is suffering
with boulders on your eyelids;
splinters in your chest
and then finding perfect sight and a calm breath

that is samsara

midnight was exhilarating
afoot, steadfast with a purpose
of leaving one place
to get to another

but it turned over to one in the morning
and that was nervousness of time,
of premonition and marvel shock;

then time was two and I lit a candle
in my bedroom for you
but you said three
so I read a book that often calms me

though three turned over to four
and you still haven’t come by my door

I cannot find sleep
I’m a sucker for closure
why didn’t you come?

every ounce, raw
legs ******* necks
authentic because this time history
didn’t exist
or the future
just timelessness, innocence and lots of kissing
unexpected like car crashes and so familiar like eggs in the morning
like the feeling of not sleeping in your own bed for a few days and then getting to again
relief, in a way
and sighs
but mostly raw
with passion that draped over us like a canopy of red roses and white silky fabrics
I think that might have been the most connected we’ve ever been
I think that’s because we aren’t attached to each other in any way, anymore
real,
raw,
exactly the same
completely new
everything is all over the place and as condensed as an aerosol can of hairspray
at the same time;
my hair grew
your face thinned
and we are in exactly the same place

tongue-tied butterflies, the tickling flutter inside
but it’s not the good kind,
it’s the sucker-punch kind that makes you nauseous and want to stay in bed
all day
looking out your window until your heavy hulk eyelids snap shut
and you dream of the fantasy
where you are not this wretched, evil or confused and
everything makes sense there

all you do is dance with one person underneath the leaf-canopy of a sycamore tree

you kiss and your bellies rumble with laughter, for each other, with each other

and when the other scurries off to do their own thing, you are alone,
but you’re alright
because you’ve seen what you look like in the mirror, and you’ve never been so pleased with yourself

the meaning of love in this faerie land forest is to simply, be, as you are
with nothing but yourself
nothing but your hands,
nothing but your eyes
nothing but your heart

it’s the sparking connection, touching someone else, and seeing their lips curl into the most vivacious grin

it makes love special but it doesn’t make love, for you already are such, regardless of another’s breath

I awaken at the sound of chirping birds, my window still glowing of
shady sunlight
tongue-tied butterflies, the tickling flutter inside
but it’s not the good kind, it’s the sucker-punch kind that makes you sick,
waking you up
to reality

I find it funny that the first time we ever kissed,
your lips only barely brushed mine
like light wind upon sand,
moving my heart just a little bit, but not quite enough for me to kiss you back,

it was an agonizing craving 

because wanting to mimic your lips
with mine as badly as I did
had been quietly, yet evidently
suppressed with my palm
pressed up against your chest 

to push you away

maybe it’s not funny after all

but at the time, I wasn’t aware of what it would feel like 

to lose you

when your arms were gently wrapped around me under white fluffy blankets

and your whisper
sent me into
a lullaby of tranquility  
I was safe there, a lucky penny
put inside your pocket

I didn’t know, one day, I would let my head go

and kiss you back
until there were no more clothes or distractions,

the piercing judgments cloaked underneath our timeless innocence 
 


I didn’t know, one day, I’d be as loved as a flower is loved by the sun
and soil
and that my heart would make itself entirely available to be nurtured



I still find it funny the night we held hands 

all the way to the bus stop 

and skipped a little like children on their way to school in the summertime

when the bus pulled up, you kissed me but I didn’t place a palm
to push you away

this time,
regardless of how many passengers
would see us

underneath the moonlight 

it just felt right



and I find it really beautiful 

when you let me cry like a small child that had just lost both of her parents
in a car accident

my snot got all over your t-shirt and all you did was rub my back
and whisper

I love you, sweetie



I didn’t know, one day, when you called
to tell me 

those exact same words,

I would hang up on you

because being that loved would become as
terrifying
as letting go of sickness

I didn’t know, one day, I would welcome you into my heart with
tantric grace,
and another day, attack you with
my own self loathing, 

creating a moat around my trueness so you could never get in again

I think I mostly find our first kiss funny

because I knew you knew
I wanted to kiss you back

the entire time

but waited months instead  

and you were okay with that

I didn’t know, one day, missing you
would make my heart ache
like one million pins were stuck in it

I didn’t know, one day, I’d be as ready
as this
but it’d be too late

I know what it’s like to be heartbroken too

it feels like a bomb

like the flowers that have been eaten alive by aphids

always sitting with you, uncomfortable,

a notch tighter on your belt loop after a heavy meal

or someone taking an unflattering picture of you and posting it all over the internet

you are ugly to yourself now,
and quiet because of it

I lost my clarity after I ran up the hill and rolled down it, clumsily with joy

it must have fallen out of my pocket or dripped out of my eye sockets
as they teared up from the pollen

I ask myself

what is true?

