I was playing at the park waiting for my spot at Violin lessons.

I was not a member of this school.

Girls in unifrom I was probably like 10 years old.

I was taking violin classes at a super fancy school.

I remember going to the playground and two girls in uniforms tried to beat me up.

I was nimble.

Another time at a public school on the time two girls tried to beat e up.

I don't know if it was because I am half black or what.

I am glad I am no longer there.

Forgive me for being so glum.

Hum, hum.

I am fine and I am humble.

The smell of death isn't sweet.

Discrete, discrete.

Death is but a child.

A child I kneel to and ;come, come come.

The moon falls and rises,
follow the light.

She whispers places of safety.

I burst to flames and parts decay.

I fall, I fall.

Places, places to
see.

I am undone.

Come, come.

I walk down the street, through the forest. I see ashes of those who tried. Tried to come.
come.
come.

It's over now isn't it?

I see rivers, I see oceans.
Stay uniquqe.

Why does every moment with her
burn
holes in my heart

but

allow light to seep through
till I see the stars .

Shine through my eyes.
Shine through my soul.

This is the art of not letting go.

I look past the truth
for the lies that I crave.

Twisting and changing
never ending rage.

My mind sees bike ride and grassy fields.

It started with knees and it ended in pleads.

"Stay."

Shifting thoughts like melodies,
songs we once sang in choir.

As happy as a bee returning to her nest,
to her queen.

My heart thumps to the beat of it's own drum.

It remembers,
it breathes,
it renews.

Knowing that I was in" love" with her.

And knowing now
and truly
being in love with Vanessa.

It makes sense to me now.

How the heart can expand and change.

I will always have love for her. The girl I fell in love with ten years ago.

But now I can cherish it. And look at it fondly.

While I gaze at my sleeping wife.

Her physique,
her peaceful face,
her beauty.

I think this must be the lesbian experience.

These sights
these sounds,

bittersweet on my tongue.

Acid reflux afternoons.
Stomach bile mornings.

Wasted nights,
wasting away.

Vomiting for
vomits sake.

Dehydration nation.

Please don't tell my mom.

I used to work at Zellers.

Back when that was a thing.

I think I worked there for three years.

And as bitter as I am about not making any real friends there, or not getting invited to Zellers parties because I was the only one who lived across town...

There is one memory that stays with me.

It was a mother and a child.

The mother was always stressed, but the child was so happy. Glowing.

They loved dolls and dresses, and was the cutest and most polite child I met there.

One day, when the mother was checking out, buying some dolls for her child, I looked at them and then at her and said,

"They are so cute."

And she immediately teared up.  She was so overwhelmed that someone might look at a child who is gender non conforming and be okay with it.

She thanked me profusely.

I never saw them again but I hope they are both doing well.

There's always a girl.

That one,

girl.

There are always simple things in life that we cling onto for no apparent reason.

But maybe for those same reasons, we think about that one girl.

It could be the most simple of things.

An umbrella, a pair of sunglasses, a hockey puck, a used towel, a plastic dinosaur, a novel, a feeling, a kiss.

It can be burned in forever.

Only to be melted away by the warmth that is Spring.

Only thawed, never burned.

Like a delicate flower she was,
hanging in a french cafe.

She could have been so much more than she was.

Highschool sweet hearts.
At least, it could have been that easy.

I asked her to prom as a joke but she said yes.

But because of the over bearing hetero norm town I was living in, I said yes to a boy as well.

That was my first mistake.

I should have stayed with her.

I was never straight nor bi, never will be.

I am a lesbian to the core.

But I let the wrong person in.

For too long.

I still look for her face in crowds.

Maybe one day we will reunite.

But until then I have found the real love of my life, my future wife.

This was a lesbian fairy tale.

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 have all I want.
I've a woman and a cat.
That's all that I need.

Is it possible to shift from love to hate.

The thought of you fills me with disgust.

In the tiny photos I see of you I feel anger.

I wish whole heatedly that I had never met you, never experienced that pain, that game.

Your game of lies, your game of sin.
Your game of fine for now,
but not the end.

