In a world of dreamers,
are you awake or asleep?

In a realm of promises,
which do you keep?

In a land of tomorrows,
when does he beseech?

Within thoughts of conclusion,
does she retreat?

In the be all end all,
why does she screech.

I think we're all dead now,
we weep
we
weep.

Is a song by Noah and The Whale.


When I first heard that song, it was Spring.

And it was the Spring that I realized that I was in love for the first time.

In love with a girl.

We were friends and I would go out of my way to walk home with her.

I lived in a small town, and all paths lead the same way. But I would take a longer one just for those extra minutes together.

I remember the first time I made her laugh. It was over something stupid and minuscule, but laugh she did.

And I soaked every chord of sound that it held and remember it to this day.

Love is a funny thing. It's like once it happens you can never forget it.

If you did forget it, then it wasn't real love.

It's as simple as that.

I would walk with her to this crossroad and we would pause.

At first it was a few minutes at best, but as summer came around it was minutes upon minutes of dragging out this time together.

She was studious, and always made the excuse to go home and study.

And that time came later and later the more we continued this pattern.

But without fail,

whenever we would part ways and she would walk past the catholic school and I would descend into the trees, after waving goodbye until we could no longer see eachother, I would put on this song.

And I would revel in it, taking in every note ever lyric.

And in my young 17 year old heart I knew. Something knew...

That this song would eventually have severe and deep meaning to me.

That someday it would strike something in my heart that made me understand why everything had happened and that it had happened for a reason.

That moment came today.

On the first day of Spring.

When I randomly remembered that songs named and played it,

And all of these memories came flooding back.

Like a blocked stream finally flowing.

Connecting with my past self and knowing, that I have come
so far.

If you're read my poems before, just know that this is about the same girl.

That one.

The one that got away.

There are signs of you

all over the home now.

Little memories
and little mementos.

Clues and reminders that you are real
and not
just a
concept.

I cannot wait to meet you,

little one.

I'm not sad anymore,
Well maybe
sometimes I am.

I used to cry for you each night.
Wondering what had happened.

I'm not mad anymore,
my anger is through.

I don't cry anymore,
Don't waste my tears on you.

I know it's been a million years,
but for me it seems like yesterday

The tears, the moon, and the rain.

The love and then the hopeless pain.

I'm not heartbroken anymore.

I've served my time.

You were once the reason of rhythm
and reason of rhyme.

But now you're nothing but a ghost.
Or
A host of my memory.

When I was very young, I started to develop an eating disorder.

I was a toddler. My parent's first child and I went mental when they tried to serve me vegetables.

I would discard them in the radiator and sooner than later a technician was called.

And my parent's were appalled when they realized the reason was that their child refused to eat what she was served.

This continued into early childhood.

I lived with my grandmother who I've called Grandy forever.

She made the same three dishes every week. Macaroni Pie, Rice, or Potatoes.

On the odd occasion,  I would get pizza or pasta.

Macaroni and Cheese, or something else that pleased my taste buds.

I quickly tired of this pattern and a disgust for these meals arose.

I could no longer eat them without wanting to *****.

When I was no older that four years old, my parents tried to feed me a few days or a week old alphageti. That was the first time I ever gaged on a meal.

But those moments came more often than I would like as I grew.

I filled up on chocolates and candy, slices of pepperoni so I wouldn't have to eat the **** I din't like.

This distaste of my Grandy's food turned into a fear of food itself.

I couldn't be experimental, I hated having to eat.

I wished I could just take a pill and defeat the hunger that haunted me.

For years I became anorexic. And not because I wanted too, but because for all that time food was my enemy.

When I was in daycare, I hated sweets of any kind and had never had a sip of soda. But once night when my parents were late to pick me up.

All Dee had was marshmellows and seven up.

I hated the sweet treats that would burn my teeth and the soda that would burn my tongue.

But I was young and no one cared.

I didn't allow myself to eat for several years until I ended up falling in love with a girl who cares.

But some nights when I am drunk and to lazy too cook,

I find myself in the kitchen eating an uncooked hot dog,  

and I remember where it all came from.

I still hate sweets and soda to this day.

