The limbs of the trees
snap
break
die
covered in ice,
when water
is really everything to them.

I wonder if that's what love is.
Knowing that
the very thing that let's you live
can **** you.

It can turn to ice so quickly.

Can you kiss me again?
please
You're so "me"
it kills me

Can I just lay on your bed?
please
listen to you play
with my eyes closed

Can we simply breath together?
please
I know you're "you"
and that comforts me

For ****'s sake
**** straight
just please
Can you kiss me-
again?

I never write poetry anyway
What am I doing with my life?
and I'm not looking at paths
but spheres
that can cross and weave
that's my life, breathing and living for
progress and change searching
far across the plains of my mind
making reason and emotions combine.

Do I want to go to art school?
*******
Who am I anyway?
I want it so badly but shutting a part of me feels like amputating
I was never one for pain I didn't derive pleasure from.

Pride is a silly thing

reasons who said you won't help me
you don't want to hurt me.
no one has tried to
crack me
not even my best friends.
maybe no one should love me
as if to shield them.
that's something I could understand.

I'm obviously at fault
what's changed?
sometimes you can't understand someone
no matter how hard you try.

low
and depressed
still can't get out of bed
I'm low

no way out
no way in
guess that's how it's always been
And I'll have to deal with it

low
I'm so
low
I've lost my
glow

soft
flowing words
give way to chirping birds
but I'm still inside
no place to go

filled with guilt
filled with salt
no dripping
waterfalls

low
I'm so
low
I've lost my
glow

I can barely speak
to you now
I'm floating
underground

Goodbye
to all my friends
at least the ones
who said they were

in his kitchen he asks me
so why are you personally affected?
a friend
a friend was *****
in Charlottetown?
yes

I don't know if I'll ever let him now it was me. I don't know if I want him to know. I'm not completely sure he'd care.

But I want you to know. I don't know why I share these bits of myself with people I barely know. I guess it's the same with performing. If rather sing in a room full of strangers than with friends.

But ****, that's different. That's not something you bring up at grandma's dinner table, let alone the fact that you know what *** is. There's a stigma, and no one can know how scared you felt on that August night.

But he doesn't know. We walked by the spot where it happened just last week. He wanted to sit there, it looked nice. I never want to be near that place again; Charlie's greedy hands entering my motionless body. His hands are so different, I don't want to associate the two. I feel like crying.

Fathers are important. I don't want to be the girl with daddy issues; I'm not. But not having a father growing up is something you can't describe. I think he knows, partially. Divorce is hard, but my dad was never there. And I don't mean physically, because sometimes he was there physically. He just wasn't there. We didn't talk. We didn't do things together. He was idle and I was a child. I had no idea who he was.

And when I went to Mexico, I missed him. And it was one of the first times I truly did. I felt immensely hurt, the kind of hurt that goes past the physical. I felt genuinely unloved and deprived. I yearned so badly for a father's love. I wanted so badly for him to say he was proud of me. For turning out half decent without someone to show me who I was.

See, when he went to Mexico, he brought me back a ceramic, heart shaped box. I admired his efforts, for even thinking of me. Now, when I'm there, my best friend also gets a box for our friend. But it's chosen with specifically her is mind, then lovingly filled with beautiful shells found on the beach. It's so ******* stupid. So ******* stupid. But I don't think my dad would do anything like that for me. And it makes me angry, and it makes me cry. Hell, I'm crying right now. It's so ******* stupid.

Do you think it's stupid? I think it is. I'm crying over a ******* box. But it's not the box, you know? It's not the box.

I don't know what to tell you, James. I'm crying over a box and a boy who touched me almost two years ago. I don't know what to tell you.

At the edge of the bed-
black ice
on my face
because you can't
see these tears
but you can feel their pain

Refrain-
from telling me I need to change
I will never
not for you
to keep from going insane

It's plain
to me
my back to your body
You have never loved me
you only loved my body
But not its innards
Its facts
Its unsightly gaps

Keep your criticisms to yourself-
you want to improve me
But I'm comfortable with this
hatred, it's coursing through me
Running
full speed
adrenaline pumping

I know what I'm changing
it's you that I'm dumping

Scared of the sacred
Of what is inside me
Growing
possibly

I'm scared of the God that
placed this in me
I'm still a child myself
Only 17

I don't want to be shunned
Or feel sick to my tum
I want to be done
Give me the gun

Oh,
You skin me raw.
Not to the bone,
But to the redness underneath.

Oh,
The dew of dawn,
Plots its land,
On my stale pink cheeks.

The promised land
Was never there.
For you lie when you talk.

I should've guessed
My own demise
For you are loud when you stalk.

Oh,
My mother dearest,
This is farewell,
Short and curt.

