Loud head. Silent mouth.
Loud thoughts. Empty words.
Loud pain.
Screaming, deafening pain.
Numbness.

Hard to break,
Changes your brain,
Makes you dependent,
Taking away your independence.
Whether it be a drink,
Vape or cigarette,
Or even a cellular device,
You can’t bear to let charge at night.
It’s destroying you,
I’ve seen it,
My uncle thought it was safe,
It killed him.
Don’t be the one who gets stuck,
In all the harmful muck,
But if you do,
You,
Can overcome.

When someone dies,
Reality seems to slow to a halt.
Nothing makes any sense anymore,
And everything goes wrong.
They say there are five different stages,
Anger, denial, depression, bargaining, and acceptance.
Everyone feels it differently,
There’s not a special order to the pain.
Like a tidal wave,
It keeps knocking you down,
To the ground,
You fear you may drown,
And there’s no one around.
It never goes away,
Acceptance isn’t grief’s end,
Just a way,
To compartmentalize the pain,
Before it drowns you again.

Less than thirty years ago,
The last residential school closed.
I sit in the shelter cafeteria
And snack on a gift of bannock bread
While studying malnutrition, sutures, and
Average healing time for wounds.

I walk the middle line,
Open to hearing both sides.
Things are rarely black and white,
That’s something you’ll find.
There’s always nuance,
Though people may deny,
Open your mind,
And realize,
That perhaps you aren’t always right.
So many petty fights,
For “rights”
Stirring up so much strife,
For what?
Why can’t we just live life?
I try,
To be open minded,
And walk the middle line.
Always scouring the desert for nuance,
And nuance I always find.

Fried Chicken
An artist with skills quite prolific,
Found fried chicken to be soporific.
He’d sketch with great flair,
Then fall off his chair,
Dreaming of drumsticks, terrific.

Colour
A painter with hues he found drab,
mixed colour in the shell of a crab.
He’d mix with a grin,
Shades of cerulean,
And pretended it came from the lab.

Blue hue
A gardener who brewed his own ***,
drank too much and found his face numb.
he hadn't a clue,
why he turned a blue hue,
but it contrasted with his green thumb.

Diet
A salesman with charm and a grin
Sold a cure to make me look thin
"Try it today, keep flab far away"
But my scales are not taken in!

When I last addressed you,
I considered you a former friend,
And after much consideration,
And re-evaluation,
I’m putting this debate to an end.
You were not my friend,
You never were,
Despite what I said,
And what I believed,
You never cared for me.
I was just an ear,
That you used for many years,
Oh, you caused me many fears,
Deprived me of cheer.
Friends don’t do what you did,
So I’ll say again,
You were not my friend,
And you never were.

I don’t consider myself a cynic,
But I am not fooled by good intentions,
People lie,
All the time.
Is it purely for self-interest?
Does any good come from their interventions?
Who am I to say?
Each person has their own belief,
On the selfishness,
Of humanity.
I’d like to believe,
That there’s goodness around,
You may have to squint,
But I’m certain it can be found.
Isn’t it a depressing point of view,
To say that everyone is selfish,
And nobody cares about you?
I’m not overly optimistic,
Nor excessively pessimistic,
I don’t believe that I’m a cynic,
I walk the middle line,
Filled with nuance,
And confusion,
All of the time.

Whenever there’s a storm,
And I hear the rain pour,
As the wind blows,
I’m reminded of the coziness of home.
That feeling of safeness,
A place to hide from the darkness,
When it seems hopeless,
A bed for your tiredness.
Though I know,
Not everyone has a home,
Or one that is safe,
One without pain,
So I feel empathy,
For those who may not be,
Lucky like me.
As I write these words,
I hear you,
And I’ll hold you,
In a tight hug.
It’ll be okay!
The storms aren’t here to stay.
Even though the winds may blow,
You can find a home.