"Write hard and clear about what hurts." -- Ernest Hemingway

It hurts that my grandmother might not be around for my wedding
It hurts that my grandfather may be, but may not remember it
It hurts that I live so far my from people I love
It hurts knowing they will hurt when I tell them I want to move clear across the country
It hurts that I am stuck here, facing people I would rather avoid
It hurts that a place I called home has turned on me
It hurts more that I may be imagining they have turned on me
It hurts to think I may have disappointed the first person to give me a chance
It hurts that people I once called friends will speak so bitterly about me
It hurts that, ten months later, I so strongly miss someone who melds perfectly with us
It hurts that she would rather run than even attempt to see what it's like
It hurts that she may act so calm, as if nothing happened
It hurts that her facade is so strong, while mine crumbles at the sight of her
It hurts that the longer we go on, the more we risk becoming "that creepy older couple"
It hurts that it hurts him, when I still speak of wanting another
It hurts that I would not be complete without one or the other
It hurts that so many friends are married, and growing families
It hurts that I will have to defend my own choices in growing mine
It hurts that I must defend my family to my family
It hurts that so many people work the job that pays the bills, and the job they really love
It hurts that the job I love must be revealed strategically
It hurts that who I am must be revealed strategically
It hurts anticipating the hurt that will come from that judgement
It hurts when I try to broaden my horizons, and I can see the hurt in my best friend's eyes
It hurts watching people not fulfill their full potential
It hurts watching people work so hard, but still gain so little
It hurts working so hard in my job, becoming so tired that my joy, my passion falls by the wayside
It hurts that we work so hard for things that do not truly comfort us
It hurts that we take so little for granted
It hurts that we take so many for granted

My body is made up of tiny building blocks
stacked together tightly by those who don't want to see me fall.
But my mind sings words that my heart is too afraid to hear
and as I start to sway, the wind hums
with the rhythm that my mind is playing
my blocks shake and the ones who built me try to silence the music
by shoving magic pills down my throat like I'm some fairy tale.
Late at night when the world sleeps,
my music plays softly through the iron bars in which it is caged in.
I start to dance again and I am finally myself.
But my music is nails on a chalk board.
Angry now, rattling my bones
The blocks fall out of place
with every movement and I feel alive.
I remove my blocks one by one
and I lose myself
My music no longer sounds beautiful
because nothing is beautiful anymore
as my body crumbles
and I realize that my dream,
my paradise,
was a nightmare.

One.
Beautiful and young. Wise in the worst ways possible,
You took your own life by hanging yourself in the shower.
Your mother, clawing at splintered wood to reach you.

Two.
They said it was your fault.
That when four boys tugged you up the stairs to play Red Light, Green Light with your body,
You should have known they were colour-blind.
You should have known they would not stop.

Three.
We grew up in the same town, through the same years, with the same people
I never once say your face, or the picture they released of you, bent over, sick, on a window sill.
But I remember the first time I heard your name, the day they took you off life support.

Four.
They call you Angel now that you're gone.
They say our school was where we tried to clip your wings.
I wish I could say that was my doing.
I wish I could say that if I had been the one with the scissors,
you would have stayed. Grounded.
Icarus would never have fallen had I been the one to hold him back

Five.
I see your face in every stranger.

Six.
I hesitate before saying your name like its a curse word and there is a child standing next to me.

Seven.
I am getting tired of retelling your story over and over with the details no one else seems to hear and being expected to feel guilty for a crime I did not commit.

Eight.
I know it's not your fault,
You were a hard pill to swallow and were spit back out so many times it started to taste bitter.
But the world left over has scared compassion away with death threats to people we both thought we lovedbecause no one can figure out who to blame.

Nine..
I don't want to hate you.
But every negative feeling I have, towards the boys, the camera, towards locked doors and street corner gossip is wrapped up in you.
Your death has woven itself through friendships and titles and torn apart everything I thought could make me feel safe;
replaced it with vigilantes out for blood, replaced it with a hatred I didn't know exsisted.

Just look at what you've left us with.

Ten.
I wish you were here.
I wish I could meet you, have something other to hold onto than this.

Other than saying home and knowing they hear danger zone
I say nothing. They do not forget. You remind them of where I am from.

You have tainted every cherished memory, discredited every word this Cole Harbour **** could ever say.

Its where we tried to grow up,
Its where I found myself while you lost yours
But I learned to take pride in where I'm from
And I cannot apologize.

one.
we traced outlines of our frames
in chalk on sidewalks

two.
You asked me if I would marry you under the oak tree
in your backyard with fireflies as our
witnesses  
I said, I do

three.
We started kindergarten
today and I asked you to
build our future house out of legos
you looked at me like I had three heads and
pushed me down.
They said, Boys will be boys
you said the same thing on my porch that
afternoon but you gave me a flower you picked
from your mother’s garden and said you wouldn’t do it again.

four.
You stopped coming over to catch fireflies
and hold my hand.
My mom said that we grew apart
but I told her that we had promised to get married
in spring in your parents yard under the tree we climbed
that year when I fell and broke my arm.
She told me I fell in love like a child
but
how could i fall in love any other way?

five.
So isn’t it fitting that I fell in love with a Boy
afraid of heights?
Who never even had foreknowledge of what it felt like to fall.

Mary Jane

Seducer of young men and women.

Shaking hands at ten bucks a pop,
Then pulling them in to an embrace they cannot escape from.

Even if they'd wanted to.

You are the green outsides when
Their insides are blue.

You promise them solution,
relief.
But rarely follow through.

YOU are something I despise.

And I,
am not just some prep.

Some ***-head-hating *****
who knocks it before she's tried.

I tried,

to hang on, that is.

While you pulled them away from me.

