Wednesday November 9, 2016 at JJ Bean on Cambie
From a tweet
I have cried all the cries
and all the fears
endless rivers of grief
a chasm in my chest the size of an orange man
I have raged on my bed
and my body
and my love
I have lost hope
A violent collision of
faith and doubt
I’ll go listen to music tonight
eat a muffin
write my daily write
A sadness has descended
that I haven’t known
The privilege of self reflection
of able body
The privilege of a bed to rage
a body to move
a love to hold and weep and hold
six dollars for an americano and
a peach oatmeal muffin
On my walk here
I searched the eyes of people I passed
in a way that I don’t usually
with a tenderness I have been conditioned
I searched the eyes of a pregnant woman
Wednesday August 17, 2016
He had been gone for a long time. I think he was fishing with his new wife, Amber. I hadn’t seen him after he left my mother with a hospital bill and a bag of rotting carrots in the fridge. I hoped he and Amber caught all the fish they could carry.
I was mad because of what he did to my mom. I mean even to this day it’s weird to say “did to” as if he did himself to her. He behaved himself to her. He was himself to her seems more accurate. I was mad because he would be so capable of disappointing someone who loved him that much.
I found out this year that my mother was horrible to him too. I didn’t know that before. I guess I needed someone to blame but I needed someone to stay more. I guess I chose wrong.
That’s when he called. He heard my mom wasn’t going to make it and he came home. He came back to what home used to be. He didn’t bring Amber. I respected him more for that. He didn’t bring any fish. I thought that was kind of rude.
Tuesday August 16, 2016
I couldn’t say goodbye because I was worried about what that might have meant for him. What if he didn’t know how not to take things personally? What if he thought it meant I wasn’t willing to be there for him; to drop my life and commitments to be his witness. I said I was sorry. I learned that that’s the best thing you can say. I said I felt for him. I said I loved him. But I couldn’t say goodbye even though I wanted to go. At what point do you interrupt someone who’s grieving to go get yourself a sandwich? At what point is it a good point to make the point that you haven’t said anything aside from the things you’ve already said? I suppose they teach others how to demonstrate power and courage, how to own space, how to claim what is owed, how to say things without offending people because of intentions or something. I didn’t want to hurt him. Isn’t that a good thing? But there comes a moment in every missed goodbye where you stop fully listening anyway and I guess I’m wondering now: doesn’t that hurt maybe even more?
Monday August 15, 2016
Oct 2016 issue
I can’t stop reaching out of my skin and into your kindness
I destroy everything I touch
I want to touch you all over
Tell me again how it is that you’ve chosen me
Don’t tell me about my face
Don’t tell me about my hips
Don’t tell me that you wished for this when you were younger
How we were meant to be
I don’t care for lies anymore
And I can smell them
You are not a magician
None of us are.
If you can bear to ask yourself
All the hard questions
The way I’ve been begging you to
What is it that you see that you need so desperately
Surely not the hole in your stomach I’ve chewed
Surely not the bad days bad nights bad luck bad timing
I do not cast a hook in you
You’re free to swim wild
I don’t want to hear anything
That does not sound
like it’s been dying to come out
Thursday August 11, 2016
a facebook post
It’s taken a lot of will power to keep my eyes open and push through. Some days last longer than others. Some days exist only to remind me of how hard it is to get anything done. And if I don’t dedicate myself to it, not every part of me shows up.
I don’t have kids yet but I know that if I did I would understand lack of sleep even better than I do now. I know that. But until then. I have this.