But at least now,

I eat.

Can be the scariest moment of your life if it is true.

The scariest time.

Yes you are in love, but you also fear for what could happen if you lose it.

I'm not talking about cheating or disconnect,

I am talking about death.

The worst thing you could ever imagine, is your partners death, and what you would do without them.

It's an unbearable pain. Even if hypothetical.

It's tragic, it's lonely, it's toxic.

You start thinking of all the things you would do if you suddenly found your boo dead.

It's such a particular dread.

I know I have anxiety.

And that is what causes these thoughts.

But still I think about what would I do,

I she were to leave this earth.

The funny thing is we have this kind of suicide pact. If she were to leave I would follow and vice versa.

Sometimes I wonder if that is really true. And I picture life without you.

And all I see is me

drowning at the

bottom of the

ocean.

I would happily gulp down waves of salt if it were fact that I could

never see her again.

I took her to my best friends house,

Was hard to convince her,
but eventually she came out.

Picked her up in my best friends car,
didn't have a license but,
it wasn't far.

She came to see me, and I was glad,
Best night that I've ever had.

I sang some songs and then kissed her, I held her in my arms
and whispered.

When I took her home it was 4am,
said I'd love to do this again.

She messaged me to say thankyou,
and that I made a
purple sweater look cute.

I loved her then, and I love her now. I know its crazy but thats the truth somehow.

Yellow sunglasses, hockey puck, love notes and a special rock.

You hugged me when I told you so.

But closed your eyes and then said no.

Still think about you sometimes though,
and hope that you do the same too.  

YoU hAvE * uNrEaD mEsSaGeS

"*, you make an oversized magenta hoodie and a purple beanie look beautiful"

", I'm falling for you,"

"I', sorry, I can't be with you..."

*beep, beep beep

It's interesting.

Falling in love for the first time?

As many years can pass, and the memories you make, and all the lovers you take.

You can never quite shake,

that first time.

That first smile, that first feeling

in your gut.

And you know what
I'm talking about.

Back then she was the cream to my coffee
,the colour of my world.

God forbid she didn't show up to school.

And when she didn't I would drop notes in her locker, some called me a stalker but no...

I was just in love.

Head over heals, deep in the feels, wanted to reel in that catch.

She was a catch and she had a great *** and I told her that.

At least.

The first time we kissed can only be described as bliss.
It was at that moment I knew the true meaning of fireworks.

And the last time we kissed I told her I loved her and
maybe that was my first mistake.

Because inevitably even though she knew that,
it scared her away.

Out of my grasp and even though time passed she chose to forget me.

To this day.

I don't know where you are Hannah.

But a part of me will always love you.

Do you remember how christmas used to feel when you were a child?

It was magical. For me anyways.

Although I came far from a wealthy family, my parents still made it

magic.

The feeling is almost indescribable, what it was back then.

The month of December, and even November, being something I always remember.

Seeing lights, seeing trees, seeing stars.

Hearing the music while riding back seat my parents car.

It all feel so far,

away.

Even though today I made new memories and new magic.

I sat around a table with my girlfriend and her family in the middle of the city.

A place I'd always dreamed I'd be.

With a ******* my side, my hand on her thigh.

This is the year I realized Christmas can have a new magic.

It's not gifts under the tree and although I always knew that...

It feels different this year, and although tomorrow feels like just another day.

I've made magic in my own way.

I would die.

We are so scary in love that if one of us were to
kick the can

the other one would follow.

An almost suicide pact.

If she was taken from me I don't know.

I would probably seek out our moms.

If my girl was taken from me I probably would not see the point of living,

YES. I fell in love again.

I told you it's happened twice.

But this time she loves me too and she cares about me, and I care about her.

She aint **** and my new mami is the one for me.

If I could,

I would like to capture that summer.

At least, what I can remember.

Right now I am drunk and thinking about you.
And even though I know it's over and what happened for a reason I...

I don't know Hannah, maybe writing to you like this can help with passing by you.

They say time heals all wounds but it's been a thousand moons since I've last seen you.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not singing this song because I still want you.

I mean I still love you but I also love someone else for the right reasons.

