honey i've got a rhyming boom box attitude
aptitude
gratitude
fill me up like  a garbage chute

running backwards like i'm kinda cute
getting honked at to tell me
to get out of the way

well Mr Driver that's not very nice
i'm not yet a big girl
so don't fight my fire
with your deadass ice

she said: Get in the Car
and this was her way of telling me she loved me
this was her way of saying she as so tired of everything I'd said to her that day but she was still there
as always, still willing to be there
still willing to take me home, willing to tuck me into bed, willing to be stronger for me
willing to be the pillar, willing to be the brick and mortar, the
standalone shop of all the support i could ever ask for


she said get in the car,
i will love you more once we get home, i will put you in the shower, i will show you when you cry you can always get cleaned right back up, i will show you broken is never broken because i will always show up, and all your pieces are something i know how to put all back together. i've seen you all put back together. i've been the one putting you back together for years now. a decade and a half now, how could i not know where they go? you're my baby you're my baby

she said get in the car and it was her way of showing up to be the best friend I always felt I needed but did not deserve

6) i am not stubborn
i am not stuck
i am not doomed
i am not cursed
i am not powerless in the face of others

5) i will not be bitter about the cards that i have been dealt
i will not assume
i will give
i will take
i will be

4) i can still live without the things that are important to me
i can still change
i can still dream
i can still accept others into my life

3) i am willing to make amends with those i have hurt
i am willing to move forward from damaging experiences
i am willing to try different solutions

2) i am constantly learning
i am constantly changing

1) no one is out to get me

If I had the ocean, so vast and blue,
Or if I had the sky, I’d give it to you,
But all I had was a smile,
Petty and meek,
So you got hooked while I was barely a week,
I was innocent and small,
And you risked it all,
For a man you barely knew,
How could you?
But even I have to admit,
That if you ever decided to quit,
I’d still laugh at all your jokes,
We’d never trust any blokes,
And you’d still be a perfect mother to me.
You probably don’t know me,
You probably don’t care,
But I want you to know,
That I have red hair.

i put my heart gently upon the water
        she usually grazes softly against each wave,
with the silence of a church nave
     mimicking that gentle pry  
of prayer-filled halls.

i unroll her scripture
   making sure to lay her out completely,
allowing her to speak at ease
because
she is fluent in its ebb and flow
and it is rude to interrupt
      
   i listen with curiosity, and some intent
hidden to myself
      
      i watch her agitation bubble and build
the  anger become apparent,
        her anger becomes a parent
kicking and
        
starting
what they call the ripple effect

     of heavy breathing
or in other words, a young heart's teething

she ***** about, makes a scene,
      holds her breath
dives
before
pouring into a voluminous body of water

the  endless volumes

of my body of     water

she pours in proclamation
this is all
my body
and all
my water

our emotional waters, out to sea
out to see

    the big chain of space

between our beings

keep in mind, or in heart
that if you
hold me closer
at some point
i promise
i will let go

prickly vibes climb the ceiling
of the attic you weep
in,
      the comforts of your worn-out bed;
                                                        stained blood-red.

it's awfully cold
for a typically sluggish winter
day-,
             by-day you still don't learn;
                                                  of no return.

staring at the mirror you see
it is not sadness you suffer from
but,
        a full-blown catastrophe;
                                         permanent detainee.

you sob for weeks but no-one hears
the screams dance off walls and doors
begging,
             for mercy or an escape;
                                          man-in-cape.

y­ou've done nothing but lead
a dull life and now you wait
distressed,
            with empty hopes for a rescue;
                                                     past overdue.

it's hard to say what went wrong
and easier to say what went right
despite,
            you dying and all;
                                  *poor soul.

Been feeling like
I'm one of those cuts that you can only see under a certain light
and once you see them in that certain light, it's hard to unsee it
   and you can't stop seeing it in that light. Even when it's dark you can still see it on your skin.

Lately I've just been cut with my own sadness, as though there's nothing more occupying in the world than the chills I get after a disappointing text message. Hugging my knees, I'll sit and stare at a wall. I'm depressing myself, they say.

Maybe I am. But I can't fight the urge enough not to.

I don't always know how to be there for you
I look at you
I wonder where to start

How to begin comforting?
When to begin holding?
Where to begin speaking at all?

This is when my silence begins to feel less like understanding and more like dread
Like a steaming whistle from the boiling thoughts in my head

I try to remember words said before
Only to realize if they had worked
We would not be here again

crying into your bed
gripped sheets, bitter is the taste of defeats
a fist mark in the mattress
beneath the wings of your pillow
day's tears all over your blanket
(the one we used to hide under)
(and it was safe)

there, a picture burns in my mind, a picture of you sinking into a memory foam mattress that just won't‪ Forget
just won’t
relent

when you throw your breath into the pillow. you are face down, eyes closed, tears falling. the bed is looking at you like there is no comfort for it to introduce you to
it is helpless.

my bed is safety, my bed is refuge.

your bed is a war zone, your bed is a construction zone, your bed is a witness to the crime of your pain

when I found you my heart sunk to my feet. I remember my gut pushing me to your bed and I remember touching the tear stained sheets thinking I was not meant for this, thinking I was not built for this. I remember breathing and breathing and breathing and never feeling like it made a difference at all. being by you felt like the death I didn’t know how to tell no. so i stayed, contemplated a bunk bed, contemplated a queen size bed.
I learned the hard way
I cannot make anyone else's bed
I cannot be the one to lie in it.