Oh,
don't mind the merest
because you are simply
to me
dirt

My therapist told me that
she's "not worried"
because she doesn't think
I'll "act on my thoughts"

When she can't see through my façade, I know I'm good

I guess no one reads between lines anymore
and I kind of want to do it
just to show them that I could.
One last act of defiance.

Everything is overwhelming.
I just want to sleep, mostly.
It's scary to never feel awake
and to know that it might never change.

I want off.
Off of life.
I'll never be what I wanted to be,
so why be?

Hello there, once again
I'm back for an encore
My last show
a performance ***** or sorts

Why wasn't I content with what we had?

Your love was so ultimately pure and civil and it ran in steady streams flowing constantly through your heart.
Whereas I'm a leaky faucet who doesn't know when to stop or when to go and pays no sentiments to temperature and "little" things that make all the difference.

I think I need to learn to love. I still don't know how.

Please read this, and please know that I'm trying to figure myself out.

I don't know what to say
about the way you make
me feel so calm but alive
and warm even when it's
cold in the snow the rain
or anything

I feel like warmth surrounds
you and I would walk 10 miles
in snow storm in my sneakers
beside you with eye lashes
frozen closed

put on a jazz record
please and thank you
I want to stay so badly
and say how I feel
but-

I've never felt so good
in soaking wet clothes

Tonight is the night that I accepted we aren't going anywhere and never will.

Thank god.

The *** holes made me feel alive today, something I hadn't felt for a little while. I've come to terms with the constant, dull, burning you leave in the back of my throat and in the pit of my stomach. My body isn't yours anymore.

I can't believe it took so long
in limbo
to find solace in
never but I'm not
surprised that you think I'm joking.

You're no longer an option, simple as that, and although you may have staked claim on a piece of my heart, I'm expanding Westernward, myself.

Don't manifest my destiny,
because I already know where it takes me
and that is away from you,
I'm sorry.

We both knew it would end in flames,
but I don't think you realize that I made it out of the fire. Charred, but out.

Please go and set another woman on fire. Let her feel the sadistic misery and, though redundant, let her learn to hate you as much as she hates herself.

Love is a silly thing.
But Hamlet, us women are not fickle.
We only are protecting ourselves
from the fire before
we lose our bodies in it
and start to believe that souls are separate.
I'm whole.

It's hard to feel suicidal when I've got you.
But I'm still ******* myself
And I still feel
Blue

You say you want to build an altar to my body
and a shrine to my mind
but it's hard to register
when I want to die

And it's not your fault
Nothing to do with you
I'm just a little messed up
But I'm on you like glue

Babe,
I wish that nothing could hurt you
and that it could all be smiles
but my death is imminent
I'm only here for a while.

I don't love you
and I never have

I love the idea of you
and how you look
and your taste in music
and everything

but I don't love you
and I'm sorry

Because I tried!
You have to know I did!
But I'm so sick of pretending

air sweet
with heat and moisture
"can I stay over?"
"yeah"
smoking together
laughing and playing
smiles invading
what I thought was cold and hard to crack

and so **** what I thought,
I guess
hungry kissing
I miss those lips so much
they feel so good pressing

I never wanted to leave
I think you want to forget how good love feels

When I read George Orwell,
I can only think of you two having ***.
Tumbling, writhing in the sheets.
Mechanically organic.
Something I'll probably never be a part of,
sadly.

If only you could take a pick-axe to my chest,
Peer inside,
See it all, wet, glimmering body.
I think you'd understand.

Everytime I see you I try not to jump on you
Like a heavy dog
My owner is my dignity so I keep still
But I'm barking heavily (inside)

I've been known to let perfection slip
Unknowingly folding my hand
******* over my chances
At a game I haven't even played yet

If I was self-important, would you see me?

I feel like we're holding a secret
so tight
And its compacted body
has been sparked, alight

These butterflies are nothing
but shame
and regret
I think I'm done with this body
I've already left

Gone

Do you even read my poetry anymore?

We're in an empty field
filled with snow
and your breath.
And you cry
because it's not
what you needed yet.
I can't give gifts
upon gifts
upon slivers of my soul.
Because I'm not whole anymore.
so let's open that door.
See me leave on a whim.
See me leave with your ring.
See me leave when it's mostly likely to leave you a good sting.

It's one of those days where punk songs make you cry

I am brimming with love and seduction, feeling the air on my skin as if it's water, like liquid surrounds me and reaches every bit of skin.

I feel everything, every breath reaching deep into my lungs, my neurons and their synapses, connecting my heart and my head, leading my soul.

I'm crying at a punk song, because it's so raw and so exactly how I feel, a mirror which tells you what to look like.

I want to be loud and exuberant. Just living, ****. I want to have all the air in the world, then explode.