For sure.

But still, I can't get the colour of your hair and eyes off my mind.

Sometimes... Anyways.

If you could have at least given me the common decency to let me down easy.

You didn't have to drop me like a beached tree after Christmas.

I think the reason I still think about you is because you never said goodbye.

And although I don't cry about it anymore...

I still think about it.

Thanks for the poems I guess.

We've been classmates for like ever.

And I guess you've been around for better or for worse.

You were always in the background but I remember getting blackout drunk and asking you to tie my shoes. It was only you who seemed to make the most sense.

Flash forward like five years later, we were all in highschool and all pushing paper I threw a party, with my best friends at the time.

That was honestly a moment I will never forget, never regret, how we told everyone we knew to come through and **** did they.

By midnight the house was full, skateboards in the basement jackets on the stool.

And I watched you as you found a mans.

And sure, your relationship was good for as long as you can expect, until he hit you.

I'm so glad that we are passed all of that.

And Jessie, I don't know why I chose to wrote a poem for you,

but ****...

You should feel special.

There is a tattoo
of a wolf
on my thigh.

A tattoo I had been planning,
for a long time.

Underneath is not what I would call
bare skin.

It is graced with
and possessed with
scars.

Of one kind.

That kind.

I am grateful that now
when I look down

I am not met with harsh lines,
but instead the eyes
of a kind wolf mother.

She now bares the scars that I carved.

Be kind to yourself,

she says.

Being in my late twenties is not as **** as I thought it would be.

Now I find myself waiting for my thirties.

When I'll be

thirty, flirty, and thriving.

I would at least like to hold on to the last part.

Thriving is what I want to be.

I feel like being in your late twenties is second teenage hood.

You develop new skin problems and need meds, you are also a reckless mess.

But hey at least now you live alone,
at least now you
are grown.

In a sense.

I'll try to enjoy my late twenties.

As my sisters surpass my talents.

Maybe thirty will be my year.

Or 40.

I'll never forget how we almost had ***.

I was the first girl you had ever been with and you thought
I was beautiful.

Fingers over ******* you were so worried.

You never let me come
and then you stopped coming
around.

Never fall in love with a straight girl.

My aunt died last night.

A part of me is Trinidadian.

My aunt died last night.

I am half Trinidadian.

Her name was Aunty Rita.

It was a common,
family joke

to yell her name.

Like this,

RITAAAAAAAAAA.

And now I don't think I'll ever hear that again.

My mom is going to Trinidad for a week.
And I wish I could go too.

Is it ironic that I dreamt of Trinidad the night before.
Is it ironic that I dreamt that a dog died or almost died and I cared for it.

My aunt died last night.

Aunty Rita.

Waterfalls like water falls.

Slowly and yet all at once.

I feel the same way about falling in love.

Once I see her I fall or I

fall.

I love that the button says write.

Yes ma'am.

I feel like I feel everything.

Every thing at once.

Every sound, every smell, taste, and touch.

I am but a new me.

Shedding my skin like a lizard starved for water.

Starting again like becoming a father.

I feel like I see things in a different light.

For the first time in a while, I feel like,

it's going to be alright.

I just knocked my vape off my desk with how viciously I am typing but the reason is that I am just so ****** happy to be writing
again.

It's really ****** up when a moment steals your voice.

A moment, a person, a day or a  
year.

It happens to the best of us.

The moon changes it's shape to please your eye.

I know you won't believe it.

Even if the moon is eclipsed or out of sight, it will change it's shape to suit you right.

Stand under it, right now.

Even if you can't see her she's there.

And when she appears looking broken and uncompleted, in your eyes it will change to a perfect sphere.

Just for you.

So pay attention to that, and appreciate her for all that she is.

Because for you she would change her entire shape, just to please you.

The moon always hangs in the sky.

Robotic legs, robotic arms some how lead me to the kitchen.
Once I get there, I mean no harm until I can't tell the direction.

Between what is right and what is wrong, and miscommunicated affection.

I drink the poison back as it beckons me and I can't find the description.

Between what is pain, and what is loss, and what is simple addiction.

