There is a name
but I refuse to call it
I am searching for another
but nothing can carry
It is starting to look like loss
like my very being
has given itself to be used
by a thing I do not approve
I forbid it often
I reach far into myself
the self I know can birth victory
and ask Is this who you are?
the answer is No
So I reach beyond the lines (again)
to prove I am who I say I am
It is easy work some days
On others, it is lodged in my throat
like a pill and will not go down
This is softer
made with coconut oil
white with red
stripes around the bend
does not break
when I bite
does not labour
the roof of my mouth yet
holds like fingers would
This one takes me back
to the hour after vigil
walking around the bend
lightening bugs cackling
feet brushing against tarmac
my arms around her neck
my weight pinned against her back
this is about us. the layers we come in. how after a couple months. depending on closeness or comfort. we shed. revealing skin. soft like cotton candy. skin. rough to touch. and as the days hum into months. we unravel. layer after layer. slowly. quickly. slow ly. then it stops. and we are down to slivers. it ends. and we are naked. so we begin a journey back to old places. picking up. and putting on. again and again. buckling and smoothening. only to take them off for someone new.
We almost miss your anger
when we walk through the door.
The air cracks like a shell
as we busy ourselves unbuttoning
jackets and untying shoe laces.
The air is still cracking
as we oven-roast vegetables
and pan-grill chicken for supper.
The air cracks a little more
as I hear her in the darkness
softly tell her mother
she would take away the roof
over your head if you weren’t
I fall asleep thinking of redemption,
of the ways we could restore,
of things to do to save us,
of how this could be forgiven
but never forgotten.
is a love
that will last
and if it must,
will die a slow
but meaningful death-
A death long enough to birth
the truth isn’t always something we can grasp.
not because it isn’t real but because
sometimes the truth has thorns that will
journey through your defences. the truth
can in fact call forth blood.
the truth isn’t always kind or fair or soft
but we ask for it
we demand for it
as if it is meant to bring us warmth
as if it is supposed to bring us comfort
sometimes the truth is that lump in your throat
that song on the radio
that hand around your neck
sometimes the truth arrives and we cannot stomach it
because it’s nothing like we have imagined.
sometimes the truth breaks us
into pieces. Sometimes,
it doesn’t set us free.
the world outside
but there is a universe
inside me that will not
go to sleep
Last night I caught your heart
travelling to where he once lived
Tiptoeing across the sidewalks
attempting to leave only shadows behind
I saw the silk ribbon
(that should have stopped you)
laying in the moonlight
A symbol of rebellion- the proof
that our hearts are the wildest
creatures to ever roam this earth
There is a whiff of you in the air
Heart thumping against your pride
Your out-breath still lingers
Like the smell of cheap alcohol
Three knocks and
a voice asking to know your name
Your silence yells into the wind
“You should not be here”
Take the day off, will you?
Tame what is left of your desires.
We are the ones who love
out of habit. Love,
not because we still feel
its fire but because
there was once a fire.
We are the ones who hold
on to reverie. The ones who
stayed too long. The ones
with alcoves of old kisses and
a fist of crumbly passion.
We are the ones they talk about
when the kids are grown and
the memories begin to sink,
the ones who smell like thirty years before,
the fire that should have never burn out.
in each other was more
than we prepared for.
(There were) scars with new skin
broken nails with round edges
birthmarks littered like kisses
and a glow where our hearts endured.
It was stubborn and blinding
the kind that raised its head
without warning, looking
for every and any
thing that could withstand
an unprecedented explosion.
To the world,
You may be a wildfire,
But in your heart,
You are a bonfire,
lighting the eyes,
keeping everyone warm.
I know that life was hard for you
And maybe you didn’t know better.
I know that to you, Love meant
Wearing your masculinity like a shield,
Exuding strength and sometimes yelling at your wife,
Nobody taught you how to be gentle,
Nobody taught you that love could be soft and vulnerable.
I see how hard you have tried to defy history,
But we both know how hard it is
To teach an old dog new tricks,
If it is any consolation (at all), I hope you know
I learned the depth of unconditional love
By loving you.
They don’t tell you how much it hurts
when your heart is ripped from your sleeve,
Or how badly your teeth chatter and body shivers,
When you put yourself “out there” and a storm comes.
They don’t teach you how to deal with
the ache of misbelonging;
the pain of rejection;
the soreness of losing;
They don’t tell you because maybe telling, is not enough.
They don’t teach you because you cannot teach a person
how to deal with pain they have not endured,
They don’t tell you because
the warmth of belonging;
the joy of acceptance;
the fulfillment of succeeding; are all incredibly satisfying.
And really, what kind of life would you be living
if the fear of failure bound you by your feet?
I promise you,
If you can just get off the floor after a bad fall,
If you can dust off the dirt and
Find peace as your bruises heal,
If you can come to the understanding that
Nothing will teach you as thoroughly as experience will,
You will find flowers growing on the path you once walked.
It’s no wonder the parking lot was our favourite place,
We would drive across town to a bookstore or some fancy place,
But we would end up sitting in your car for hours,
Our love was not meant for miles.
I always wondered why we would rather sit in moveable boxes
Than go out with our feet and explore the world with our love,
But now i see that ours was fleeting.
That the thing we felt was not strong enough for the storm outside,
The thing we felt was safest with proximity,
The thing we felt was meant for small, dark spaces like parking lots.
It was love, wasn’t it?
or maybe it just looked like love.
The thing we felt, sitting in the evening air,
Everything within our reach, laughing and teasing,
looked a lot like love. But somehow,
We couldn’t seem to love beyond the parking lot,
so we had to leave everything we felt there.
On the days
when the choices
you have made,
hover over you
like a dark cloud,
and your belly feels like
a tornado is coming,
May you remember
that all the scars
you have sustained
in this war against comfort zones
are signs that you are living.
You are doing exactly
what you were put here
to do. Let this be