I hate your stupid naked cat.
I hate that compared to yours,
my voice is flat.

I hate you,
I hate you.

Because you were a terrible friend.

I hate you,
I hate you...

Because it's never the end.
*
You made me seem like the crazy one.

Even though you were the one
leading me on.

I remember your father at 6 in the am,
he didn't care that we had just spent the entire night awake waiting

For you sister to go to sleep, at 5am in the morning,
...So that we could finally kiss, only to have sweet nothings.

These memories are real and that's why I put it down on paper.

I loved her deeply, it's stupid, I'm learning.

If I were to cross her path one day, I know for sure that I would say,

I miss you.

Hold me tight, I'm not a sinner.
Please don't take me
as
a beginner.

I am not
a
good person.

I look at you and want to
scorn you.

I tear my hair
from
my own skull.

And nothing seems to quell the
pain.

I could lie here forever.
I like it like that.

Blankets over heads,
pillow fort synagogue.

I am plastic and wax,
I melt at the touch.

Please don't abandon me friend.

I'll call you from a pay-phone sometime.

But I am not coming home.

I am fine.

Nothing can hurt me.

Sometimes saying goodbye is easier that holding on.

Sometimes it's better to let it go.

Let me go.

//

I am quiet like a rabbit.

Rabbit racing heart.

It's almost like separation anxiety but long dormant.

When your spouse leaves the house and doesn't come back when she usually does.

Your heart physically aches.

Aches to be held and to see her face.

Of course, you know she is safe but there is no where safer than lying next to me in bed.

Being able to stroke her head and feel her presence next you you.

Moments like these can be scary, and at the same time, quite refreshing and beautiful.

Knowing that there is someone in your life that you care so deeply about.

Almost like breathing.

You cannot live without oxygen, and I feel whole heartedly that I cannot live without her beside me.

Some may call that crazy, and crazy it is.

To be crazy in love with another human.

To feel almost apart of them.

It is a dangerous game to play, the game of love.

Because you have not only your own life to be cautious of and worry about, but also that of another.

Without this love, you may be stress free.

But when you have it, and if you have it you know.

That you would rather stay up waiting for that other half of your self to return to you,

than to sit alone, in silence,

wondering what that could

be like.

Deception is a beautiful thing.

A power, a grace.

Triggering.  

When I think of those moments, of those months of those years,

Well,

Tears have done me nothing.

Dreams,

They keep coming.  

I know I am a young, I know I am old.

But truth be told,

sometimes I still feel like nothing.

Sometimes I feel like I peaked in my teens.

And then I remember the tears, I remember those knees.

I remember every scar, and every mistake.

And I hate...

And then I forget.

Memory is a silly trait,

Dreams are such a strange state.

All I want is to go on.

Move on.

"Can you please stay until he leaves?"

I slip the note to you across the counter.

You, take one look at the man, crumple the note and nod, stuffing the evidence into your pocket.

Me, loose lips and sweaty palms.
Shifty eyes on the guy who will not leave.

You, make yourself comfortable,
take up space.

You are loud.

You make the man feel unwelcome.

He leaves,

I breathe,

you come up to me.

"What the hell was that?"

Me
in tears,
not in tears.

Shaking with fear,
fighting for breath.

"He makes me really uncomfortable. He has said things to me that are, disgusting..."

You ask why I still let him in.

I tell you that my boss doesn't get it..

because..
because..

"Because he's a dude."  you say.

"Because he's a dude."

You look me in the eye and tell me that you would never let anything happen to me, that your husband is in the car outside and it would have gotten serious if it needed too.

We have an unspoken bond now.

Her and I.

Thank you.

When my hair is up, and when my hair is down I feel like
a different
person.

Closed capsules of promised happiness give me nightmares.

Medication is just another word for being sick.

Or is it.

I need medication to feel normal and even though it's been a year or so that still feels strange on my tongue.

I remember being utterly crazy and nothing could tame me. I was a beast in my own body.

Now I am, me again. I think.

I'm still not sure how anyone put up with me.

This is a reflection.

Of time.

I can't believe that I was ever with a man.

I look back at the photos and i can't.

It doesn't make any sense to me.