Oh help me father, oh help me mother. I don't believe in religion.

But tonight I'll pray that the next day doesn't have so much conviction.

Robotic legs and robotic arms made me take the knife, and robotic legs and robotic arms made me write this fiction.

Cascading somewhere

between the
depths of
reality,

and the skin
beneath your
breast.

Old memories lay dormant
in the spaces
between
my ribs.

You were,

Everything and then all at once,
nothing.

Darling dear can you hear my desperate calls.

I wanted you, I wanted you all.

I laid out blankets so that we could picnic why did you panic.

We had everything.

I danced with you at prom. I wrapped my arms around you and told you I wanted you to be mine.

But you didn't understand.

And then years later I tried again and I told you.

I held you in my arms and I felt you.

And you felt me.

We agreed.

We were one for a short period of time.

I drove you home and you called me beautiful.

You said you had never felt this way before.

But then what did you do?

You betrayed me and found a man, or two.

You were here, and then you were there.

I had you once, and it isn't fair.

A part of me will,
always
love
you.

Has the air ever tasted like memories to you?

I see you everywhere.

In my dreams, mostly. So stop thinking about me. Please.

I mean they say if you dream of someone, it means they are thinking about you.

Apparently she does this sometimes.

Because sometimes I see her.

Sometimes she tells me she loves me.

Sometimes she is absent.

I don't think I will ever get over H* fully.

But  I keep trying.

I think I see her everywhere.

I wish I could see her just once.

All the cracks in the wall just want to be spiders.

Words deep inside her, her only provider, for all the desire, somehow

vanished.

If only she could

light,

a match.

To dispatch

the intruders.

Whispers drip down walls

like sewage

where rats crawl

and poison calls like nightmares.

In all the beauty

and all the despair.

It was her hair that

made me

wake up,

and then

fall.

Golden brown like cottage towns

her eyes like

a briny sea.

So clear and cold they

washed over me.

I am a drunken sailor sworn off from all land.

I'm a sea lover and when the siren calls

I always

Give.

In.

I am a skater.

Sort of.

I ride a longboard.

And one time, I skated home in love.

It was 6am. And the sun was starting to rise again.

After spending the night at her place.

At the point I didn't do sleepovers. I loved to smoke **** and watch reruns of old **** that made me laugh.

But that night.

I didn't care that I was sober, that I was ugly.

I didn't care that I wanted a bowl. Of food of ****. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was her hand on my thigh, the silent sigh. The moment her sister when up to her room at five in the morning.

After watching countless shows and music videos we finally were alone.

And we kissed and we stripped and we were marry. We almost had *** but then she carried me, to her bed.

And laid me down and with a smile she covered me with a blanket.

I couldn't take it.

So I woke myself up and kissed her good bye.

Maybe that was my first mistake.

And then I skated down the hill to my house. On my longboard

And it was morning.
I took selfies at that moment wanting to pinpoint the memory.

But nothing was stopping me from playing all the previous nights actions in my my head and in my mind.

She broke my heart in the rain. I've never felt so much pain.

And then I finally fell asleep.

Its strange that people
are capable
of storing memories

about you
that you have since forgotten.

I have this one friend who tells me things about myself that I never knew.

Be it a story I told or a joke I pulled.

I was quite the jester.

It weirds me out that there are people who hold memories of me
be it fond be it
friendly.

I made an impact,
somewhere.

At some point in time.

I think he remembers so much about me because we were best friends once.

I feel like I have betrayed a lot of people.

I like it when people pat themselves down
to make sure they have
all of their belongings before they leave.

It's even better
when they mutter the words
out loud
to themselves.

Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet, and Watch.


I like it when people's faces light up
when they are waiting for a friend,
and finally spot them.

I like it when people get startled
and apologize for it.
Like their fear may have
inconvenienced you.

I like when people look around
and make eye contact with strangers
when the subway slows down
or stops unexpectedly.

I like it when a large group of people witness something strange,
so strange
that they are forced
to talk about it
with people they may never see again.

I like it when somebody drops something,
and a stranger chases after them to return it,
even if it's just a mitten.

