bitterness
do you read what’s written on the fissures?
I know my writing may be illegible but you must strain, as I did, to see –
those Polaroids are fading; the landscape of the ocean you once photographed is disappearing into white
I am aimless, frameless without them
I am searching for my bones
to gather,
and pile
all in one pit;
a hole of calcium:
built, hollowed frames
and take a hammer to them all;
a mallot,
send shards of bone soaring
I cannot have them in my possession,
holding my poor structure,
my amorphous figure,
and neither can
you.

unfortunately for you,
this poem is based off of real events, places and people
for you: D.H.
to look at your name makes me sick
physically incapable of breathing
keeping down the rise of poison in my lungs
infiltrating my veins,
slowly cracking my bones
this poison is a gnarly concoction of anger and guilt and hurt
for you, D.H.
of which all of this should not be wasted on
but alas, such is love right?
love is willingly letting someone wait for you as you walk the streets of this city with another
that’s love, right?
love is letting someone waste away, miss meals, sleep for days and never have a dry face
that’s love, right?
love is sitting not a month later with someone else on a streetcar while I watch you hold her hand
that’s love, right?
if that is love, then so must be
promising not to hurt someone
telling someone to stay when all they want to do is go
cooking too many meals for that person
too many salty meals
I never told you this, D.H.,
but your first potatoes were too salty
as was that coq au vin
and so are you:
too salty
not enough sweet
I have never wished ill will on anyone
but I wish that for you
I hope one day that you see someone that you believed you might have loved,
if given the chance,
walking down the street with someone else
not a month later
and your heart stops
and you try to breathe
and calm
but your left side goes numb,
as did mine,
and your heart hurts,
as did mine,
and I hope that you fall over
and you gasp and you clutch the Queen West sidewalk
and you look for help
but no one rescues you
no one saves you
because if you don’t use your heart,
why should you have one?
if you don’t love anyone, why should you still have that what makes you love?
that what skips two extra beats when you run a hand down a spine?
that what aches when that person is gone?
that what stops when it’s over?
if all you do is keep and gather and amalgamate secrets that others give you
willingly
and all you do is store them on your hard drive to save
but you give nothing in return,
why should you have a heart?
truthfully, it makes me sad to see you without one
falling from one person into the next,
slipping slowly but gaining nothing but secrets
and giving nothing
but I give e v e r y t h i n g, D.H.
I never forget what is said to me
I never forget what your touch feels like
I never make promises I can’t keep
but evidently:
you can
and if that makes you happy
(which is ******)
and if you can continue on as such
(which is ******)
and if you can live with yourself
(which is ******)
then good riddance
because although an earthquake erupted in my chest
and black crows swarmed into my eyes
and I tasted nothing but too much salt
and I almost fell back into the arms of my former pitied self
I remembered something:
one was that your tattoos are stupid,
two was that I missed your cat more than I missed you
but three was this:
I may love too easily,
but at least I love
at least I let my heart shine through my chest and beam
at least I let it be ripped out again only to build the muscle around it stronger
at least I can say I have loved and I am loved
maybe not by you, Dylan Hopman,
but you missed out on this insanely resilient
and endlessly beating heart of mine.