but it’s harder here, when I can’t be certain if there’s a ghost hanging around in my frontal lobe or if it’s just the pulsating fear of being kicked to the curb

that’s what being heartbroken is like -

always feeling like you’re being kicked to the curb for no good reason

it’s like,
what’s the point of getting up in the morning? I’ll make breakfast and then somebody will hurt me again

the point is
learning how to decipher the difference between apathy and acceptance

you’ll get there

redemption doesn’t count or feel at all rewarding if everything is easy

my heart got sick the day I left

my heart got sick right before the plane took off

lamppost, firefly, sunlight

but I’m shy

I love you but silence is still mine

real life is sad

you lose sometimes

if you ever hear me cry, please don’t make fun

it’s just,

my heart will love you whenever I’m happy

the sun comes up and the sun goes down

but I’m all over the place with smiling and shutting people out

I think

I can miss you and not need you at the same time

but I will never tell you I love you

because silence is still mine

there is light
and the angels beckon you
to watch them dance underneath it,
with it,
between the rays,
in it,
with a wish that after a glimpse
of salubrious sunlight and soulful sways
to the subtle beat of the Earth’s vibrations
and the wholehearted laughter of the Buddhas bellies
you will breathe in
and out,
the millisecond of a pause between
the in
and
the out,
you will stop
you will surrender
you will die for bliss
you will leave your body and fly to the
castle in the sky
toward the light
to dance with them underneath it,
with it,
between the rays
in it

a lot of people I know
are never really happy
even when they’re happy, they’re really just sad

a lot of people I know
settle for just about anything
they’ll settle for emotional abuse and then settle for a deep addiction to feel better about the emotional abuse they’re letting themselves prostrate to
as long as it can still make “living” seem feasible,
they’ll settle
because nobody taught them how to ask for what they want,
so all this time they never ******* knew they were granted permission to feel worthy of getting what they want
because this world likes to think that nobody is entitled to feel worthy or to give into clarity

a lot of people I know
get off on damaging themselves
because blood and burns and bones and ***** and *** and pills and puke
are such disgusting in-your-face secrets
and this world knows it’s not acceptable to just blatantly write
“I hate myself” on your forehead with permanent marker for everyone else to see
yes, this stupid, guileful world we live in decided to trick everyone into believing that secrecy and suppression are what make a person
interesting and loveable

a lot of people I know
have this wicked demon inside of them
and they like to imagine it looks like a fiery nightmare,
red like terror
with a devilish face; poisonous eyes and a heartless grin;
a face that says “I own you”
just so that they can reinforce their ideas of worthlessness
and the self-pity of not having true control over themselves
when really, they can always have true control whenever they want

what *a lot of people I know don’t know is that
that wicked demon thing inside of them
is really just a flower wilting, starving, dying,
waiting, hoping, longing to be watered
and wondering what the **** they did
to be tortured like this

I started to write a love poem about you
but then it turned into a love poem about someone else
that’s what getting over someone is like
it comes in portions
one day
I’ll write an entire love poem or song about you
maybe 7 or 8
I hope right now
you can settle for half

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room

the floor is concrete
the walls are concrete
the ceiling is concrete

the candle is wax and wick
and I am skin and blood and cartilage and bone and hair and nail and water and guts and sad

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room
the yellow light of the fire makes things look tenebrous and cryptic
there are tiny cracks in the skin on my hand like a million piece puzzle of the ocean
tiny cracks between tiny triangles and diamonds
they make my hand
my hand holds a match
the match lights a candle
the candle burns
in an empty concrete room

concrete reminds me of falling off my bicycle and scraping my knees
and dungeons
and the weeds that grow in the cracks of every sidewalk

candles remind me of Christmas
and yoga in the dark
and my step-mother hoping her house smells like home
and calming down

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room,
crying bitterly at seclusion
my heart pounded to the flame’s flicker and a heavy thought tumbled into mud,
thickening it
it dried and I couldn’t cry

I don’t mean anything to this candle or this concrete
but there is something about a fire in a room built so rough and quiet
that makes me feel like
my voice is heard

this kind of readiness to leave
everything behind
is protruding
as much as I've always wanted my
hipbones
to

I wish there was a better way to say I just cut myself again
a tidier way,
something that makes it sound less morbid and a bit more romantic
like barbados
like *** on the beach
for the irony of sabotaging a fling of intimacy for myself
sabotaging swimsuit and short-shorts season
I don’t want anyone to touch me
or even look at me
anyway
so it’s all in my favour
with
nails that are painted colourful like clowns
and there’s a red and white polkadot bow in my hair
personally, I think it’s kind of funny
that when people look through a kaleidoscope, all they see is
pretty colours instead of shards of broken glass

my
libido
has
slowly
been
shutting
down
each
time
I
have
an
opportunity
with
intimacy
with
somebody
that
isn’t
**you

it’s not as real
as it feels
that’s how it always goes
attraction
primrose passion
mediocre marvelling
then
I want to leave this city
and
you were never good enough for me

patterns
echoes
come back to me like a boomerang

I haven’t seen you in clarity
in a long time

a horse race track
and I am galloping, number 9,
with blinders on the sides of my eyes

running to run, not
running to win, just
running for running
away

I thirst for distance, yet
recognition
it’s easy to take one step too far away
it’s not easy to stay
it’s easy to regret anything

still, maybe I am barefoot at your door
when the neighbourhood is asleep
I dreamt you and my best friend fell in love
and she didn’t know about us
you drank lemonade and held hands
a perfect summer romance

