this poem is not a love story yet

day 8 maybe
shifts like Windows restore
the only thing that brings peace
is writing love stories
part of me has stopped screaming
nobody noticed a difference
living in hell seems like a choice
when i know the future will be great
so i curl up there
when the guards are distracted
they can’t split focus too far
the nerves along their spine just as jumpy
though violence has visited me
i’ve never thought of myself as violent
starting to believe this box is here for my own good
confusing purpose with one man’s perspective
but i don’t always know what’s best
that’s up to God
and when i feel connected that works
i’m looking for a way to hack off my limb
that’s why i’m stuck here
no, i’d need to hack off more
metaphysical 911 operator can you hear me
i can’t hear you
can you hear me
i’m here
can you see me
i don’t know where here is
i’m sorry
i know you can’t hear me
but please tell my future husband i love him
i know he can’t reach me
but he’s with me
in a parallel universe
which isn’t that far away
one day i’ll get to tell him
what i used to think a multiverse looked like
it’s a funny story
because i’ve already told him
oh, lavender hot cloths
to soothe the neck

POSTCARDS FROM HELL: stranger danger safety codes

somewhere along the way i lost my confidence.

okay to be honest, i know exactly where i left it and why.

i was nineteen and i had just come home after travelling across Canada with some pretty amazing people.

we were so free and in love with ourselves and each other that the experience almost ruined college for me.

i sulked my way through first year, then ran away for a year because of something embarrassing i did and then i came back to finish up when all my classmates had graduated and hid in a basement apartment listening to Sarah Harmer.

on my way back and forth through town in my Celebrity, i listened to CDs that had been sent for review. and that’s when i discovered Shyne.

he’s got a great voice

if you don’t understand a white girl feeling empowered in a wholehearted, loving way listening to rap about what’s gangster and calling out people who shade you, and men appreciating strong women in bikinis, i don’t blame you

sounds weird to me

but i had just gone through a pretty bad beat down, rug out from under me, wind knocked out of me kind of experience, and i wouldn’t leave the house without an oversized sweater and a pair of very dark sunglasses.

see, i thought that i was loved by the man that i loved and then the universe conspired to show me how untrue it was.

when i wasn’t going to school or smoking cigs in the basement, i was in a doctor’s office begging a man i’d just met for a ‘script for chemo drugs.

i wasn’t sick, i didn’t have cancer. i wasn’t even talking to an oncologist.

i was looking for an off-label benefit and i believed i needed it because i believed i needed to feel loved again.

somehow, almost like it was never the self i identified with most, i left my teenage self and all the appreciation she garnered behind. i left her on a public bathroom floor where i was able to say goodbye with a quiet eulogy and some unobserved tears.

i never looked back. i accepted my new fate like a champ. no complaints.

but there was someone who knew where i left that suit. she must have followed me there and taken it for herself.

because the other day i saw her stepping into my teen self and i followed her. she was using my shiniest outer self to lure men into her bed.

it made me furious to see what she was doing to these men, this woman i once would have given my life for, this woman i once felt i owed everything.

and since i remembered leaving all my confidence in the back pocket of that suit, i don’t really know what to do.

let me see your hands / tell ’em what the fuck i do for this money

why eyes

bare knuckle boxing in flip flops
suit up grab your towel, beauty
headed to the beach for a first date
as the history channel plays
terrified of slipping, clipping my date
making a face at a thought that isn’t about him
need a man who can see how i do
only grounded
how the fuck do we ground falling in love
ask again
ask louder
don’t stop asking
i’ll get the mugs
you choose your tea
meet me in my dreams
so you know what’s coming
i’m transparent
i’m a real one
surrounded by forgeries
slip through the cracks
follow the light
for you, i’m a lighthouse
learning to trust that moths can’t get too close