i guess it was always this cold every
winter but i never fully realized 366 days
later this is exactly where i'd be again

i say goodbye to it every year and i
take whatever veil everyone makes for me
to throw it over

we all want to start over

but it's here that january starts to cry on my shoulder
i liked this shirt, and i liked to keep my heart on its sleeves
but i let her cry until i feel each shoulder freeze

knowing this year was a bad one and
that she's lost a lot

(this entire time i think: ***** you. ***** you for hurting her)
(but i also want her to forgive)

the entire time wishing i could have her back
and soon i'm having a panic attack

my hand over her now
under my breath i'm praying
i wish i could take the weight off her
i wish i had plainly had more
to offer
i wish i had it in me to say i could stop her

from everything but mostly from her own suffering
even months away i'm so ****** cursed
to already see the sadness buffering
her software overload

switching her hardware up thinking it would do us any good
when the world will still spin and the events planned
will still happen as they should

all i do is hold her and hold her fists
away from her eye
stop rubbing them while you cry
she said she'd have worried about wrinkles too
if she didn't plan to die

i'm getting too old to ask her to justify why

every year i get asked
  please won't you please
  keep this boulder?
i need it to stop me from getting older
please won't you please?     i want to stay on your shoulder

and every year she says:
don't **** my dream don't **** my hope don't **** my illusion
unless you want me dead too

i said this year i want this and i want you
but
keep that february away from me
if you want it gone i want
all of it gone

she said
i might not be right but i can tell that
that is wrong

(and she adds
i wish instead i was
left
cause i need you going and i need you gone)

but i'm
hanging tight
hoping my heavy burns down to your light

no , light
lightest lit light
stop me turning everything into
a fight

no light
isn't that winter?
yes
wake up
it's winter it's march

you know what i want to say?
i'm waiting for sweet april days
roll around fast paced craze
and all her showers i'm waiting for
i'm itching at stories because i can't wait for more
and thank april for the showers for the flowers for the
bloom for the
run around turn around
find yourself hanging on her
every move

till May said May
till May said
you may May
you may stay you may be mine
you, may,
be mine

you maybe
mine

you, maybe mine

just for a few days more

till june comes around to hack and **** up my door

unsturdy but there
one against the problems door against the thought door against
the dizzy door against the rot

so  hinges slipped and hinges slid
and nothing felt heavier than
my eyes, right shut close they did

i was holding in the only way i knew
i was keeping up before i blew

i was keeping in as much as i could
i was holding on more than i should

and tell july she was ugly

and tell her if i hadn't been too busy crying
and too busy sad
i would've been mad

dare she
did anyways
and poked me in the eye

she said

they have to be open

i said

you're the one trying to **** me now

she said august is here and
you missed it fighting

i said i missed myself
more than i could ever imagine
and i feel myself
on seven clouds
at once

she said i know who you're talking about and give her four days
she's going go away

i nodded
but i knew it couldn't be true
this was a form of me as much as it was all i cared to say i knew

till friend my friend called her friend to call my friend friend to call around and say that i found myself
at the edge of myself and i realized much of the ******* up and i realized more than sorry
and i remembered big guilt filling up pools of myself and
incapacity to swim and
overcrowding
means drowning

in august i remembered how ugly
i could be in the rawest form of myself

and i spent 2 weeks with my hands on a blade wondering
when the day would be that i'd ditch
the body

i was possessing feeling and thought and i was
something more than that

i was surprised to read in my journal that this was something i thought consistently about

so if i were to let go it'd be the body it'd be
the mind and i'd let them die
the only way my spirit could ever learn to fly

and body got weaker call me
weakest on the plane
but september came here right back and
she came back quite like the best
hug attack

no hack no more she said
no need for
a door

she came back to say i'm here! she came back to say i missed you!
and i missed her too i missed you so much i love
you so much i love myself i am superwoman i am
superwoman today

she said you are superwoman everyday jesus
christ you have no idea what you've missed

i said i love you i love you i love you don't you
dare go away

and friend called friend and friend called friend
till the sad came around to finally
shove me again

locker of myself i thought
bullies were insecure

but she looked me straight in the eyes with words
and a voice that made me know she was sure

i didn't even say hi to her this time
so don't give me crap
i hate her
as much as you do


and i was thinking out loud to my best friend to
please just make her go away make her go away

but stupid idea because i stayed for months
in a bed
with her
in my head

so month beat month till month turned month
happy birthday month happy
anniversary month
marking days
i knew what it
was for

and in october i swore i
was feeling it come on this year mild

but november was so cold and december
looks at me in that way that january felt
and i knew it wasn't innocent enough to leave me alone

i can't defend you january i am so sorry this is
so much bigger than both of us

i'm just so sorry to have not kept my promise to you

I asked her how many more times?

she stares at me for a long time

eyes about to change. this is the answer before the answer.

she inhaled, and the little trust I had left in her begins to fade.