I haven’t seen you in so long
but I saw you last week

your name is famous
to an ice rink,
to the sky I spoke to today
it echoes, even in a field

or perhaps
just in my head
brain, batting its lashes
at your name

it echoes all the same

blue
the colour is always blue
when I want something
when Father won’t answer me
my pillow

my curtains, but they’re swept to the sides and the blinds are up
the sky is white
I’ve never seen the sky so white
it looks sick
the branches look violent, like they are deprived of attention
everything looks sick

that tree I can see, means so much to me
when I feel something, I pretend it is feeling the same thing
like impatient the other day, it must’ve been too
with no leaves come past springtime
it makes me blue

the colour is always blue
when I’m in love
blankets
sometimes my eyes
when I ask Father to dinner tonight or lunch tomorrow and he replies
“maybe Wednesday, not sure”
blue is the cover of the book of poetry I had written
and abandoned
blue is sadness
blue is the colour of giving up
sometimes hope

blue is the colour of people’s hair in my nightmares, when I get so frustrated their hair isn’t brown or blonde and I try so hard to change it,
it’s always going to be blue
and I wake up from thinking too much

most of my wardrobe
polkadots and stripes
shades on my canvases
I use blue
like it’s mine
like it’s me

my favourite colour is blue
it has always been blue

the sun oozed under my eyelids until I couldn’t keep them shut any longer

I laid there and heard the silence of my house in the morning

there were birds and they sung songs that made me feel heartsick

I didn’t have a hangover

Sam told me, in the most nonchalant way, that he spoke about me to someone I deeply admire and they like my music

first time I watched Tangled and I wanted to punch the mother in the face but I couldn’t because she is a cartoon

Lyra and I both had tender tummies and painted our nails like a rainbow

baths are beginning to feed into my sick games of numbing myself

blatant malnourishment

brash abandon of my self-worth  

my mind wobbled over to the fact that someone I deeply admire likes my music and that I must be more noticeable than I think I am

maybe that’s not true though

I swear my dog died about ten times today

I am a plant and this couch is my ***

Am I noticeable?

when I eat too much and feel bloated, I just pretend that I’m pregnant and sometimes even talk to my stomach as if there was a fetus inside of it

I don't think many people do those kinds of things when they're alone

a french accent is beginning to fit me better than an english one, like finding an old dress in a closet and surprising yourself in the mirror

I talked to myself all day because - loneliness

have you heard the wind stirring like a whisk in a bowl of raw egg
there isn’t one chief direction it blows
it’s everywhere
over roof tops, through each blade of grass, leaves, your hair, your skirt, your skin hurts
cold
blush bitten
soft to scraped
there is this murmuring noise that is too difficult to block out
because it stops - all of a sudden
then begins again
with no real rhythm
like a pulsating addiction
trying to get your attention
it’s me
it’s me
it’s me!
why aren’t you listening?
why won’t you look at me?
hello?
I’m still here
I’m still here
I’m still here!
why are you leaving?
where are you going?
hello?
it’s me
why are you ignoring me?
I’ll snap this tree and shatter your window
I’ll cut the telephone pole wires
I’ll crack cement deep enough for you to trip in
what do I have to do for you to notice me?
hello!
it’s me
it’s me
it’s me!

knew the other
like we knew the sky
I was often rainy grey
you were often the perfect summer day

made love
on three different occasions
in total, five times
it was kept secret
the last time was more remarkable
than any other intimate night

surrendered ourselves
to fate

will never stop loving each other
even when I hate
all that exists

are timelessly compatible
but it wouldn’t make sense
and it’s not the time for that
though we are timeless

are nothing
together
and everything  
because of it

will see each other again
probably in a new country
a new continent
that is almost a fact to me

will never stop loving each other
that is a fact to me

there are loose leaves
at the bottom of my teacup
I rarely finish drinking the thing
- instead I stare through the dark transparent liquid
at barely-floating twiggy tea leaves that
escaped from the bag
I am forgetful
and unforgiving of myself
I am too easily entranced by
lights and thin branches that dance above muddy grass
my eyes see things breathe
like marbled floors and brick buildings
I am so enraptured by rabbit fur
and tree bark
rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and I love the game of seeing how close I can get to them
before they leap away

when I think of bliss,
I think of not knowing what is coming next
more even, not caring

when I think of bliss,
I think of running after rabbits
or petting a tree
I do these things when no one’s looking
so no one catches the crazy in me

there are loose coffee grounds
at the bottom of my mug
caffeine kills me
and I love the taste
of the cruelty
but my body is hurting
again
like last year
where fainting and falling and confusing my words in conversation
arose every time I felt an anxious feeling
nudge its way in deeper
maybe it’s just way of giving up
my body surrendering in complete so that I feel full effect
of how badly I’ve treated it
it’s hurting again
so much that sometimes I can barely get out of bed
or get off the bus
and walk the trek home in the nippy night

I see rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and oh look, I am repeating myself
again
I hardly notice because my head is hurting
like there are a million and one hurricanes
inside of it
less of a crash and more like a rush
there is a difference between headaches
and light headedness
both hurt though
still I’m ashamed I’m lightheaded all the time
there is a weakness in it
that only frail people can relate to,
the scatterbrains, the unconcentrated, the anorexics, the cancer patients
the sick-of-some-sort
what am I?

