He handed out love
Like it was an object
In a gift-wrapped box
With gift receipt taped on
After few times use
They went to the store
They got a full refund
He never got back
What he freely gave

I’m still young
He thought
I’m just enjoying life
He thought
I really care about those women
He thought
I’m being honest about my feelings
He thought
I’ll find the right one this way
He thought
Twenty-eight women later

He was more degraded
Than ever before
The number wasn’t impressive
He certainly wasn’t proud
He’d rather it roll back
To zero or maybe one or two
At the most. Only those few
First cuts who left their mark
Were still on his mind from
Time to time or all the time
Depending on how honest
He was on that particular day
He’s a suicide case
He feels sick to his stomach
Unsteady, faint, vertigo
He falls - falls - has fallen
He feels a hand at his neck
His chest tight like a rope
Was wrapped around it
Tied to a pick up truck
And drove forwards at full speed
Clutching him ever tighter
His breath sapped from his lungs
“I only want to be a better man
A better man than I am
To live and not to fear
To thrive on happiness
Not fall into the same old trap
Of mortal hungers”
These words loop in his head
Like a broken record
Light fades from his eyes
A ringing floods his ears
Like the dial-tone of an old phone
Left hanging on the cord
When a call is long over
The choice is his to try again
His alone
Either to live on
- or -
To die a lump on the stone cold floor
He starts to cry
He’s full of fear
- but -
No one’s half as anxious as the crowd

I’m standing here
Naked and bare
To you
And to the world.
I haven’t been ready.
I’ve been dancing in meadows
With my eyes shut tight
And covering myself
In hand-me-down clothes.
But I’m not dancing anymore.
I’ve shed the scraps
Of ripped up cloth
And my skin
Along with them.
My eyes are open.
I’m listening now.
I’m ready to see
What you have
To show me.
I’m ready to hear
What you have
To tell me.

The deepest beginnings start by wading through shallow waters

It's been 30 years since I've had to think about these things.
A long time between lovers, infatuations, and flings.
While the players are new, their roles have stayed true.
(Yet I find myself lost; don't remember this cost!)
As I relearn the rules of woo.

If I could have one last conversation with you
A final day in the sunshine
I'd tell you I love you
for the first time
and the last.

If there's one more thing I could teach you
It would be that the way you're living
armoured
alone
unforgiving
is no way to live.

But I'd say it in my head, send it through my exhales in the hopes it subconsciously reaches your ears,
so as not to ruin the present moment.

We're sitting in silence
knees touching
bodies leaning into each other so it all hurts less

You'd stroke my eyelashes as they flutter with your fingertips
I can't remember what your laugh sounds like anymore

I can picture you laughing, but it's like a silent movie

But I remember how your voice sounds as it cracks through your tears
And I can see your restlessness
even with my eyes open.

I can feel your sadness
Its weight I can still see imprinted on my love seat

If I could tell you one more story about myself,
To the version of you that was still open
like a sunflower
so willing to receive

I would tell you that I'm tired of being scared
done with hiding my need to be protected
so tired of staying up all night guarding my own heart.

I may require affection and love more than you're used to giving
but you have seen my love move mountains for free
and I need just once for someone to do the same for me.

If I could meet you for the first time
one last time

I would share with you that I see your fears and I honour them
sooner than I did before.

I'd tell you
you're safe here

I would believe who you said you were the first time.

If I were to say goodbye to you again
a do-over
an un-doing

I would sit fully in that moment with you
and thank you for your honesty
forgive you for your shortcomings

Accepting that you never really unpacked your bags

Even though in my mind,
we had already grown old together.

I'm surrounded by these four walls,
My thoughts bouncing off of them;
Loud and clear.

I find comfort in these four walls,
Knowing that my cries for help never leave,
That when I wail at night no one can get to me.

I also feel trapped by these four walls,
They make me feel small,
The white colour blinding me when I come up for air each time.

But these four walls know me better than anyone else here,
They know the real me.
Because when I leave these four walls every morning,
I leave as a new me.

Sun dried pages of a book
you've carried around
long before the first day
your father picked you up
and you felt what it meant to be free.

The cover scratched
from the cobblestone walkway
leading up to your front door,
the one where mom always greeted you
with a smile that defined the meaning of home.

Coffee stained corners
from the first all nighter you pulled,
the day you learned
to keep your thoughts tucked away inside your bag
instead of out in the open where drinks and feelings are easily spilled.

Two covers stuffed
with a life times worth of letters
arranged into stories
that haven't felt like your own in years.

Paper filled with unfamiliar feelings
flee your fingertips and you realize,
you haven't been concerned
with holding on for a while now anyway.

Sometimes the pages stop making sense,
and all that's left to do
is drop the book completely
and create a new one.

                And you use what you learned,
                                    but leave it behind