Wednesday August 10, 2016
Overheard in the Inside house
I won’t ever fully know why
not the colour of the moon that worries me
the one that knocks me dead and vinegar
not the salty lines left lining the walls in the room where you
where you don’t know me
where you don’t see what I think I would see your shoes
where you don’t recognize
me when I’m me. When I’m
not the ache in my chest when
I feel most unseen by you
not the moments of triumph that feel so
if only because the others were mercury and iron
paling in comparison
but I do know
but what I do know in this place
is that I am misery’s companion
by the map of my mother’s tears
and I unchoose myself at the speed of you
Friday July 29, 2016 at BATW
from a Facebook post
Marissa was insistent on spending as little as possible on her wedding to Greg. Her friends asked her why she wouldn’t want this special day to be more classy or fancy or memorable. And then Marissa dumped all her friends and moved to a tiny island town and lived in a log cabin where she ate dehydrated beef and played scrabble with her cat. She told them she didn’t want to wake up one day and realize she had wasted all her hard earned money on a thing that might not last. And they were appalled. Was she having second thoughts about Greg? Was she cheating on him with his brother Grant? Was she going to be a Run-away Bride? And Marissa slapped them all in their dumb mouths and ate a bowl of peach cobbler drenched in Añejo 7. It wasn’t about doubting Greg. But a marriage is the thing that people should be focused on. The thing that takes 100 years to succeed at. Not the wedding, which lasts for 8 hours on the day, but then haunts your financial dreams for the next 1000 years, leaving you wishing you just went to City Hall like all the smart people.
Thursday July 28, 2016 at BATW
Letters To A Young Poet
Rainer Maria Rilke
She hopped to her seat at the back of the aircraft and chuckled to herself as she heard the voice in her head refer to it as an aircraft. A craft that belongs in the air, she thought, how magical. Someone thought this thing up and then built a bunch of Popsicle stick models out of it before building the real thing.
She was anxious to get home for her brother’s surprise 30th that her whole family was apparently gathering for. He was the one who invited her to it in the first place, but they were close and couldn’t keep secrets from each other. Her brother had found an envelope in the garbage that had the details on it. She was excited to get back to her life as she knew it best for a little while. Familiar streets and faces, going strawberry picking with the family, spending quality time with her dog.
Tuesday July 26, 2016 at BATW
from the write up on the painting “Ascend”
Heaven forbid I tell you how I actually feel. I say that under my breath because I’m too afraid to say anything about how I actually feel with full voice. What the eff. Where did that start? When I was a kid? As everything in this life does? I had to do what you did when we were young because I wanted to be you and the only way I knew how to be you was to do what you did or what you wanted. That made sense. I was looking for lightening. Wasn’t about to spend three to five years wishing I was you without trying to make it so. I still want to be you on most days. You were older than me then but now you’re a painting. I see you still: beautiful and still. You’re not going anywhere and I don’t have to run to catch up to you. I don’t have to hold my breath and count to three because you’re not running away from me. I am a mess. It makes sense that I would want to live your life and not mine. But I still can’t tell you how I actually feel. Because my soul is drunk on doubt and it flies high when it’s left to its own devices. You are still the moon, and I love you for that. The shiny thing in my sky that makes me want to open my eyes and see…
Saturday, July 23, 2016
On the walk home tonight you grabbed my hand so I wouldn’t tumble down the hill and told me you were seriously considering buying a camper van.
It was a nice moment.
I could tell you more about what I was thinking inside my head when you said it.
I could say that I wanted to know you forever right then and there. I could say I wasn’t sure all this time because I was convinced you would find a reason to leave me but then I was. And it felt different. It felt different than being weary of you. It felt different being so completely certain.
But I didn’t say any of those things. I smiled at you. I gripped your hand tighter. And I looked into your eyes with a deep sadness for all the moments before I doubted you. The moments before I doubted you could love me as much as I loved you and as much as I needed to be loved.
So I think that was enough.
I think that was all I needed to do.
And then we came home and baked some tortilla chips because why the fuck not.
Friday June 10, 2016 at Starbucks
from Facebook post
-So we’re going to do this then? Is this actually happening?!
-Well you’re not exactly doing anything, are you.
-Sam. What the fuck. This is my baby too.
-How do we know if this will even be a baby? What if I change my mind-aren’t I allowed to do that?
-Woah. Yes..I mean, of course you… But I thought we talked about it. I thought we made the decision together?
-Yeah, if I remember correctly, I told you I was pregnant and you said you wanted me to keep it. The end.
-That’s not true, Sam, you wanted the same thing! Where is all this coming from all of a sudden?
-Where is it coming from? How about there’s a living thing growing inside me right now and everyone around me seems to be an expert on the situation but when I say something, it’s “coming out of nowhere.”
-Okay. I… didn’t realize–
-No, you didn’t realize, that’s the first smart thing you’ve said.