caution:
please don’t tell me I’m beautiful
because when you leave I will let the tracks of my tears stain my face for so long they will bear holes in my cheeks
and I will sit in front of a mirror and draw on it with lipstick all the features you loved but I now loathe
please don’t tell me you get lost in my eyes
because then I will have to dig them slowly out of their sockets and throw them in the ocean so I don’t drown in them
don’t tell me you love kissing every inch of my body
for then I will have to place an X on every space until I am covered in marks and no one else may ever kiss me where your lips touched that X
please don’t hold me too tightly
for when you’re gone I might have to wrap tape around all my limbs to remember what it felt like to not fall apart
don’t cook for me
even if it’s my favourite: grilled cheese
because when you disappear so will my appetite and my palette
don’t tell me you love my new tattoo because instead of a heartbeat I’ll see your name next to my heart;
the sharp and blunt sound of it causing irregularity in my rhythm
don’t tell me you dream of me
because when you’ve left I will try and sleep forever so maybe I can find you on a school bus or an amusement park in my dreams;
you’ll become a monkey
- mon petit singe -
don’t send me pictures of your face in a content expression
because it is tattooed on my brain and when you choose to go it will be a slideshow of your face gliding its way in front of my eyes
I wish you wouldn’t tell me you want me
because as soon as you said that
I wrote letters with all my stories and sent them floating to you on the lake you go to every night
and I documented my face in all of its varying emotions to assure you that sometimes you may not “want me”
and I called you – long distance;
the space stretched over miles –
while you were watching planes land
and with every word I said I felt like I was nosediving on that plane
I’m stretching my arm so far I can feel my bone separating from my muscle,
expanding across the distance to touch yours
even if I only feel your fingertips
I want to graze them;
feel the spark,
because when we met that spark was dancing around us,
taunting us, breathing us in, zipping past our faces
and I thought you wouldn’t kiss me
I thought maybe your face wouldn’t mould against mine
and I was foolish to think that this was what I had dreamt of
but you asked to kiss me
and when you did the reverb made me lose all thoughts;
I was emancipated from thinking
-- from thinking --
but caution:
please beware,
if you place a thought into my mind it grows roots and sprouts and branches and the leaves drift to the base of my skull
and I am filled with them:
you coming to me
you staying with me
you holding me
the branches grow stronger,
critters stay in there from the past
the birds carry the old memories and sit dangling on the tree,
bearing them;
new and old,
beware my thoughts
caution: do not read
but although I place this disclaimer,
I want you to rake the leaves and climb the branches
and water the roots
and sit by the trunk
and read the book of my thoughts
to absorb all my information, acknowledgments and table of contents
don’t flip through:
read
but beware:
do not plagiarize them to say to another
and don’t copy them word for word
and please don’t highlight them
my leaves are falling around you
smell the bark
and breathe me in.

that summer I tasted music for the first time
I loved a boy who said my knees knocked together like

commuters during rush hour
in his eyes were waves against Barceloneta
and

he slid lyrics in between my ribs at every traffic light

when we made love I saw sound
and

his breath coated me

like varnish

I dreamt I lost him between books at the Rylands;
sliding in and out between hardcovers
I found him soaking

in a clawfoot
masked in steam, coaxing me to slide in

there is a bustle of him in the square,
gradient beard and all

I visit it when we’re apart

despite the stone,
I feel his warmth

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.

I dreamt of you last night
my room was bright, bursting with sunshine
my window open, letting in sounds of a match outside
strangers in my room
but you called
"I have to tell you something
I think you're my soulmate
we were meant to meet
that sticky summer
when I burned at the sun's touch
and you beamed with your bright eyes
and I love you
and I want all of you."
and stunned I only said
"you are the same for me."
I asked how you were
and barely made out your response because the noises outside drowned you out
and I tried to find somewhere quiet
because I haven't heard your voice in three years
I haven't placed my hand in yours for three years
I haven't felt you near for three years
it feels like eternity
like time was stretched over the miles and ocean and land that have separated us for three years
and how often do I think of you
the hint of home in your voice
the tightness of your hold
you, leaning across a table to kiss every feature on my face
I was becoming myself
three years
both gaining and losing control
both seeing and shielding my reality
running to and from myself
and you were there
and I became yours
and I was safe,
finally
and sometimes when I walk
without purpose
down College
or Bathurst
or King
or Richmond
I see you
hovering in doorsteps
and watching on corners
and I hear your roots in your voice
your roundedness
and I am safe
and how I wish you could ground me now
my roots are pulling themselves from the earth
my trunk is decaying
and my leaves fall dead on the ground
I am no longer safe from being cut
all I want is for you to plant me again
as you did three years ago
and water
and feed
and shed light on me
because you were a time when I was happy
you were the broadest smile on my face
you were the lightest air that brushed past me
so when the noise from outside my window masked your voice
I ran to the closet and closed the door
because you are my reminder
that I am loved
that I am thought of
that I am whole.

you look purest in blue light
I sway constantly between self-assured

and broken hearted

every question I’ve had covers my walls
your answers arrows
tied with affirmation

I’ll fill a room with photographs of us when I tell you I love you
catalog every expression
why am I calloused and you so smooth?

promise me you’ll fly me to the moon
I’ll hand paint golden flecks in your eyes

will you maneuver a tweezer through my pink matter –
**** out the burrs?

slide your hand on my thigh
while we drive into Brooklyn

I’ll push myself off screen when the fear takes over

pull me in
wrap me
I am yours

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?