From An Old Journal

I don’t believe in love,
the four letters stay still in my mind,
no dancing.
no singing.
no grand staircase leading to a dream.
Love is a cold wind on your back
as the fire burns your eyes,
Love is a tear swallowed by the ocean.
love is the silence after a yell,
the gap between stars and death,
the same phenomenon disguised by poetry.
Love is walking alone with the moon,
wondering if the car behind you
will be the last thing you see.
Love is an impossible idea,
but the most important one.

Me Too


He saw another girl when I took my first trip away. His friends called it a date and looked at me with pity but when I asked him about it he told me I was crazy, that he could have other females in his life, It was strictly platonic but it felt strictly toxic when she told me he said he was in love with her and I cried till I couldn’t breathe and then found him at 3am waiting for me for it to start all over again.

He never spoke of my poetry but would speak of his solitary as if it were a curse brought on by everyone that he was passing down to me and I thought of this curse as I lay curled up on the floor with my mother crying and my father praying and naming demons to remove from me.

I told a best friend and she wouldn’t look me in the eye as she absentmindedly declared “only sluts would do that” and I waited till she was asleep and called him to speak to me because he was the only one who could make me feel like I was worth something, even if that worth was my body.

I didn’t know what to call it when I said no and he said “you’ll like it” and slowly stripped me away of my clothes and my pride and he told me this was freedom to not be restricted by the rules of religion but if that was freedom then why didn’t he listen when I said no?

No. I remember saying no. I remember the panic as the word lost its meaning and he told me he loved me and it would be okay but it didn’t feel okay and the weeks, months, and years go by and I look my therapist in the eye and I’m still filled with guilt when my new boyfriend holds me and I still jump when I see a shadow of him pass me and all I can think is but I said no.

But no didn’t stop it or the avalanche that came or the messages I’ll get when he figures out his name is written all over this and he and his friends will gossip about how I lie and I cheat and they won’t listen when I say no believe me because it is easier to believe that the person who said no really said yes in their eyes, it is easier to believe that than to believe that no meant no which means no.

 

Room


My fingernails are dirty but I don’t do any work, my mind just sits and measures the distance between a falling star and you and whether or not wishes come true and if so why do we bruise with these miles growing stronger, will they make us falter or are our steps as strong as the bond of our song, are our souls convinced we could do no wrong in taking a hand but taking a stand farther than the one beside the reason we long for peaceful days where distance is a room and not a rumour for failure. 

A Plea

img_9382

Please don’t leave me
with these broken questions
that you brought in
with the moon.
Let me see the stars
once more and hear
the sea renew.
My heart is turning
with hope of life
and the possiblity
of you.
Please don’t leave me
with these broken questions,
I won’t survive the loss
so soon.

January 24

img_0622-2Everything seems dark
when the skies
sleep in grey
and wake in
the same state,
when green
is a memory
or maybe a
figment of
imagination
you wish you
could hold on to.
But everything is
alive underneath
the fog waiting
for its time
to be seen
but life does
not grow without a pause

to make room
for the things
unplanned

Aftermath

img_7172

Life isn’t poetry
and poetry isn’t real,
so why do these words
make me feel
more than a minute of
questioning the quiet that
comes after I finish
reading of riots and
all the hopeless trees out
there shedding their leaves
without a care;
Why can’t we rid our minds
of red and grow new leaves
in their stead
of colours yet unknown to
ourselves and a future
worth keeping on a shelf
not to neglect but to show off
to the eyes that will come
long after our own are gone

It

img_7557

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It feels like drowning,
but the verge of it.
When you sink
into your bathtub
and the water
touches your lashes.
You can breathe,
and you are, heavily,
but one slip
and you’re under.
It feels like chaos.
Your mind can’t focus,
it’s always darting
from one fire to another –
until your whole head
spins with flames.
It feels like a car,
spinning on a highway
at 3 in the morning
with no witnesses.
It feels like a back
breaking under the hand
of an unsuspecting strike
from a friend
looking you in the eyes.
It feels like every pain
you’ve ever had
coming back
all at once.
It feels like everything,
and then
it feels like nothing.