I'll never forget the look in her too-red eyes
when she told me I couldn't stay.
That she'd made other plans that day.

That day and every other from then on.

I could smell your perfume tangled in her hair.
When she hugged me good bye.

That's twice now.

Twice now you stole my best friend
With promises of popularity and good humor.

That's twice you ripped out my heart.

Twice too many times.
I've written sobering rhymes against you.

And they were not the first.

I know I can't blame you, completely.

You didn't take their names.
You didn't make them make the choice,
You didn't force their voice to strip me down to tears.

And you didn't tell me to say no, when I had the chance
To dance with you.

But you gave them the option to,
All the while,
Whispering sweet nothings into their ears.

Pulling at their fingertips.

Promising gifts you could not guarantee.

And last night,
I could taste you on his lips.

I could see your shadow forming in his lungs
As he spoke.

So, Mary Jane.
I am begging you.

Please.

Don't.

Don't show him that their is no other lover better than the company of you.

Don't show him the side of you that only
One who'd tried it could know
And let him love it.

I don't think I could take another blow
of your breath in my face,

If,
...when...
With diffident intentions,
He turns away.

Hey you, Mr. Bad Influence,
Who the **** do you think you are?

Strutting in here with your stupid, too-tight sweater, smug grin and reeking of mary jane's latest perfume.
I, for one, am not impressed by your ***** hipster/bad boy/deep and artistic attitude.

You're like one really bad habit the world forgot to break.
You're a good liar, and an articulate debater,
the kind of guy that makes you want to tear out your hair
because their very existence is so incredibly perplexing.

In the worst ways possible.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU.

You are junk food.
You are addicted to dying and make it annoyingly attractive.

You're all, "I don't care what anybody thinks of me."
You're all, "Challenge accepted."
You're all, "Look at me, I'm talented and smart and totally make it seem like I waste it on unconventional activities and tempt other people to do the same despite the fact that they might not have the skills necessary to pull that **** off."

And I know that everybody else probably thinks you are some, great guy but I,
refuse to buy into that
cool and detached act.

Because you, are not some great guy, Mr. Bad Influence.

You peer pressured me into falling for your smile.
You tricked me into getting caught, red handed, hoping you felt the same.
You dare me, every day, to trust you a little more and I am only so strong.

I don't do dependancies.
But I've thought about taking up smoking just so I can taste you on the exhale,
I mean, just so I'll  have something to miss that isn't you,
I mean, you're not even trying and I'm already hooked

You need a ******* warning label.

You are, frustrating and dangerous and toxic enough to stunt my growth;
I will never have another day I won't find you in my poems.
I wanna miss you right.

You are so wrong.

You are not some. Great. Guy.

Boy. You are everything I never wanted.
And yet I find myself here, missing you
Before I've even left.

Who am I?
I'm a dreamer. I'm hopeful. I'm a bag of bones interconected with emotions, through my veins runs as much excitement as blood.

I am messy hair, small eyes and steady hands and my hair is as wild as me, and my small eyes catch all the  beauty hidden in the corners, and my steady hands become an earthquake when I'm about to be kissed.

I'm in my twenties. I'm a teenager in matters of love and I'm a grandma when taking care of my friends. I'm a beast when it comes to fighting and I'm the weakest when it comes to crying. I feel too much and show too little.

I'm a daughter, a sister and a friend. I'm worried. I'm anxious. I'm happy. I'm a rave as much as I'm a book and coffee. I talk until my voice fades but my mouth is a tomb for secrets.

I'm a writer and a reader. I'm a dancing machine and a shower singer.

I'm raising an eyebrow when I don't believe you. I'm a random kiss on the shoulder when I love you. I'm cafuné when I care for you.

I'm optimistic. I'm cautious. I'm becoming what I always wanted to be. I'm strongheaded and lighthearted. I'm in constant wait for the world to show me this is not it and fairytale endings exist.

I have a message for the kid sitting in the back of the classroom
You know, the one with the bruises, ask him what's wrong he'll give you the dumbest excuses
"I fell down the stairs, and ran into the door"
But stairs and doors don't give black eyes and broken bones so what are you lying for?

I have a message for the prettiest girl in school
You know, The one hiding behind all that make-up and hairspray
Pretending she couldn't be having  a better day
Yet she's afraid to go back to her broken home
Because her step-dad hurts her mom and her brother won't leave her alone
School is her sanctuary
What you don't know can be scary.

I have a message for the boy on his skateboard
Sellings drugs and liquor to make a quick buck
Then he got caught for possession and now he's stuck
In that cell all by himself remembering what his friends said
"We're bros, forever" But they left him for dead.

I got a message for that wierd girl in the lunchroom
The one that eats alone,
She has no place to call home
She smells bad because she doesn't own a shower
Living in shelters, her life is out of her power
Because her parents messed up she has to hurt
But she wants to do better so she does her school work

I have a message for the boy blogging
Those cuts on his wrists are not cat scratches
They're more like past mistakes left on his arms in patches
He can't help how sad he always feels
But he refuses to be that kid "on pills"

I have a message for that girl with the strict parents
Wishing she could bring her girlfriend to meet the family
But she knows if she did they wouldn't be happy
Because being gay is a sin
And if you're gay you're not kin

****, what a world we live in.

I have a message for all the messed up kids
Who struggle in the daily lives they live.
You will be okay
Things will get better someday.
So put away that blade and pick up that paint brush
Don't end your life before you've felt the rush
Wait until you've had your first kiss
I promise you there will be so many moments of bliss
Put down that bottle of pills
You of all people deserve life's thrills
I know sometimes it's hard to catch the curveballs life throws your way,
Just get low and get ready to play

To the kids who feel lost and alone
I will be the one to welcome you home