I know the answer, before she exhales.

again and again and again

that’s how many

it was mercy it was grace it was
all the ugly tucked away from my face

and i did it? to myself? and i did it? to you?

flash forward
and i'm an apathetic fighter
tracing my finger on this lighter
and if it takes me higher

well i'm gonna be a liar
set two truths on fire
line this world with wire
keep out a real entire

feeling my illusion and i'm glad it's in my hands to hold
when reality hissed at me that i wasn't made to fold and fold
but Habit starts small! and then Habit gets old
and Truth, do tell
and truth was told

so circumstance came as karmic knight
and filled me with so much worry about wrong and right

then circumstance tugged at two loosened strands
and i stood a little too tall before I fell into the worst of hands
dropped into circumstantial moral fight
worrying i got off far too often and far too light

so i go back into old moral grounds
here i feel a dream as it drowns
here i hear a siren as it sounds

and i know consequence didn't make me sorry and it didn't make me contrite
and if there was a thing i picked on it was Justice in a Fight

i'm sorry and i'm trying now

if you were interested,
I'd say I was too.
looking outward
      finding  eyes that didn't shy away
back at me
the strongest feeling there ever was the
strongest challenge you ever were
eyes brown, earthy murky
        sometimes fiery, but icey too
I see, I see too
eyelids heavy  heavy feelings taking over the light
               and it was always something i wanted to know;
What the Day Owes the Night

we watched the sky as it grew
blue again blue is always gonna remind me of you
never another day in the grey. you promised to chase every storm away
       put your palms against mine, that's how we did it first
put your palms against mine. that's how we did it first

I don't know what we like to imagine but
I like to imagine that we like to imagine
that nothing ever happened before
the writer put pen to paper, that
the world held still for him, that the world
laid down for him, that the world
raised her arms in open welcome and teeming grace:
here lay your head here i'll hold your face

can we go back to the days when white seemed too grey can we go back to the days when happiness was more than just a conceptual name can we go back to the days when the old people in the old world come about again hoping screaming and hoping, wishing well, wishing well, all these good tides washing upon us. we were hoping for a different kind of frosty night but this is what ended up happening and we ran with it. ran as our feet pattered the floor ran as our hands tackled the door and this is our makeshift guess for reality's sake.

glass window
cold glass window
people out look bitty
my hands are on the city
and they're on the glass window

hell to all the windows
cause they block out the good city sound
that blocks my thinking when you aren't around
and i promise To God
i'll stay here before i ask you around
so this is the only way to you that I'll be bound
so to these windows i'll be bound

and you're around
outside probably
walking probably
taking that crisp winter walk
remember when we used to talk

i always liked it when we went on those
just to talk

if they go roll we go rock
if they go hip we go hop
just listening to the sound of the city stalk
just listening to the sound of the city block

by then we'd been going further each and every time
laying down the feet with feet like our own little rhyme

and you had that sweet conversation that you'd pour down my throat
and i had that sweet salvation of the words i bent down and wrote


on the glass window with my fingers on the fog
on the glass window with my tongue in the bog

i knew this and i knew this
i knew this
and i knew this

we walked through october in its falling rain
until a bad day in november came
to fill our december and make a dimming bright light quickly wane
and run wax down our fingertips till we learned each other's achy pain
stupid bad day
made me need to go away

and my january and my february screamed
happy **** birthday to me
happy **** birthday to you
happy valentines day, too.

let me scratch the window i wanna ******* hurt the window
but instead i stand by the window pane
cause i knew this pain and i loved
it anyway

city glass i'm seeing your face pass
church window i still see you at mass

here's the lecture you always skip
here's the professor you like to trip
here's the girl you used to like
once upon a time i poked holes in her bike

but i'm gonna go buy her a sundae today
and i'm gonna get her to teach me about the day
it all went away
as if it was always gonna go away

i see you. those remarkable features tucked in by the structure i crave. i love your face. but it contains that expression of yours that i can't trust.

if i tell you to tell me what's wrong, will i regret it?
because your expression now tends to look like the last page in a book i fell into, got dizzied by, and lost myself into

and my heart sinks to ground me back and hold me closer to the reality around me. once i finish reading you it's back to it now

i can't force myself to finish reading your face
if i finalize the dawn of this nightmare, and fully enter this cue to leave and put down this book
i accept the aftermath. tonight's energy will be an all-consuming emptiness
tonight i will feel nothing else but this
tonight i will cry to fill the hours because nothing else feels right
but mourning, mourning, and more of the mourning
all the way till morning! all the way till night!

then tomorrow i will call in sick at work.
i know i will not get up to shower, or throw away tear-stained tissues (of which there will be at least 53)
i know i will have a few missed calls from my mom and a lot of from my grandmother. i know my brother will drop by to tell me to call them back - someone, anyone. i know i will send him back there and he will hate me for the way i am. he will tell me this and i will use it as fuel to cry some more.
i know my best friend will leave me a few texts. i know some people, probably on the other side of the world, will remember they haven't checked up on me in a while and will probably decide to do so. i know they expect me to tell them i'm doing well (it's the polite thing to say), i know it would surprise them if i told them how i was really doing.

i know the world is busy and it will not stop because my world has.
i know this, and i know this, and i know this.
i see you, and i've read too many books about these kinds of endings, so somehow i have a good inclination as to what might follow. but i am a hopeless romantic -- at least, i am a hopeless literary, i am the girl who believes real life is ugly but real life in poetry can be beautiful.

so i hope, in the midst of the real life ugliness, that i can write some real life poetic beauty.

after i've finished crying tonight.