I like it when someone asks for a light
from a stranger, and they get one.
Even better if the stranger
lights their smoke
for them.

I like it when people ask for directions,
and the person giving them
uses large hand gestures.

I like it when crossing guards
protect grown adults.

I like seeing a couple during their honey moon phase.
All over each other and a little bit
inappropriate.

I like ti when babies make eye contact with you
as they pass by on their parents back.

I Like when several people stop
to admire a cute dog.

I like it when pedestrians
are nearly hit by a careless driver,
and all stop to talk **** about them
for a moment.

I like it when people casually
sing, hum, or whistle.

I like it when several people
have to gather around a small device
because they all want to see what's happening
together.  

I like seeing children I don't know
trudging home
in the snow
with toboggans,
rosy cheeked
and daydreaming of hot chocolate.

I like catching someone taking a selfie.

I like it when people open their palms to check if it's raining,
even though they can probably see that it is.

I like seeing people reading on the train.

I don't know.

Human's can be cute.

Have you ever had
one of those moments.

It can be something as simple as a missing pen, a missing beanie baby.

Or maybe you forgot your phone at home.

But suddenly nothing else matters.

And nothing makes sense.

You are lost and all that matters is solving the problem at hand. But you can't understand what to do next.

You whimper and cry and you freak out and swat and people look at you funny.

And maybe you are with you significant other and she doesn't seem to be able to muster up the rhyme of reason to your treason and you are stuck in an unspeakable battle against yourself.

Those moments when you shake and shiver, when time goes slow and your thoughts thinner.

Don't care what's for dinner because chances are you're going to throw it up.

Seriously? Crazy. Crazy seriously.
At least in some eyes.

Swallow back that pill honey.
It's the only thing keeping you from jumping off that balcony.

His love was like a flashlight.
Her love is like a candle.

His love beamed,
And her love burned.

His love was like a flashlight.
False. Mechanic. Operated.

Her love is like a candle.
Dripping, Melting, Alive.

His love did not last.
Once the batteries died.

Her love burned to the end.
Sparks and embers burning bright crimson
long after the wax has melted away.

Her love whisps in smoke,
filling the entire room.

My lungs, my senses blocked.
A flame stings within my heart.

Can you, can you,
keep the devils at bay?

You can't, you can't,
they like to play.

Play with the membranes of your tired mind,
and whisper seductive, tentative lies.

They talk to you like they are your friend.
Yet they feed on your insides, they welcome your end.

Wanting nothing more than to see your undoing.
Giddy with power at this mess they are brewing.

You fight, and you claw, and you bleed through your eyes,
but still they persuade you with lustrous chimes.

You stitch up your mouth, and bleed out the truth.
You've wasted away your eternal youth.

And even if you give into their sin,
They'll just find a different way to begin.

If you keep looking, still you will find,
the devils, the devils, the devils inside.

I think I must have writers block.

Because I can't even talk clearly.

There are no words in my mouth. They don't drip from my tongue the way they used too.

Everything is always so cloudy.

And I feel like I like it that way.

A cloudy mind doesn't have time to cry.

A cloudy mind doesn't have time to feel.

Except for when I do.

When I break down,

shaking.

My love wraps her arms around me,
comforts me.

And yet I still feel like a failure.

Drowning sailor.

I need a new sense of clarity.    

Breaking down can feel like

I loved you a long time ago,
how are you doing now.

Clouds linger of previous times, previous moments.

Always getting caught in the rain,
but together it was
heven.

We were drenched one time and I got you a towel,
we were caught one time and we were powerful.

You gave up too soon,
my darling.

I told you I would have kids.

As if...

You are now but a memory.

A fragrance I can't grasp.

But...

You will always have a place

in this
heart.

Sometimes life is perpetually the calm before the storm.
Everything can be fine,

peaceful silences, and
glowing sunsets

but you always feel that tug of regret,
for what is yet to come.

Living life in this state of unknown
can grind you down to the bone.

Can make even the most familiar of places,
not feel like home
anymore.

I swallow medication with liquor.

Does that defeat the purpose?

Take your medicine,
take your medicine,

take
your
medicine.

Sorry.