I’ll see you when my pockets fill
with money and boredom and love that spills
out, flooding streets,
roads, fields, highways, sky
there’s endless width and length
and space that spreads so far
between two hearts that never blink when
eyes are clear and mouths make smiles
between us,
two hearts that met in perfect age
in date, in term, in season, in phase
I guess,
it’s up to loss,
I guess, it’s up to luck
maybe to the extent of giving up
or, I hope,
to the extent of dedication
not so firm, just light
like effortless rays of delight
and stars and space and the milky way
- it’s honest to say
I want to see you yesterday

I’ll see you if a wish comes true
I’ll make your bed and lay with you
sunsets **** worthlessness in the summertime
and nighttime is my favourite here
the moon and I made friends last year
I’ll introduce you to Her Majesty, I’ll introduce you to
our River Valley
my fingers crave your shoulder blades
the muscles,
warmth,
squishy skin I love to hold
and if you saw the bunnies hop, your mouth would drop,
your eyes would pop

my goodness, I’m losing my sense of strength
I’m so used to telling myself I need the restraint
all the time
my god, all the time
from glory & cheer & bliss
and most of all, waning to kiss and kiss
and kiss you
it hurts to want so much, so bad
it hurts to want what I can’t have

my hopes take a swim like
flags in the wind
there’s not one real thing that tells me
you love me
I say this because I’m not sure if intuition
is real
I think we just like to make things up to feel
wanted or worth it
or divine, even just a little bit
there’s not one real thing that tells me
I love you
but this scope of time and distance
tells me our version of the word
"us"
has no ambit
there is no measure
no limit
and sun is just as great as us,
and we are just as great as air
it’s impossible to express
because what we have is so rare

it’ll be shaved legs and summer dresses
without cardigans
sunkissed hair, skin, eyes even
though you’ll never know, I wonder,
would your eyes burst out of their sockets
like rockets
if you saw that much of my skin
under healthy light?
instead of naked in your bed
I’m untouchable,
a fantasy, barefoot in a meadow
skin so wanted
- though she’ll be wearing hers
blatantly and ready
for you to have,
smoking a cigarette she says is her
last
because
‘she’s only smoked three
this week’
she’s proud, sure she is
though you’re not even sure you care at all
and the sun makes the day longer
the moon makes the night as romantic
as Paris
and you’ll get along
even though you don’t smoke
and she doesn’t know what it means
to not need you
and she doesn’t know what it means
when you’re with and crave the skin
of another woman
- like me for instance -
but you’ll get along
like sea turtles or baby pandas playing
under sheets or
spontaneously in your kitchen
weaving breaths
weaving beats
an effortless ******
then heavy sleep
because you two know what it’s like
to know each other that well
yeah,
you’ll get along  
for months to come

there are vanilla scented candles
and plaid scarves,
acrylic paints of every ******* colour
and wool socks,
a closet full of pretty dresses
and a bookshelf full of good reads
but I’m not happy

there is laughing
there is smiling
there is feeling good
sometimes
but I’m so unsatisfied
with what I’ve got
though I seem to have just about
everything

I have a good mother
I have friends that care
I have blankets
I have good teeth
I have rubber boots
some people say I have nice legs
I have compassion
I have the drive to create
I have trees
I have long hair
some people say I have kindness
I have a bus pass
I have a new job
I have flexibility
I have enough money
some people say I have talent
but I’m unappreciative
and ******* myself  
still

there are booked gigs
and improv shows,
interesting conversations
and instruments,
trees and leaves and twigs
and pinecones,
the sky,
the zoo,
the cafes
but I get insecure most of the time

there are long hot baths
and biting nails,
then painting nails,
then repainting nails
and biding time,
then hating time,
then being okay with time,
there are long stares in the mirror
sometimes glares
sometimes there are puffy eyes
there is frustration
in my fingers
in my head
in my voice
at the piano
on stage
being vulnerable in a crowd of cool actors and musicians
fear of being seen
fear of being unseen
fear of doing it WRONG
fear of looking stupid
looking ugly
looking pathetic
sounding stupid
sounding ugly
sounding pathetic

there are dreams of leaving
this city
this head
these people I have known
for what seems like forever
there are dreams of healing
and loving my skin
and the natural amount of fat
that is underneath it
there are dreams out there
there are so many of them
that I’m afraid to wish
that I’m afraid to think of
from caution of them not happening
from caution of disappointment
and loneliness
and neediness,
then purposelessness

there is wanting
and wanting
and wanting
something better
I don’t know what
just something better
but waiting
and waiting
and waiting
for it to come to me
instead of
trying
and going
and getting
it myself

I am one of the lucky ones that has a high sensitivity to malignancy
I still wear it myself like a cape in the cold
but I can detect a sick person almost right away
some say that’s not very nice to say
though I’d rather know who’s a waste of my time than find out later when I’ve invested my heart & soul into the person
that’s part of what makes me a sick person,
investing myself too much in other people
and isn’t it funny
how we forget about these people that meant so much to us
once
obsession has its terminus
there are cusps a person trips off of that leave them falling,
spiralling into a new obsession or phase or life
or numbness
that’s why memory is so beautiful
even if it hurts a lot
it reminds us we are never going to be the same as we used to be
there’s something peaceful about that
though the sick find it tormenting

coffee drizzles
it’s tasty
& comforting
there’s too much snow
it won’t stop snowing
the window is getting boring
all I can think about
is the muffin I just ate
& what it will be like to be
home again
where all I think about
are the things I’ve just eaten
& sometimes why I haven’t
really left
my hometown yet
& not just for another getaway trip
but for good
I’ve always thought
a grey day
is the perfect metaphor
for how I feel most of the time
but so does everyone else
so I am just like
all of those other boring people
with boring lives
like this window
& the mother with the four
very plain looking kids
three tables down
& the muffins lined up
on the counter top
for boring people like me to buy
as they wait
for a plane to come to
carry them to a whole
new world
where routine doesn’t exist
only margaritas & surf’s up
or else,
to carry them back home
back to reality
back to functioning like
a complete robot
in the safety of
fear
there is a plane waiting to take off
just sitting on the runway
I wonder when it’ll get going
I wonder where everyone inside of it
is going
& where I am going
& what I am doing
here
instead of living
I watch snow fall out of a window
when it could soak me up
& give me a reason to sit
by the fireplace
with blankets, tea & a book
whether I am alone
or with a lover, friend, cat or dog
I can see
how that sounds more boring
than sitting in an airport
eating muffins
but it is exciting
to me
because it is happiness
to me