I slip my hand into yours to tell you
my voice is back,
my voice is back

nervous excitement crawling up my back
put my internal mic on, no more lack


I sit in her spot to tell you
she’s gone,
long gone

the space between us fills me with
so much wait

that ironically, I don’t dare say another thing.

it was just like him to slip into her dream
to not quite meet her gaze, and begin to apologize
not because he was sorry, but because he had felt he had suffered enough time
without her forgiveness

he asked her if she was done being angry
and she asked him if he was done being blind

he turned away from her and opened a window she was startled to see. when he was in her dreams it was often tunnel vision.

but today there were details blooming in the peripheries. she felt herself expand from within as the exit naturally showed itself, like a thief of air showing itself out.

he jumped out
and she woke before the thud

I am not scared of you leaving.
I'm scared of you not coming back.
I hold my breath till my lungs feel like they're on fire
when you tell me goodbye.

no one asked us to draw each other
but it happened as though someone did.

just doing what we usually did
and loved to do
or so we did
or so we do

this time we don’t hide that we want to stay longer

which in the nighttime especially
wasn't the easiest thing
to stop from wanting to be doing.
so i can't complain

when we were on the grass
with no shoes.
you look at an old star i
think of the old swear jar
in the kitchen,
i was barefoot then too

but silence took ahold of time
or so it reached for it
in a way that said to us that every moment here in peace was stolen
and undeserved

but you say don't worry
we could do this forever
we could do anything forever.

time was hungry but time got its fill
and our honest wanting channelled into a still

we look at the other wanting to turn faces into stills too
hold onto cheeks smudging in a glow
coming from the moon
a moment cast from ghost of stronger love past
asking us to lift the mask

so raise brush, so i do
so raise brush, so do you
to lift the mask, transference task
from moment to leave to moment to stay
forgive the days we went away
i forgive the days you went away
but more there's more i want to say
so took hold of hands they were yours
and spoke to you of emotional cores

knowing  eyes drift
and eyes implore
and you look at me like you did once before
you say be with me. be with me like we used to be
before
but this time it'll be less like this i promise and more like more

so i paint. and again, no one asked me to. but i wanted to
if i had a brush i could
somehow conjure a scene that feels enough
like putting down the mast
here i promise you it'll be safe to walk over it at last
past past
backs back

no one asked me to compose but i
wanted to listen to it again


to feel like i've finally sent aging grudges into spaces
alleys and other dark places

you asked me to do one thing and it was to sew
something i wasn't even sure i would really know
when i thought of us broken but in my hands a needle and thread
it felt like you were right here instead of just in my head
and like this i understood what you meant
if i could just fix us instead

bet to bet
fuse to fuse
a couple of hearts
running loose

running

a loose cannon, far away
clear as day


start a tally keep a score
run our mouths

how many more
can we afford to lose?



playing time
wondering when this ends
whether we'll be winners
or just "good" "friends"

it never makes sense to stay up with these feelings but i find myself doing it just the same as if one word is eventually going to catch fire and burn this whole poem out of existence again cause that's what it feels like after i'm done writing cause there's tension between me and this ground i've been trying to live on and the tension lights sparks which light sparkling fires greater than anything you've ever experienced before

oh, here's a feeling
we're going to draw it out from the middle
it'll feel new it'll feel new
give it time
it'll feel new

when the heat gets too high it starts to feel cold
well, that's what you ought to wait for when things start to get old
if you want to unknow what you already do so well
if you want to unlearn what you could be blind and still spell

then give it time
it'll feel new

the day comes in and the day comes out
with all nighttime live and let live, it used to promise me
it used to promise me and i wasn't always this naive but
i used to believe in its potential and it used to probably believe in mine
and what gave me away finally was time

who knew a man could change who knew a girl could too
under that guidance and i always wished that back then i too knew
but vines don't wither vines grow up
and if i had learned one thing it's that people don't shut up

or they do and you make them talk again
before sympathy gives and
they let you in
halfway back in
but who's letting me in isn't in essence letting me win
and you're not the same person who kicked me out
and that's who i wanted to love me

and i know there's some part of you shutting yourself up

i know there's some part of you.

this is called a body scan
one, two, three
chest rise, hold...
now imagine your breath
going through every part of you
find where you have tension
and relax it...

so I find my hands
over my eyes, hiding the sun
blocking the light
so subtle I almost don’t realize it
and I force them to come down.

i have to open my eyes, to open my eyes
i want to look and see as far as it goes
i worried before, felt sore ahead
a feeling of dread
pushing me to look away  

But this time I have all I need
what I don’t have, I have learned to ask for
and when it is denied to me,
I have learned to be grateful
and to let that feeling take over
my visual field

so that it is always
what is on my mind
that is in my view

so that I see
what I want to see more of.

inhale, exhale
one glance at a time.

It's 7 o'clock on a Thursday night,
As I write this letter,
I write with fright.

I am torn between what I have to say,
What I want to say,
And what I'm going to say.