I've been thinking a lot
about you
lately
Trying to piece together
the fragmented image
of a shattered
view of you

I found a song
you played for me
many times in your car
And no matter how much I listen to it
I won't know where you are
If who you're becoming
is better for me
All I can hope is that the stars
direct us to each other then
Cause right now I feel so far
Away

you haven't talk to me since that night.
no text
no like, or comment.
cause I guess that's how things are now.

I still have your vacuum.
your expensive, high-tech vacuum.
but I haven't used it since you left.

I know it was me who initiated things.
I'm the one who told you to go.
We cried and hugged and kissed and it felt too beautiful to be it.
Too beautiful to be a break up.

it was your birthday.
and I want you to know I didn't forget.
I felt it creeping up on me like coming to the end of a roll of tape.

when will you call me?
will you ever?
I still have all all your things; too big to put in a box to hide.

you still had Sarah's bed frame in your garage and I wondered.
I wondered if this is what it'd be like.
But- you talked to her.
Does that make me stronger?
For not caving?

you said you needed space and I listened.
but I don't want to listen to myself.
I want to break the stitches and gush to you.
I want to break the silence and talk to you.
But I respect you too much to put that on you.

I made the decision to be alone,
but now I realize that I don't want to be.

so I'm looking for someone.
But I don't want serious.

but then what do I want?

It makes me fill with something.
some gas, or thing
maybe not jealousy
but something close to it
when I see that you care about astrology
now
though you thought it was stupid

you wanted to teach me
I didn't want to be taught
but you loved me so I sat through your lessons plan your rambling facts on things I don't care one bit about filing up my mental real estate like krisp, klean, kondos in the North end- but you understand that now.

maybe I taught you?
I'm not sure either of us would admit to that.

why did I find it so hard to create with you beside me. Like my energy was being ****** up from me turning to sloth when my whole life I've been hungry, absolutely insatiable but now so full I could barely move.

is that love? did your love steal my magic?

and I wouldn't say steal. more like weighed on. more like dampened. but you held me so tightly I love you I lvoe you I love you sweet boy I still love you even if I need to be alone right now.

I don't want to feel like I need to be alone forever.

I had so many conversations with so many people. You know about Hannah, but there were so many. They all told me to leave. But- I don't know if this is any better. I don't know if me sitting and listening and being idle is worse than this spouting, plunging, hole.

but you never opened up, did you?
things you said we'd talk about- therapy sessions you said you'd go to.

I wonder if you'll be shiny, sparkling clean for the next one.

all "fixed" and open and unrobotic and ready to share without tantrums and fast driving and me being scared for my life. I try to forget those parts. They seem like a different person. Someone who could **** me. Someone who could **** you.

my therapist once told me that she didn't think I would go through with it. But when I saw you like that, I believed you could. I think that scared me the most.

Flippant. Uncaring. But- you were everything. I saw everything in you- the devious aggressor and the gentle pathetic victim. but there was no spark. there. I said it. There was no spark. But I cannot deny that it was a slow flame- and it lulled me into a soft sleep.

I'm not asleep. but I want to be now.

Patrick always said that I wasn't really there. I know what he means now. I don't know if I have the energy to be. I used to be so full of life and zest and now I feel like a sponge so full of the fuckery of it all without a way to ring it out.

and I guess that's why I'm writing again. Because I don't know if I want to talk. I don't want people to look at me like I'm ******. I know I'm ******.

so you're into astrology now.

We both turned off our read receipts (long ago?).
Don't want people to know when we
see or maybe
it's the choice
it's the control of perception
a light push back
arm's length reception.

You said you didn't think I understood you
and so it scared you when you found out I liked you.
If there's something I can understand,
oh god
it's that.

I don't want to push you-
or rather pull you
too close too vulnerable too soon,
know that.

I've been waiting a year to kiss you
and the waiting was so sweet,
wrapping wool around my finger,
sincere.
I will wait with you,
and for you,
my dear.

I'm not sure if I care that it's cliche.
Of course, these words have been said,
even crooned,
but not felt to their fullest extent.

Okay then, so I don't.
Because I've never felt this way
So right
My mouth holding the "so" like a velvet quail egg.
So natural and no sick
pit
throat closing
mind roaming
kisses like I used to have.

Nothing has ever felt so right.

I wish I could tell my old self
my young hunger
eating up a man's desire for me-
that it's a sour substitute for my own.
Belly full of unease,
maybe self-hatred
but not that pointed
a denial of my own needs.

I wanted to be sure
and I never was
but now I don't think we have to be.

I think we both feel the possibility of ephemerality
but I can't let this pass
without an attempt
trying to grasp
your shirt collar
to hold your sweet face
and trying to fight against the innate,
terribly strong urge to kiss you.

This is just as new to me as it is
to you.
I don't mind wringing it out to dry
in slow motion.
Unfolding with you slowly
softly floating
seeing where our hands land.

That sounds just right.
I love that.