It should be simple.

But nothing,

is simple.

Wish I,
could feel better.

Wish I,
had sent that letter.

take your medicine,
take your medicine,
take your clothes off.

I'm kidding.

Cut your shirts till they're dirt.
Cry till you're dry.

But most importantly,

Take your medicine.

Itches itch and scratches scratch.

You would still relieve that urge without questioning that, right?

Well that's how I feel about my scalp.

My brain the main domaine that carries me through my days.

I don't pull my hair or wash my feet three times a day anymore.

The meds help with that.

But something I can't shake is scratching my skull.

Short fingernails because I am a lesbian.

But also has made it easier to attack my soft skin.

Blood and scabs and sore spots.

I have derma linked completely to my scalp.

Hats and beanies can only do so much.

My fingers always find a way to slip there and pick the day away.

Invisible illnesses still make you sick.
You can still fall in love with the one you didn't pick.

I am a heathen and I am an angel.

I give and I take, and I take and I breathe.

Goodnight.

When spring comes around
I touch the flowers and they turn brown.

And that reminded me of the summer
my sister almost drowned.

Had I not been there to pull her
body from the water, it would have
got her.

Nostalgia drips like sweet lips and sunny
window sills.

Back when time would stand still and
promises were never broken.

Pinky swears and thumb wars,
basketball on the street in bare feet.

Popsicles and bubblegum.

I touch the plants after it rains,
and it feels the same as something
I've felt before.

Pictures of girls taped to closet doors.

Thank god I finally opened it.

Snowflakes feel like gentle cold kisses
like the calm after
Christmas but the excitement of
what's to come.

I am chaos and I am desire.

So say my dreams.

It's always between the two.

Last night I had a pleasant dream that I was dating her.

It was sweet.
Precious even.

But when I awoke I had to deal with different things.

It's stupid that I still write about her, but what can you do.

The heart wants what the heart wants, so someone said.

Right now my heart only seeks friendship from her. Ot at least,
closure.

She didn't even want to give me that.

Dear H.

Love R,

But you also liked boys.

Remember the summer when I was your number
one choice.

When I had you in my arms.

After dark, sparks sparked.

Do you remember watching Mulan with your sisters, do you remember slipping your hand under my blanket to grip my thigh so sweetly.

Do you remember kissing after dark do you remember going to the park.

Do you remember when I picked you up in an illegal car and you got in and gawked.

Do you remember calling me beautiful.

Do you remember kissing and laughing, do you remember the sweet kisses against my ear.

Do you remember me, and whispering in my ear.

Do you remember that summer holding me and asking me to tell you a story.

Do you remember me falling asleep on your thighs and you taking me up to bed and resting my head against your bed. Draping a blanket over me.

Did you ever love me?

Or did you lie.

Either way, you made me

cry.

Remember that time I offered you a ride but you said
you already had one
with one of the
guys.

Which is funny because you once said to me,

"I love riding with you,"

Because I sang along to the radio
and danced in my seat.

Do you remember telling me
that I

made a purple sweater and a magenta cap
look beautiful.

Because I remember you taking the time to
message me that.

I remember driving a car illegally,
that is,

without a license
to pick you up at
midnight.

I remember the way you looked at me.

And I remember the way
you treated me
after I became
dead weight.

I remember when you put your hand atop my hand
and
pretended like nothing had happened.

The worst strangers
are the ones
you used to know.

I can’t believe this will be my last night
in the room I grew up in.

The room I cried in and laughed in.
The mattress on which I vomited, and masturbated, and had *** for the first time.

The window where I smoked **** against my parents wishes,

and the room that I drank myself silly in.

The room I fell in love in,

and was brutally heartbroken in.

This is my last night here.

It could be fun,

Or it could be
a repeat
of last time.

Boys, cottage, girls, drugs,
me?

The last time I went to a cottage,
I cried until I was taken home.

The time before that, I was with a group of
people and

things,

they weren't great.

I have not been to the cottage
since

2013.

The year things happened.

Maybe this year
I can overcome that
fear.

I knew a girl who wrote poetry, and I know a girl that died.