I miss using words
like acrylic paint
I miss the strokes
my mind would create
but nothing feels
as good as peace
there isn’t one word
that can give that kind of release

there, your bed is rocking
as it cradles another woman
beneath your chest
lips beneath your lips
I’m not sure if I care or not
I do a little bit
but I signed up for this without hesitation
a part of me wonders if there was hesitation
in your head
when you heard the front door squeak open
and my bedroom light turn on,
then quickly go out as I shut the door behind me
you’re not loud at all
but it’s 12:47
and I knew you were seeing her tonight
I knew you don’t usually fall asleep this early
I knew I would be coming home to this
I knew I’d have to face what I thought I’d be fine facing
but the ativan is kicking in
boy am I glad I brought it with me
and I’m not sure if I can hear her moaning
or if that’s just a car vrooming past my window outside
a lot of people call this kind of situation
****** up
or extremely strange
I don’t feel ****** up
maybe I feel a little strange
I’m just starting to question
so much,
everything
it’s healthy but it’s hurting
not as sharp as betrayal hurts,
because I’m not being betrayed in any way
it’s just the fogginess of confusion  
that makes you not know where you’re going
and it’s that familiar stagnancy and going-in-circles routine
that has begun to wring my head around
and my heart too, ever so slightly
but I’ll sigh instead of cry this time
not because I’m forcing back tears
but because I really don’t need them right now
and I’m okay
as long as I’m still wanting to live
and truth be told,
I am still wanting to live
because I need nothing but myself, really
that’s the truest truth there is
I’m fine, though a bit torn
but I’m fine and that’s basically all that matters

glass castle,
somebody save me
I feel like
everybody always
n e e d s  m e
when will I
b r e a t h e?
come inside & keep warm
in my glass castle,
somebody save me
it looks
s t a b le
lotsa food on the table
but of course
you know
glass is
f r a g i l e
it breaks when my heart
a c h e s
glass castle,
somebody save us
I’ve let you all down

we make things
we paint
we write
we sing
we play
we act
we create something beautiful
that has never ever existed before
we are unique
we are brilliant
we are healers
we make people feel depth
we have such potential
but we never see any of that
we just create
and create
and create
mindlessly & mindfully
continuously
hopefully
but we rarely stop and see the effect
our creations have on other people
once in awhile, someone will tell us,
“you are inspiring
your lyrics describe the way I feel inside
I have never felt this understood in my whole life”
and we are deeply touched
sincerely
and we are inspired to help more and more
and we create more and more
and forget more and more
the effect our art has on other people
we are humble
we are genius
yet incredibly daft sometimes

Remember,

people care about you

they think about you far more than you think they do

they see something that reminds them of you on the street or in a store and they smile because you are a great person and they love that they know you

knowing you makes them happy

knowing you might make them sad too, because sometimes people want more from you than you’re willing to give, but you shouldn’t dwell on making them upset because you are still great and you still bring more happiness to them on most days

sometimes people get sad and that’s not your fault

it is not your job to make a person feel better, and changing who you are just to make them feel better is just a false sense of loyalty that you’re showing them; and anyway, it is far more rewarding to nurture other people by being true to who you are because it is simultaneously nurturing yourself.

when you are sick, get as much affection as you possibly can and do not feel bad about it

tell someone you love them because you just do, not because you feel guilty, obligated or crave their approval

it’s not the end of the world if people don’t need you and it’s probably not the healthiest thing if they are constantly depending on you to clean their messy lives up all the time

you will never regret putting “go to the library” on your to-do list, even if you are swamped and stressed with other things to do; there is nothing quite like being among a whole world of books

don’t be embarrassed about your laugh or blowing your nose in public or even turning bright red when you do get embarrassed because there is nothing wrong with any of these things

you can be sincere or you can be manipulative, but remember that you know how it feels to be manipulated too

people ******* over all the time, but that just makes them people and you are just the same as these people because you do it too, so lighten up and see it’s not a big deal, but don’t let them walk all over you time and time again because that is just disrespectful to yourself

learn when to stay and when to walk away

you are awesome

you know what?

sometimes you just need to

go to bed

drop those stupid little obsessions that take away from good rest

I swear your head will let the light in through slumber

yes, I know you are antsy for another cup of water

yes, it’s that thirst from an absent father

yes, I’m sure there are many to blame

but sometimes you just gotta

pluck ‘til you’re bare

naked enough to share

may you be vulnerable

may you be raw and sincere

yeah, you’re lost

yeah, you’re stuck in some corner where no one can find you

but if you haven’t felt a pinch of peace in a while, get the **** up

try a different method

or you’ll cry and you’ll curse ‘til you feel nothing else

I know pride is hard to give in

and I understand how you just want to lose

but when the storm starts thundering

you’ll be alone

so get on with your life and just let it go

did you hear what I said?