I crumple the paper,
I toss it away,
There isn't anything worth it to say.

It's 9 o'clock on a Thursday night,
I am starving for love,
A faux appetite,
All I can write in cursive loops,
Is a "goodbye for now,"
And a "goodbye forever."

I look behind me and I speed up my pace.
I look forward but I’m staring into space.
To both my sides: Friends, I see.
But in a moment, it’s just me.
I look around, it’s a lovely place.
The pursuit of happiness is a game of chase.
I dance and play.
To some’s dismay.
The day’s gone.
Sun’s shone.
I’m fast asleep.
Succumbed to slumber, counting sheep.

meet me beneath the churning river
         wearing a golden mask

oh

love
   have you awoken
from your deep slumber

have your eyes
     accepted the many
definitions
       of beauty
in this world

have your senses
    aroused at
the thought
     of a butterfly
landing on the tip
        of your crooked nose
          
have your plans
     recoiled
into petty
      dreams;
have they spoiled
         once again?

    have your fears
rebound
      pouncing like
a hound
       steady to return &
  desperate to be found

is there
    a sound so sweet
is there
     a beat
            so neat
   as the pitter
and patter
     of teeny-tiny feet

help me
   fix me
make me small

fit me
   close me
in a knee-tight ball

kick me
   punch me
till i'm pink

slap me
   throw me
i might shrink

hug me
   love me
   scare the bad

cure me
   **** me
end the sad

weigh me
    measure me
tell me a lie

either way
    i'm going to die

Cupcakes and jello,
Sun drops of yellow,
A year old prince smiles with glee,
Happiest times started off free.

One foot in and one foot out,
Each step weighted with doubt,
Wan smile for the camera snapping away,
Two years old today.

Messy hair and muddy feet,
Too much energy to take a seat,
Toothy three-year old smiles for Mummy's photo,
Looking as proud as winning the lotto.

Marvel comics and new-found heroes,
Fan-art drawn in multi-colored Biro's,
Cheeky grin to hang on the wall,
Four years old, 3 feet tall.

Backpacks and Elmers' glue,
Cafeteria food that's hard to chew,
Pose in school uniform, charcoal gray,
Five years old on this big day.

Ring pop marriages and rainbow smarties,
Confetti always being thrown at birthday parties,
Yours is no different, cup them in your hand,
Hold out six fingers and composedly stand.

Swimming lessons and soccer practice,
Coaches being overwhelmingly fractious,
Hugging the soccer ball to your chest,
Seven years old, smilin' your best.

TV marathons and video games,
Struggling to learn hockey players' names,
Staring intently at the wrestling match,
Eight years old, hoping to catch.

Game of tag and playground fights,
Pretending to be English knights,
Awkward personality you've yet to define,
No longer eight, now you're nine.

Reruns of Spongebob Squarepants, ******-Doo,
First time trying fried tofu,
New experiences 'cause now you're ten,
Eight years away from joining the men.

6th grade comes and 6th grade passes,
Schedule in hand trying not to be late for classes,
Remember your locker combination 1-20-7,
Sigh of relief that you're eleven.

Too thin, too slim-
Too fat, not "that"-
Hallways you seldom dwell,
Twelve, trapped in a living Hell.

Bitter, reserved, aggressive you turn,
Nagging from parents makes your stomach churn,
Yelling "I hate you," till your face burns red,
Thirteen is an age of words over-said.

In a rash decision, you stole a beer,
A crowd welcomes you with an electric cheer,
Only fourteen, your choices will sway,
With time, you'll rue this day.

Not young, not old,
"Be fun", "be bold",
Caught in the middle of the unforeseen,
Not quite fifty, still fifteen.

A year has passed and you're feeling tired,
Can't bear to tell your father you've been fired,
Sixteen has brought you misery and sorrow,
Dreading the fruits of tomorrow.

Nothing is "for fun" anymore,
All this working out is making you sore,
Your head gives in and you pass out cold,
Seventeen and you've already been sold

Eighteen candles in one big breath,
Closer and closer to inevitable death,
         You feel so old already,
                Want to take it steady...
But you can't.

you kept talking about mountains.
and I died wondering
how you could climb so high—
and still not come for me

"ehem"
we all hear it
the voice of the once-feeble boy
whom we always assumed would
end up in some shabby office job
typing away schedules and making spreadsheets
avoiding fellow humans and drinking coffee– black

the voice that seemed so small to us then
now seems impossibilly loud–
ridiculously honest, and tragically sad

and no trace of anger or shame
or anything that bears resemblance to
the last picture of the boy
you carry in your minds

important people, marked by name-tags
and good posture–
nice suits
surround him

it's all very intimidating
all of you hoping
he makes no mention
of you, or you, or you

and the wait, for him to speak
is nerve-wracking and
feels remarkably long
with people tapping their feet
impatiently, and readjusting their ties

until finally he clears his voice once more
and addresses the crowd
the audience exchanges expressions
of amazement, wonder

his voice is strong and reaches you
though you're hiding in the very last row
and you can't bear to meet his eyes
or return his flashy smile

he makes a speech
and you settle into your seat
as you forget your own presence

all seems well
until
he stops mid-word
and meets your stare

and

all of a sudden it's 1979 again
and you're back in that playground
and you have a bat in your hand
and he has fear in his eyes
and he's crying
and begging you to let go
but something in you snaps
and you hit him
right across the nose
before you could stop– and then you sprint

it sinks in when you're halfway home
and you stop and hesitate
feel the guilt
but shrug it off
and walk the rest of the way back

the roles are reversed now
and he is clearly the bigger man
and you are small, and weak
and petty

a playground bully is your only claim to fame
while he is the president of this ******* country.