-I’m sorry, babe, I really am…
Monday, March 28, 2016
from some sides
You ask me what I’m not telling you for the second time because my face looks like it’s hiding something from you. I don’t know why I keep saying,
If this were a year ago you’d have stopped questioning, whether you believed me or not, assuming you believed me, assuming you didn’t care to take notice when I said something I mean or when I didn’t.
Now you won’t let up and you won’t let me wallow and you won’t let me silently hate you or me if that’s what you think I think I’m doing. I should be grateful that you notice my subtleties now, that you inquire past surface level, that you don’t let me get away with the idea of performing perfect or unbothered or both.
But I guess I am holding on to that a bit so I won’t be held accountable to explain my feelings. To name them.
The only thing I want to say right now is,
Sometimes I don’t think you really love me.
Even though that’s ludicrous. I don’t want to say that to you now because I know how untrue that statement really is. I just want to hear you say
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
He coughed into the crook of his elbow and tried not to make too big of a deal of it. She glanced at him from the side of her eye, the way she did when she was trying to read his e-mails without him noticing. He was growing tired of her testing him and she was growing skeptical of his patience.
Maybe if you didn’t worry so much about EVERYONE else for a change, you’d be—
He hadn’t prepared himself for a blow out. Had been priding himself on containing it all and picking his battles, in fact.
Forget it. He walked a bit in front of her.
What would I be? JUST. FUCKING. SAY IT. She was shaking now, trying to make direct eye contact. She realized when she asked him if he still loved her earlier she didn’t look him in the face when he gave his response.
How fucking easy I make it for him to despise me, she thought. I never look to see if his eyes are lying.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
from a text message
Of course you haven’t responded yet! I’ve only sent you the most life-changing e-mail of all time. I shouldn’t have to resend my thoughts, but your lack of response is truly IRRITATING to say the least. How do I know where I stand. It is more important to know where I stand then how you feel as I’m the one who has put my heart out on a limb here and now it’s just DANGLING, don’t you see? I don’t know if you’ve drafted a response or not even because I refuse to log into your account like last time and check for myself. We all know it ended badly last time, and let’s just say once you know, you can’t unknow. But I am going a bit mental waiting for you to either confirm or deny your feelings for me. I know it sounds trite, but do you think of me the same way I think of you? Don’t answer this question. This one is riddled with self-doubt and neediness. Just answer the one I thoughtfully crafted for 3 and a half hours. YEAH! THREE AND A HALF HOURS! It took a long time to articulate. I wanted to be clear without being over-explicit. You are ALIVE, right???
Thursday December 26, 2013
from the cover of NOW
I’ve been thinking a lot about success. And failure. And where the two intersect, or don’t… Or what. See, when you’re creative, when you call yourself an “artist”, a name of privilege, a warrior path, I believe that doing your art
if you’re living your passion
practising your craft
honing and sanding and steaming and basting
you are doing your job.
I APPLAUD YOU.
Standing high on a snowbank
I call out in a voice reserved for my tribe
“THANK YOU FOR WORKING SO HARD!”
I can’t wait to hear what you make, to sing along to what you glazed with love and sweat, I long to feel your story in my toes. You doing what you do is ENOUGH. I don’t give a fireball what anyone else says about it. I reject the Tweet-erings too shy to cry out in their tribe-voice. I say “no thank you” to critics and naysayers and people that long to build something with their hands and don’t and then crash and bash into those of us that are brave enough to do just that.
Bravery is a bomb I will drop.
Bravery is a rhyme I will turn over in my mouth until it melts.
Friday December 6, 2013
a Welcome To Toronto lamp post sign
I understand that you’re practising honesty. I understand that when you woke up you smelt fear. I understand that you peed blood and now you’re terrified that you’re dying. I understand that that probably makes you want to fuck other people. I understand that I might find you under a pile of clothes you’ve been meaning to bring to Goodwill. Here’s my good will – I love you. I’ll whisper that and I’ll scream it, I’ll sing it to the tune of Someone Like You. I’m sorry but I’m not sorry. It’s overrated. “Sorry”. I’m over the pleasantries. I’m over the aromatherapy baths. I’m crunching road salt like Skittles and I’m saying “We’ve been expecting you” to Doubt.