just go to bed

worry is a problem that will add on to your problem

even though you feel ****** up,

you think you’re not enough,

you are human, you’re alive, you’re great

so shut the **** up a little bit

but also, know you’re allowed

to feel like you’re in hell

though you can be free if you choose not to dwell

on all that **** that makes your heart ache

and gives you nauseating anxiety

the kind of **** that pulls you away from succeeding

it’s addicting

I know that kind of pain is hard to give in

and I understand how you want to feel like ****

but when the storm starts thundering

you have the choice to die or the choice to live

so let it go

and let the real you show

and love the day

and love the night

and hold yourself like everything’s going to be alright

just ******* let it go already

I swear that you’ll feel much more stable

and much more steady

when I loved you, I wrote poetry every day
sometimes for long hours at night
I would walk around my neighbourhood in the middle of the night with a cigarette
between *******,
but I never inhaled because I never wanted to get addicted
I was already too addicted to you
and other behaviours that made it so hard to love you

but when I did love you, I’d write beautiful words on my skin
with permanent marker
because I liked the idea of a tattoo but knew I’d never get one
real permanence scared me
I’m the kind of person that changes her mind as often as she changes the colour of her nail polish
(nearly every day)
what a relevant metaphor; you were my untrue tattoo

when I loved you, I’d stay up really late wondering
if you were high or drunk again or ******* some pretty young girl
and when I got my chance, I’d kiss you til the windows of your
parked-in-the-middle-of-nowhere truck would steam up
what kind of love is that anyway?
it was a sport
an always-on-your-toes, merciless game
waiting to score
waiting to lose

but when I really loved you, none of it actually existed
it was just you and me and a long road of ******* ahead of us
it didn’t matter until it did
it came and left as it was
and love was as true as it could’ve been
we happened to each other
just because

we never write as much when we are in love
and if we do write as much, we never write the same way
we get so much more boring
we could write a sad poem every day
and it would be much more interesting than an
everything-is-perfect poem
happiness has very little substance
have you ever noticed that most mainstream music is
aggressively depressing?
we write when there's something missing
or when we feel cold toward the world
and want to stick it to the man with a good 'ol *******
a writer in love will only produce a masterpiece if who they love
doesn't love them back
falling in love with someone that loves you back feels like having
everything you need
and there becomes no reason to write because there is no need to write
most people feel misunderstood when they're sad
and people only want to soak themselves in art if it makes them feel
understood
so, art has got to be sad too, hasn't it?

I’m telling you, it’s not about the inability to smile
or the bad posture
it’s not about the lack of appetite or the dark circles under your eyes
you’ll get to sleep soon
a good, deep, fresh sleep that’ll nurture you back to sanity
or at least gaiety  
it’s just today,
I swear you’re still beautiful and blessed
the mirror might be making a cruel joke on you
but that’s just today
you’re no rat, okay?
(hell, even rats can be beautiful, but I still do think you are much more heavenly and beautiful than a rat)
maybe someone or something gritty poked a pin in and it’s
draining you all out
energy all out
shine all out
sense all out
but it’s just today and you can get it back tomorrow
or the next day
(though, don’t put it off too long or else you’ll be swimming with the sharks - and I’m not saying you’ll be one of the sharks, more like plankton for a feast)
you’ll get it back
you will
and it’s not about failing to get somewhere or getting somewhere to fail all over again,
it isn’t about failure
it isn’t about success either
it’s just about breathing because sometimes that’s all you can do
until maybe you get that good sleep and can grin again
like you used to

I sat in a snowbank
because I could
my *** froze, then my thighs, then my toes
the extremities began to hurt on their way to numbness
and I thought,
I could sit here all day even though I’m in such pain
and I thought,
it’s something I do every single day