he starts again
and you feel worse than you would had he
given you the punishment you deserved

nope, this boy ain't angry- or ashamed,
only hurt, and blatantly sad.
so, so sad.

you can't speak because all the worries would come spilling out.
overflowing nightmare realities borne of anxiety-fuelled doubt.
and every time you look at me
i get an urge to shout.
but i can't, so i don't, because i don't want all the worries
to come roaring out.

but if i could
oh, i would
tell you with a glance
instead of having my eyes do that familiar yet uncontrollable dance
because i admit to myself (admit to you)
that this is all a little too much

i'd say a little too much more than that, too

and when you're me, and you're like this,
you can't really smile.
because stress pins your lips
into a single file.

(all the worry going: hack - hack - hack)

you submit to it, like we do in the city
when tasked with its defeaning
construction sounds.
opening the blinds, thinking: urbane visionary pretty

and here labor and its fruits align.
  the beauty. the skyline.
that withstanding pain
allowed you to feel

and here you know it's real.
the work on the skyscraper is part of the landscape.

the scraping at my nerves: this is part of my landscape.
the worries that sit inside, that dance outside,
that pinch themselves in between.

the roaring, the dancing, the hacking. telling me
always what i'm lacking.
having me wish i could get packing, abandon myself, leave myself, teach myself, show myself, throw myself,

all this makes up the architecture of my mind.
our gray and white matter contents.
because i chose today to define and anchor this existence
as much in its function as it is by construction.

i choose to be a work in progress
over self destruction

wish i had a pill for the memory and a pill for the pain and a pill for the bitterness and i just want it all to be numb for once instead of the weakness i feel instead.

some days I pretend carry no change in them
I pretend in the twenty four hours elapsed, nothing consequential has happened

I pretend that my recovery is unthreatened,
I pretend therapy will work
I pretend nothing inside me has broken
(at least, not beyond repair)

other days, willingly or unwillingly, I remember
change change change
comes back to me like a fire from the past
feeling hotter than it might've back then
here i am drawing it back from what i feared it would feel like
and never really let myself feel
so how am i to know it would've hurt like this back then?
only a guess i suppose
but I go with it, embrace it
reflection is a memory and I think about her once I see her all day
can't bear to look at any new one, the one I might call myself today
the one I need to recognize as myself
but can't bring myself to

here's a confession for no ears, about the bad years
about the longing that so strongly defines my days

i suffocate every few days, lose myself every few hours
then decide to keep going.

this, at least in theory, is a nice thought.
a year ago i never thought to believe i had it in me to live any sort of life, have any kind of continuity.

the latter is still true. i still don't know how to keep going in a straight line. my best friend tells me healing is not linear. so i've embraced it

learned to go up and down and be okay with it

I'm the sun if it makes you feel better
I'm a rising tide washing away
too much of today
too much of yesterday
how many shores did you land on before you landed on this one here?
how many feelings did you run through before you decided to let go of fear?
how many faces did you memorize for hours and they still disappeared?
I'm feeling so much today baby
but do you think it's all about you?

i didn't think you'd be serious about never being able
to look me in the face again.
i mean i'm not mad. just look at me. i'm not mad
i'm not mad i'm not mad
i'm sad but i'm not mad

but i am. i am so mad. i am frustrated
and everything is so clear to me right now.

why are you mad?

i don't know why it took as long as it did for me to ***** this up.
but the point isn't why
it took so long but that i did ***** it up.

but you realize i did too, don't you?

i don't care what you did.
that's on you.
but what's on me, you can either hate me for or leave.

so then why are you mad?
i don't hate you.
all i wanted to do after you told me was to hold you.
isn't that what you wanted too?

stop it. again with the guilt tripping
why do you always want me to be the selfish one.
why do you make me  mistreat you? just to get some peace?
just to feel earth? just to hold onto something better in my head
i have to break something real like you?
why? why do you want me to play bad guy?
i'm mad at you. for
making me feel worse than i am by
not making me feel worse at all.
just drop it. drop me. drop the feelings.
i said i don't want you here, so stop looking at me
like i'm going to give you a punchline to that. this isn't a joke.
this is real. this happened. and what's happening is happening.
so stop looking at me like i'm going to tell you it isn't.

i said please. baby.
i'm not looking at you
any sort of way. i'm looking at you like you are.
why do you hate yourself so much.
why do you hate me so much.
just because you hate you doesn't mean i have to hate you too.

you know what i did.
so leave.
leave me for it.

but you didn't do it. you want me to think you did.
i'm not dumb.

and he said
either way i would've done it
so what does it matter?

please look at me.

i don't want to see myself

i want to see you.

i can't see you
i only see the me in you.
and i don't know why you bothered
putting so much of the better me in you
because the worse me is all i'll ever be
and you won't ever get to
be happy.
not with me.