She was so far away, and yet her words hit close to home.

She was here, and she was there.

We went to different highschools.

I was a baby lesbian.

Barley understanding what that even meant.

I went to her show. A play. A tragedy.

Her words, still touched me.

The first time I used the term 'touched me'
I got snickers from the crowd and had to say "not like that..."

It was sixth grade.

I knew a girl who wrote poetry, and I know a girl who died.

I am glad that I told her I was there for her.

But I still know a girl who died.

A different kind of meditation.

Drinking black ink into black pores.

A way of settling the score,
with oneself.

A shadow of doubt,
for whim or for clout,
leeching and dripping from the rusty spout.

Through pain and through triumph,
head beating, heart bleating.

When can we do this again?

I'm getting mad and sad all at once.

Is that allowed.

Memory is like a tornado these days.

All I want is a cat.

plastic capsules
plastic manuals
plastic life

my tongue shifts,
fights
words once said

thoughts once uttered
head in the
gutter

I am an anomaly

bone teeth barren grin
paper spiders
paper skin

open window
open kin

Let them out,
see them in.

Weird things,
trigger my poetry.

Weird things, weird rhymes.

Weird dreams, that get the best of me.
Weird meaning, weird time.

You can never get the full effect,
unless,
you hear me reading it out loud.

From the heart and from the soul.

You can never know where the
emphasis

Comes from.

Or where it goes.

Trinkets upon trinkets upon cups upon glasses.

When I drive by that street I always go faster.

Another in Oakville makes me feel the same way.

About how I felt on that stupid day.

Kisses in sheets and wet rainy streets. She didn't hold my hand but she did call me sweet.

She claims that she isn't a lesbian. But you know her now and I knew her then.

Back then she was timid and giving me eyes.
Making her laugh and making her smile.

She said she'd never felt this way before.
Took off her ******* right when I closed the door.

She lied down and wind down like never before.
She opened her legs and then she asked for more.

She said that she loved me but then went away.
She found a man and said "hey is that okay."

She liked me, she didn't, she loved me, she quit it, she kind of ****** me but then said "**** oh ****."

****** tease straight girl will always **** with you.

She had, soft hands, she had big talk but when it happened, she chose  to get up and walk.

***** said I seduced her ***** thought that I used her but really she loved it and kept coming back to me. Yee.

Don't know where she's at, because the ***** blocked me. But at the rate that I dream of her I know she thinks of me.

They say don't get with straight girls but what the **** ay, it was worth it to this very day.

It was worth it.

My mom always asks me if

I write my poems somewhere that they can be copy written to protect

my stuff.

Usually I just laugh.
I mean, it's not like it matters.

For me, a poem is like a drunken tweet that I send away into the wind.

Or in this case,
the internet.

And even if someone wanted to copy me
I would see it as flattery.

Before coming after them for a credit.

All I know is I can come up with

poems,
upon poems,
upon poems.

My new years resolution is to write everything that comes to mind.

No more wasting time or saying I'll write it later.

Because I never do.

We had been friends.

Friends for not very long.

I had never seen you before that day,
that day that you walked into grade 11 drama class.

I only knew one person in that class.

A friend of a friend.

When we were asked to get into groups of three.

You came over and I was annoyed but like the flip the flip of a switch I went from hatred to love.

I fell in love with you faster than a green light turns red.

I was so young.

16 turning 17 when I met you.

That feels weird on my tongue.

Many walks, moves, movies, and music later, something happened.

I don't know what it was.

But you let me kiss you, and you kissed me back.

My brain traced back to highschool in those moments, and how long I  had been waiting for this.

You kissed me, and kissed me.

And told me I was beautiful.

I cannot express how that time felt to me, H.

This is one part of one story.

I really love this platform, I do,
I do.

But have you ever noticed that they censor certain things?

Words like **** and ****, sure why not.

But words like lesbian?

Lesbian, lesbian, lesbian. I am a lesbian.

And I am trying to prove a point.

Can some one do me a favour and comment lesbian and we can see if we get blocked by stars.

Blocked by stars like curse words like the word lesbian should be bad.

I don't know about this algorithm anymore.