I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in saying hello. I believe in shyness. I believe in fear of rejection. I believe in the need of affection. I believe in the need of reminders. I believe in candles, especially those that smell of vanilla or christmas. I believe in wearing small crystals around my neck. I believe in energetic vibrations. I believe in colours - I think each person has their own colour. I believe every feeling is valid. I believe in chapstick and I believe in mascara that doesn’t clump. I believe in nail polish - every colour of nail polish. I believe that the only reason we lie is because we fear something. I believe in poetry. I believe in bluntness. I believe in the intention behind words, but I don’t necessarily believe in words. I believe in travel. I believe in travelling solo. In fact, I believe in travelling so much that it is pretty much all I want to do. I believe in music. Boy, do I believe in music. I believe any kind of musical composition can change a person. I believe music can cure depression. I also believe music can feed depression. I believe a melody can say more than lyrics and I believe that lyrics can be what someone couldn’t put together themselves to explain exactly how they are feeling. I believe anyone can create a song, even though they believe they cannot. I believe a single note can sound like the most beautiful sound in the world. I believe if someone records a song when they’re in an ugly mood, the ugliness emits to its listeners and can drain them. I believe in art. Of course I do. I believe in acrylic paint. I believe in oil paint and watercolours, but not as much as I believe in acrylic. I believe in fingerprinting. I even believe in painting with your toes. And I believe in dancing; even if it looks weird. I believe in flailing your arms even, as long as it feels good and right. I believe in dancing ‘til you sweat, though I don’t like that icky feeling too much. I believe that a babe can be a very ugly person and a physically unattractive person can be a very beautiful person. I believe that people who smile are beautiful. I believe that people who frown are beautiful too, just in a different way. I believe that there are sincere smiles and there are manipulative smiles. I believe that some people just know how to use their eyes well. I believe in eye contact. I believe in engaging. I believe in listening and dropping everything else that is going on in your mind just to listen to what a person is trying to share with you. I believe in sharing - sharing cookies and sharing love. I believe in the frosty cold. I believe that it doesn’t have to feel as cold as it really is. I believe that people complain a lot. I believe that people often have too much pride to be happy. I believe that we should embrace our discomforts and shames, that we should welcome them wholeheartedly so that we can be happy. I believe in honesty. I believe in empathy. I believe in tea. I believe in jelly donuts but only on certain occasions. I believe in quirky bow ties. I believe in knit toques and mittens and scarves. I believe in dresses. I believe in flirting. I believe in coffee in the morning. I believe in big comfy beds. I believe in walking around your empty house in your underwear or birthday suit, singing loudly. I believe in singing in the shower. I believe in singing on the street. I believe in stage fright. I believe in meditation, though I don’t really strictly set times to do it anymore. I believe mundane activities can be done in a meditative state of mind. I believe in clarity. I believe in not judging people because everyone is human. I believe every human has something very interesting about them. I believe in boring people too. I believe in christmas music - not the radio kind, the choral kind. I believe in cheap sweet wine. I believe in Billy Joel and I believe in The Beatles. I believe in Regina and Sufjan too. I believe that the ukulele is a very overrated instrument. I believe in having healthy hair. I believe in moisturizer. I believe in getting to pick a coloured toothbrush at the dentist. I believe in thick wool socks. I believe in baggy sweaters. I believe in yoga gear but I do not believe in sweatpants. I believe that yoga is one of the healthiest things for a person - ever. I believe in buying a friend drinks or dinner once in awhile. I believe in collecting shoes and scarves and rings. I believe in chords but I don’t really believe in jeans. I believe in hot chocolate with whip cream but not with marshmallows. I believe in dorky Christmas sweaters. I believe in baking cookies instead of cake. I believe in eating disorders - I do not support them, but I do believe they are much more severe and various than most people think and I believe there should be better/proper help for those who suffer instead of the usual cruel inpatient/outpatient care. I believe in trichotillomania and I believe in dermatillomania and the severity and impact it can have on its sufferers. I believe in gardens. I believe in every single flower. I believe that everyone is always doing their best. I believe that most people love to struggle. I believe in hope. I believe in having faith in yourself. I believe in iPod playlists. I believe in gym memberships in the winter, not the summer unless it’s to swim. I believe in matching underwear every day. I believe in Value Village. I believe in singing in bus shelters when you’re waiting for the bus. I believe in dressing up according to holidays. I believe in Grey’s Anatomy and I believe in Community. I believe in skirts and dresses that twirl like the ‘ol days. I believe in longboards more than skateboards. I believe in plaid like most young people do. I believe in bows in my hair, but not as much as I used to. I believe in foot massages and hand massages. I believe in reflexology and reiki and essential oils and chakras and crystals and holistic nutrition. I believe in anxiety; even crippling anxiety. I believe in awkward romances. I do not believe in flip flops. I do not believe in Beatles covers unless they are really insanely good; then my mind is blown. I believe in having long enough nails to scratch someone’s back appropriately. I also believe in biting nails. I do not believe in telephone calls unless I am extremely comfortable with the person. I believe in blogs. I believe in journals. I believe in naming special inanimate objects like journals, instruments, technology and furniture. I believe in the idea of cats more than I believe in cats. I believe in sharpies or thin pointed permanent markers. I believe in temporary tattoos. I believe in streaming movies online. I believe in royal gala apples. I believe in avocados. I believe in rice cakes. I believe in popcorn. I believe in airports but I hate the LA airport. I believe in openly talking about *** but I don’t believe in making it seem shameful and gross. I believe there should be no shame regarding sexuality. I believe in reading some great books more than once. I believe in laying on the couch under cozy blankets, watching a great suspenseful tv show or movie. I only believe in having a couple bites of cheesecake. I don’t really believe in lulu lemon. I don’t believe many people can pull off the colour yellow. I believe in buttons over zippers even though zippers are easier, they just look kind of dumb and cheap. I believe in the sun and the moon equally. I believe in closets over dressers. I believe in staring out the window for a good hour or so.

today is my birthday
******* hooray, eh?
I'm only nineteen years old;
ancient to toddlers
callow to parents.
I don't feel any age
I was only five two weeks ago
eleven yesterday morning
and now I'm nineteen
(apparently)
legal in every province
in my country;
how fantastic! I can get drunk
everywhere except the States
how ******* fantastic!
(I don't even like to get drunk).
I haven't celebrated my birthday
in the last
four years;
I don't think there's any need for a
celebration
who the **** gives a ****
why do we celebrate our lives once a year
instead of all year?

that moment when
your uproar giggle turns into
a massive grin
as you are looking at each other, struck by
a soft silence and you both know
you are about to kiss because you both really want to kiss
and then
ah-hah
you kiss.

completed finished done folded ended
defeated concluded
aborted                                                         ­                     
terminated finalized killed annihilated dispatched
vaporized settled                     destroyed dropped
discontinued stopped broken shut down cut
off                                   ceased over halted frozen
barricaded desistance executed
dissolved                                                 ­ overcome gone
ruined wrecked crushed depleted spoiled
shattered

It’s 3am and it’s fiercely windy outside – so my rattling window tells me.
I’ve pulled up my blinds and have set my vanity chair in the middle of my room to watch the trees sway with vigorous grace.
It looks like they’re having an anxiety attack.
They’re dancing to cope with the battles of the weather.

