I guess,
instead of anger
I feel sadness.

I guess,
that is apart
of growing up.  

Memories slip between cotton sheets, plaid underwear.

Voices seep between thin walls, thin thighs.

School bus rides.

The ones on the way to a field trip.

Belly's flip, sun kissed.

Sitting in the back of the bus just to feel it, to feel the...

I don't know who I am anymore.

Memories passed like green grass

green screen, green memory
greened out.

Fade to black,
or so she thought.

So she said.

Maybe it's all in my head,
maybe it's a nursery rhyme,
a rhyme or a reason,

maybe I'm late, maybe it's the wrong season.

Some days I want to look femme, and cute, and pretty.

Other days I want to look as masc as possible. Hard, tough, scary.

And then there are some days
in between,
where I guess I feel
most like myself.

I am learning to accept
and love all aspects of myself.

And to not hyper fixate
on my gender expression.

Some days are easier than others.

Some days I go to work in a skirt
and halfway through I feel
incredibly uncomfortable.

But other days
I feel ****.

Some days I got to work
in basketball shorts and a T-Shirt
and feel relaxed and hot

but then halfway through
I feel messy and underdressed.

I think it's my in between days
that I feel the most myself.

Little Pants, Big Top.

Big Pants, Little Top.

Big Pants, Big Top.

Little Pants, Little Top.

We went for a ride
the other day.

And something within me
woke up.

Maybe it was the wind in my face,
the hot sun beaming down on me,
or my hair cascading across my back.

Or perhaps the sound of the cicadas
singing in the trees.

I have a tattoo of a cicada on my neck,
and nursed a dying one back to flight the other day.

It was the way we took one turn
and all the sounds of the city
were cut off.

There was silence,
and there was peace.

It was the way my heart fluttered
when we stumbled upon an old park.

I asked her to ride the see-saw.
I hadn't been on a see-saw since I was 11.

We only went up and down a few times
before deciding not to test our luck
any further.

We picked up lunch at a supermarket
and ate it in the grass.

I had to swat away ants,
and those tiny red spiders
that look like laser pointers.

I decided to start romanticizing my own life a few days ago.

It's going well.

My little sister has a boyfriend but she told me that she doesn't know what love is.

Has never felt it, and wonders what it's like.

I laughed.

But what I wish I had said was;

Love feels like falling.

But in a good way.

Love feels like your entire body is on fire, a live wire. It feels like you're on top of the world.

Love is magic. And it feels like a blanket fresh out the dryer draped over your shoulders on a cold winter night.

Love feels like a long sip of ice cold water after winning a race.

Love feels like your favourite band singing on stage.

Love is love, and love will do.

Love is important, love is true.

My sister is straight so there is only so much advice I can give her.

Dating straight men, god what a trigger.

The only time I dated a man,
I was not in love,
I was just passing time.

When you fall for a woman,
it knocks down walls.

When you fall for a woman,
it's either nothing or all.

I can't believe the girl in red beat me to it.
But maybe that's for the best.

I have never been so targeted by a song.

Oh wait I have.

Vampire Weekend's Hannah Hunt

And GIrl In Red's I wanna be Your Girlfriend.

Why do we all have a girl named Hannah.

One of the last conversations I had with her, she told me that she might be bi. But that it didn't matter.

She told me girls were softer.

Despite the fact that I am happily engaged.

I'll forever be hurt by that *****.

I don't want to be her friend I wanna be her *****.

I wonder if when she listens to this song she thinks of me.

I once spent 50 cents for
a box of a dozen used
white
candles.

I saw a new use in them.

They were from a garage sale,
up the street.

I burned those candles
for years.

Baby witch things.

I wish I would stumble across
a dozen white candles
for 50 cents now.

I again have use.

I've been unpacking old things and I found a letter I had written to you.

Most likely the last letter I ever
wrote to you.

It was tucked in between newspapers
and clippings of some of the writing I had done
over time.

Even though it's been almost ten years,
reading those words
and seeing how gutted I was
by what you did then

makes me feel those feelings all over again.

This is why it's so hard
to look back on my old writings.

or really,

anything I've ever written before.

After reading the 3 page letter I had written to you,

and noticing that it was

tear stained,
written in two different types of pen,
and folded several times

it proves

I had read and re-read it several times
before ultimately deciding
to never give it to you

I realized I never want to be that sad again.

When I searched you on instagram,
I could see that I am still blocked.

Only a small picture of what you look like now,
a window into the unknown.

I tucked the unsent letter into my scrapbook of you.

A scrapbook I'm not even sure I want to hold onto any more.

But I do.

Because I still remember the smell of your breast.
Your hair.

The feeling of your eyes on me.

You forgot it so easily.

Moving on is impossible.

Forgetting is something I hope for.

But I wont.

You will always be my could have been muse.

Even though I am no longer in love with you.