i said if you lied to me now. i'd believe you

he said
*i really don't want you to

that's the thing on the tip of my tongue
in a heart i felt nothing

but i had some dawns in me already
breaking truth

that else is not always else
and my self was not always myself
and i trust this and i need this truth

and if it's called selfishness
then i admit it to be
i swear it to be
because a heart where there is nothing else
only comes about for me

an end, i reach, came finally
all that was amind
was mine.

the biggest fog, cloudiest bog
aggregated aggravation
wish i could go around and change the notation

never MIND the abject self-criticality
i mind it the most when you mess with my practicality

cause i'm sick of this big big fog that i carry in me.
you wanna carry this for me?
i carry it for no reason but
an old commitment i used to have for interreality

and this isn't really my reality
this is your reality

so we play, and when we do, we play across the line
and when we cross your faults, they become mine
but like always
i'll take them
it's fine

forgetting i'm already sick of the weather
forgetting i don't know how to make it better
forgetting it forgetting it

filled of others
I'M FILLED with others
of what else?

you say else never was the anti-me
but i fought inner wars to have it reconciled in me

well, in any case,
your else, i used to make it mine

but here i fulfill my own. disown disown disown

cause i've laid no ties to this weaky throne
nor to the cloudy ****** weather i'm gonna have
overthrown

belonging to all these people i asked to leave me alone
by the way, they never left me alone
till i finally left me alone

honey i'm home
honey honey
i'm home
i'm more than skin i'm more than bone
but i'm not you
i'm my own


i keep thinking
if only i had known

if only i had known

nowadays
it is like trying to breathe air
from the same room
you've been in for months.

it is like needing something
to stop the feeling
of lightness in your hands
and lightness in your step
and heaviness in your head.
but finding every breath
even less satisfying than the one before it
when every breath, no matter how wanted,
feels laboured
and void of relief

as i try and shrug off
the way this hill of
unsatisfying breaths
has rolled far too long along this coastline
that we call a timeline

but time hasn't moved in a line for me in months.

when it feels like walking in molasses
when it feels like someone has been pulling threads out of your head.
when you can't place a memory to a place, or tie together details anymore. when the names of objects you use daily just seem to escape you.

when you talk to your grandma and you complain of the same ailments. when you talk to a cancer survivor and you feel heard. when you hurt, and you hurt, and you hurt.


these days i find myself nursing myself.
and i am trying to be the most patient patient.

but the words to soothe myself escape me. the actions to self-care exhaust me. getting up to feed myself is fatiguing. picking up the phone to call a friend is suffocating.

when you become your own sanctuary, because you feel sicker trying to keep up with the world around you.

when you try and forget even breathing reminds you of what has changed. people offer distractions as though your body will let you escape.

nowadays,  in these hardest days,
i am both hurting and healing

like i know a blind spot,
like i know it's there,
like i know it's real
      but i can't see it to believe it

that's how i know you


when the pain catches us
at the foot of the year
i start to believe
in a feeling

and let it grow inside me

when we realize what happened
that we can really see each other now

we are startled,
And let go.

And start to begin,

and end all the same.

he said I've never been one to swear when I'm mad
but I'll call you what you are
if I need to.

he said I come up with names for people that run forever
he said I'm calling you an aberration.
               if that's what you are
and if it is,
then that's the worst thing I'll call you.

but how is that the worst thing he'd call me?

when he called me
a painful love? and
when he called it
painstaking adoration

stupidity in the form of infatuation
he said be with me
but leave in the morning
cause after this i don't ever want to see you again

and then he called me to say i was an aberration
but his words felt like they meant to say that i was not quite the aberration but
    the  everything  that had gone   wrong
that was now getting what it had coming
and melting, coming in as purple flurries of
a sad sad sad till  it all  finally
  became the       red of the moon on the day i last saw you
and there was nothing more to mourn after that
        but the   hopeless, formless, blobulous
aberrations that line up like stars
that he calls consolations (you were a consolation)
not constellations

and the days i existed before i knew i was and wasn't one.

and i guess it's all too easy to say i
appreciate your honesty but harder when
i'm here on this rooftop
trying to balance old equations
       that don't have numbers to them
trying to
take these pieces  and pretend they're from
the same puzzle.
        taking one stupid piece after another
of myself hoping to
draw myself together into a
redemption
against him  
and i'm sure this is fair because
love is an emotional minefield and he knows how to play *****.

but how many times did we count days
      apart
only to forget
what day it really is
when we're together

         that's scary to me.

is my life wasting away      
     merging into space
                  am i losing touch
with what i used to
           believe was my destiny.

how many times did we find ourselves
producing more
                out of less
and less out of more
what little frustration we had
        pounded into its older cousin
anger
what little jealousy we felt
                      poured over fights that
boiled out of nothing
that stirred
out of a lot of love
            and bitterness
but mostly                  strong
unapologetic love
that blurred
a thousand nights
      together
as one
as        one.

but i wanted myself
as a whole field
    i wanted myself
in my entirety
i       wanted myself
wholly me

                   not some passing field
on this destination of
                                     forever together
not some
                phase of life before we blossomed into one
not losing one to become one.

operator
pick me up a fix me up

pick me up at 6 and pick her up too


he's calling me but i'd rather talk to you


and won't you also shut the backdoor too
i'm having a private conversation

you have to stay outside

but don't leave me i'm
going through a bad time in my life

operator operator pick me up
don't you dare drop
this call
i don't ever want to be
without you at all

operator operator call me back i

am having a panic attack

dad called me names

i know you can hear
i know you're always here

operator operator i believe
in you

operator operator i believe in this system


i need you to come through

Tangy scent of ginger ale,
Hands stained cotton-pale,
Flames crowd your barren soul,
A childless mother, not completely whole.