They’re scared.

Scared their trunks may snap and they’ll die.
They won’t die, they never do – but they’re still scared they will.

They’re silent too.

Silently swaying scared.
They’re so beautiful.
Their silence is beautiful.
Their silent fear is beautiful.

They are so real, I can relate.

Hell, I scrambled to an amusement park last night,
strapped myself in and coasted for hours
I didn't give myself a break instead I kept coasting until it got
hot and buzzed an alarming buzz
It was overheating, as was I, runnels of inhuman sweat stuck to my face
like glue from a hot gun

{they gave me a hot glue gun so I could make them better crafts than an 'ol family portrait with
blue and green markers on the backside of a receipt from the horse races; but my papa didn't
care about the crafts; he just wanted me busy so he could watch the tube and maybe have a nap
in the evening}

The cart is rattling out of its own carriage; I look up to the angels and only see black ***** smoke
Hell, I make a black ***** mess out of most things lately so instead I sit in it
because I usually run out of it; having towers crash and explode behind me
Hell, ya get what ya pay for; I pay for nothing, you pay for everything, I take everything – both of us will always know that

{remember when you'd say we'd go for ice cream to get me to shut up
we never went for ice cream}

Sparks underneath the rails, I twisted my stiff neck to stay still in something blasphemously heavy
{I used to think I was so heavy}

It’s like the feeling you get when you want to do something but your body won't succumb
Split mind & body interpersonal connections - left and right are both just forward,
Going forward to somewhere I've already been.
Hell, I let myself flood until they **** smacked the gates open with a
"What the **** are you tryna do? **** yourself?!" reprimand

And I even almost came to see you because you really wanted a daughter again and
I really wanted a father {again} - I've never really had one to begin with.
Instead, I listened to the cat's in the cradle and cut in my cradle
And hell, I really needed to be loved
I think more than I have ever needed
{you never left but you never came to leave me}

Hell, I don't think I have even seen hell yet; but one day it'll do me in good.
Thou he slay me, yet will I trust in him.

do I really care about you?

authentically

no, but I would still kiss away a perpetual need
of some kind of

more
I would kiss away the perpetual need of more of my kisses, even
until they became ripe in your circulation

without your tact

like the first time an apple becomes an apple
without knowing it’s an apple

ripe

raw, sweet

without tact

without my tact
would I really care about you?

I’ve been on the floor bathing in dishrags and dust particles
I feel filthy
troublesome and unwanted

I’ve lost faith in succeeding
all I’ve got is gritty tact, sticking to its guns

do I really care about myself?
no,

but still, I would kiss away someone else’s pain to have a purpose
and I would love them in a moment  

even if I wasn’t loved in return

there is nothing quite like
the first bite of a carrot
grown in your own backyard
or the second bite…
or the third…
the first bite is the ecstasy one would find
in wholesomeness
a shock, really
of sweet paradise
from winter wind upon your cheeks in solitude
from petting a wild rabbit with its permission
an unusual high
a remarkable instant
the second bite is deeper
it is more familiar and significant
like the hug you’d give your lover at the airport
like baking cookies with your little cousins on Christmas Eve
when your own spirit is crowned
king or queen
but with an equality like the trees in the forest
rather than a superiority like the ***** in the castle
the third, fourth, fifth
(depending on how big your carrot is)
are mere appreciation and wonder  
of life
of your life
cherishing salubrity, company, solace
and it seems when you’re done,
you’re not hungry anymore
and if you are,
all you want is another carrot.

have I not held a fruit
in so long?
one that is this organic and whole
an apple
a good grip, a solid fit
like a hand
another hand to hold
that I had not held
but had wished to hold
more longingly than a piece
of fruit;
which speaks directly to
my orthorexia
in loud blows of
chicken-bone-in-my-throat
yelps and laments
it screams:
I WOULD RATHER HOLD AN ICE CREAM CONE
IN ONE HAND IF I GOT TO HOLD YOUR HAND
WITH MY OTHER HAND THAN HOLD A DUMB
APPLE IN MY HAND WITH THE OTHER EMPTY
an apple
a good grip, a solid fit
my eyes watch the bulb in your throat bounce
up and down
when you laugh
(you laugh more than most people do
and I love that about you);
when you silently swallow
after nodding and listening, engaging
my eyes with
the rings of your deep brown irises;
when you gulp down a gin & tonic or Stella
or horrid spiced wine gone luke warm from the cold rain;
I watch the apple bounce
up and down;
a good grip, a solid fit,
I’d throw it away (any day)
to curl my fingers around an ice cream cone

tired of feeling like
everything i want to write is the same thing
over again
like looking out the window and seeing autumn leaves
with lots of blue sky and still feeling pitted with webs
like cancelling every plan and path toward a droplet of success
for solitude
like curling up in bed the whole afternoon
mostly i hate that everything i want to write
or create
is the same thing
over again

the last time i kissed you,
you didn’t want to kiss me
but did anyway
i know what that’s like
it’s hard to say no
i’ve done that before
on many occasions
you were surprised
or muddled
but you did anyway
for longer than expected
and when i asked you for a hug
because i hadn’t had a hug
in weeks,
you pulled away before i was ready
to let go
and then felt bad and embraced me
again
it’s those things
i am terrified to admit to myself
they happened
in front of my face
but i deflected it
with manipulation