That was a different person.

I look back at old photos of us and I just cringe.

I don't understand how I let him in.

It makes no sense to adult me,

I wish younger me could have seen.

That I am a lesbian.

A woman seeking women.

Why did I put myself through that whole undoing.

In love with a straight girl,
dating a straight male.

Mess.

Like the cicada,
I awaken once a year
to scream and then die.

Body against body.
You smell amazing.

You smell like summer time and sadness.

The smell of you, is one I wish I could bottle.

In the middle of your ******* smelt the sweetest.
hThe sweetest scent I have ever smelled.

Do you remember yelling at the kids throwing litter from the bridge?

I remember everything about you.

Darling muse

Heartbroken fuse.

Your ******* smelt like sunshine.

It's times like these that I would have messaged you in vein, in pain.

But I know I can't do that anymore.

Even though it hurts and you would have listened, would have been too eager to listen.

I know it was all wrong.

But at the same time there is no one here to take your place.

I live in a small world with few to talk to. And when the one person you rely on most isn't talking back.

You sometimes need that support of someone else who will listen. And let you rant.

I need a new best friend.

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.

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.

Writing poetry that isn't laced in pain, laced in
solitude.

Writing down not names, writing down absolutes.

I don't know up from down at this point. Am I listening to the same song can you pass me a joint.

I used to be so loud and confident.

Even though people saw me as ugly as a loser.

And that I was but who cares lol.

All ya'll aging like cheese so please let me be as I age like wine hahaha.

I'm FINE?

Or might delete in the am

The other day I was asked,

if I had ever been in a toxic relationship before.

It was a conversation between manager and managee, but we don't see it that way.

We are friends.

And we got onto the topic of crazy exes.

And so I told my story. About the one man I dated before coming out of the closet.

And how he threw me into the ground, after pulling a knife on me.

To be honest I threw him to the ground first.

It was after a concert.

And we were both drunk.

But after a slip up I made we ended up on a train going the wrong way.

And I had a panic attack.
He didn't like that.

He took my phone and pretended to throw it across the tracks.

So of course, I was in distress.

And I cried, and I cried.

And I had been on the phone with my mom, my one true confidante and he stripped that away.

To this day, I still look back on this moment as abuse. Why did no one help me?

He pulled a knife from his pocket and said if I did not stop crying he would slit his wrists.

At that I lost it.

We had a mutual friend who had killed himself.

How dare this ******* threaten the same thing.

Despite the fact that he was an ex MMA fighter I took him down.

I hooked my leg against his and shoved him down into the ground and screamed at him, saying he shouldn't say such things.

And rather than hold me, he flipped me into the dirt and pushed mt face down. I tasted gravel.

Anyone who wanted to help was barked away by him.

Why was I so alone.

Why did no one come.

The rest of us ended in similar situations.

He then proceeded to sleep with my best friend.

And I broke up with more than one person that day.

Tree branches, swing sets and sun sets,
that was my childhood.

Bare feet in the sand, the wood-chips and the asphalt.

I wasn't like the other girls.

Maybe that's why I was bullied.

But even before then boys pulled on my curls like door knobs although I made a doorbell impression.

People have been yanking my tail since before I could speak.

Bleak.

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.

Blue, blue

raspberry.

Is that a real flavour?

Summer time, sun shines which is rare in Canada.

I remember changing outfits several times.

Sweat dripping like regret lingering, and being totally unsure of the whole situation.

Was she who she said she was?

But after driving my car up to the train station and seeing her there, leaning against the concrete so obsolete so complete. Hair spiked into a mohawk, sunglasses covering her eyes.

I took her for ice cream in my whip. I didn't know it then but she liked that.

After icecream we go for a walk but don't get very far before I say um I'm parked illegally.

So we go back and I drive her to the pier. Nothing to see here.

But she did ask to hold my hand.

Have you ever been on a first date so pure?

And we were no where near done.

She asked to hold my hand and I said yes.

And then I took her minigolfing.

I dropped her off at the station around 7pm.

We have not gone more than a week without seeing eachtother since that first date.

Im fact we live together,
and are getting married.

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.