Colors burn through your mind,
Words blaring that aren't so kind,
Forever trapped in an endless maze,
Your own father called it a "passing" phase.

Only you know the truth of it all,
You miss the days before the Voice would call,
No matter how long or how good the day,
The Voice always got away.

"Illusions," they called the voices you heard,
But to you they were as vivid as the song of a bird,
Chirping outside your window to greet this fruitful morning,
Soon to be faded by the Voice's scorning.

Dull and gray your nights transform,
Like a passionate magician with no acts to perform,
The last straw pushes your limits too far,
Like a flame engulfing spilled tar.

Bucket of white and paint brush so clean,
You're painting your flaws away before they'll be seen,
A gulp of ginger ale along the way,
White you've been painted and white you will stay.

You find a pair of scissors and snip off your hair,
Leaving your scalp looking erratically bare,
You head to your room for a final glance,
Really, it's because you're hoping to be given one last chance.

"You've been bad," the Voice would state,
In a tone of voice you're starting to hate,
You grab your phone and make some calls,
Then head to the bathroom with the checkered walls.

A few moments later you lay in the bathtub,
Already your fingers feel slightly numb,
You read the instructions and swallow the pill,
Inhale and exhale to get rid of the chill.

Your eyelids grow heavy and your head is sore,
You turn on some music that you adore,
Your chest feels tight and you brace yourself,
Place your phone on the top-right shelf.

Your best friend finds you later that week,
Her fingers start shaking and she's too shocked to speak,
She clutches your phone and as she dials 9-1-1,
She finds your note that writes, "The Voice won."

Tell me it doesn't mean anything
that I'm still cleaning up an act from years ago
that I'm still healing from wounds
that I got catching fire.
He was fire-safe, he never told me
      wanted to see what I'd do for him
wanted to see if I'd burn.
Baby, I'm sorry
I'm sorry if I let you think I wasn't the kind
to do anything for you. Yes, this is my fault
Yes, oh my God, yes, I'm so sorry
Why are you crying, baby?
Baby?
Baby?
I didn't think you'd do it
I didn't think you'd do it

You cry everyday
      and you lose a bit of yourself everyday
and the only time you feel yourself smiling is after you've drunk so much you're passed out on the floor.

you love that headache you wake up to
because it fogs up your brain
you don't need to stop yourself from thinking too much
cause you can't think at all.

and you're thankful you can't remember last night or even the night before
and if anyone asks you if you've been drinking again
it's always a "no, not anymore"

and it's clear they know you're lying
but they've given up on you for a while
so they just pat you on the back
and leave with a forced smile

people call you
to "check up on you"
to ask "how's it going"
to say "I miss you"

you mumble
"thanks" and
"it's going." and
"yeah."

it's hard for them
knowing you don't miss them
back
knowing you want to die

and it takes everything in you
to stop yourself from crying
so you hang up
grab a bottle

and laugh
because in a few minutes
you'll be smiling
while you pass out on the floor.

i'm here on an edge of a thought i used to long entertain  

i loved to swing my legs out the window pane

our ocean ***** the water and spits the rain
and i loved this city all the more and all the same

in those days i was more
i was more

i was vain

so today just put me out of my pain
before this hollow town swallows me
vein by vein

but gives me that cue first
to prompt us both to look up
at the clouds, that same old sky
we were together for days but this one...
it tastes

different

waning, i've seen moons do it
waning, i've seen candles do it
but i can't watch this

crying without crying
laughing to fill the room
because small talk
isn't big enough
and see you soon
doesn't mean
see you soon

but small shrinks too
i've got so much to empty talk to

and I don't miss that storm
(I'm lying. I miss that storm)
or maybe i miss the chase and
the holding hands that came as it passed

i never run but i did it then and there
because you pulled me past so much already
and i knew the only way to get out of it was to get out with you

you're my oldest
i scratch out all the firsts before you
but you have no youngest
and i know i'm a child

the trees and the bridges and the humid
in Toronto it all smells the same
i hope you liked it too

we did it best when we turned our time into a playground
and it's finally almost right
that i want to swear to you on something

that you don't miss the storm
please let me tell you, and trust me on this
you don't miss the storm

i miss you helping me out of it i miss helping you out of it
but we don't miss the storm and i can't think outside of it either

it's all foggy now and you offer to stay to help but damage is damage and
baggage is baggage

and i'm travelling guilt-free this year

yet i'm sad and i'm sad and i wore down the led of the pencil you loaned me
to write about that

and forgiven once but never twice i say
and trip me up, so do it, that's a cost i'll pay

but i've got no money to pay for that now
and i miss you
and i miss you

but i don't miss the storm