The loyal woman will not let you walk on her floor mats, scraping the dignity off your boots. The disloyal woman is hiding behind charity and pattern. Yet, she is unaware of her disloyalty. The intentions are sewn into cotton ball clouds, waiting for the flood.
There is a point when a candle’s wick will continue to burn, even when the flame is long gone. Gray smoke rises and chars the top ridge of the candle holder and pierces my nostrils. I always consider different ways to kill the flame. I could flick it with(more) a used match stick or blow on it. But, no matter how many times this happens to me, the thought of suffocating it always comes to me last. I rest a porcelain plate over it and watch as the flame is smoked out, losing oxygen. Is the wick substantial or should I continue to kill its ambitions? (less)
when the pattern is ingrained, i'll misplace it amidst the day-to-day. there is an unconscious anxiety of waiting on words from those unspoken, foregone romances that i'd once strewn across my bedroom floorboards and all over my plain. but when the words come, i lay down my hard coverings(more) and toss my versed monologues aside and become susceptible to what i'd assured myself i'd never let past me.
i revisit old memories from just two years ago and, startling, i've changed. my smile is buried now and my under-eyes are lined with the purple colour of bruises. no matter how much sleep i allow myself or how much health i give to myself, these dark circles are cyclical. is this growing up or growing into my grave?
those who have recently attempted to carve me out of my layers assume i lack vulnerability. what they - and, well, i, did not know is that my heart beat differently once. a familiar invitation allows it to settle into that old beat, if only for a time, and i can pass my shield off to someone else who needs it more than i.
it would be wise to forge a new shield as my heart is nowhere near my sleeve. but instead, i wonder, if vulnerability is what is missing from most people. or maybe i only let my guard down when my heart and brain align and decide it is the right time.
for now, i can move along with my realized pattern as i thaw out my numbed heart. (less)
I'm without a hair-tie to tie it all back and up and out of the way. I brush at it and my ring gets caught and rips thin, dirty blonde pieces from my head. They will fall out if I rip or if I do not. I can choose(more) not to notice if I let myself choose.
if you choose the right instance, you can listen to the lake melt. its soft sonance drips like a stream. soft, crisp ripples dribble in meager pools of frigid ice water thawed atop the solid slat of lake-sized ice sheet.
(more) coats hung in the corner, they grabbed at the sun, begging it to make its home within their cells for just a morsel longer. (less)
i wanted to go by my middle name in a new, strange place but couldn't fathom the flesh of it. i couldn't picture myself on a proper adventure. hidden, instead, behind my lenses.
i couldn't have an original thought in my he(more)ad if i tried. my brain is on fire with possibilities, making it impossible. i want to quadruple myself and send each clone off into the world and do something differently. i wonder who would really win.
i was standing with my guy, his arm hard around me and his soul hard through the room. she was staring at me with big green eyes and a soulless bmw of a man on her arm. i wondered what really mattered. (less)
the train smelt like roadkill that had froze outside and been dragged into my car. the accessibility coach rep read the numbers of the cars that wouldn't open at eglinton station like a lottery draw. I didn't get it. I didn't get much. "first day of my life" started(more) playing and I pictured myself hanging from the top railing of the grandiose staircase that ran from basement to second storey of my parents' house. and then I thought I didn't want to upset their memories of their first real home together. (less)
yesterday was easy until i realized i was easily replaceable. your layers of lost love used to appeal to me - thought i could reverse the trend and be a standout from your crowded crowd. i am a layer now. keep layering us on until we're buried so close(more) you can't distinguish your own sources of anguish any longer.
possessive, yet listless.
loving, yet loathing.
did our love have meaning or was it packed tight with emotion?
we bonded over and began in tough romantic times. we ended in a tough romantic time. what could have been expected? (less)
why do we open up so easy? i'm not accustomed to this level of honesty. it instills a warm feeling to know the truth all the time. but then, some truths bring pain and sadness. trust builds and breaks with ongoing honesty. it builds stronger, breaks harder.
(more) i want to know everything about you and your life and i'm scared you won't like what you see within mine. (less)
"i'd like to hangout sometime," he says.
"do you want to hangout right now?!"
"hey, if it's too soon we can hang some other time."
"16 candles is on demand if that's any incentive."
"see ya soon!"
we watch 80s and 90s tv til 5 am.
"er, do you want to sleep on the couch or?"
"uhm, it's up to you. i don't mind either way."
"i'm gonna brush my teeth," he says.
"i should too. i, uh, carry this with me when i travel. oral hygiene and all that!"
i'd packed a toothbrush because I knew.
we stood in his dirty bathroom and brushed our teeth side by side.
the laughter rung out as we made eye contact.
"it just occurred to me how strange this is."
"i'm not even thinking about it," i said, spitting a tiny bit into his scummy sink.
he left the bathroom and i spit out the remaining gob of toothpaste.
i went into his room and made him look away when i changed into his pajamas. how old were we?
he kissed me with a soft urgency and kept asking me if he tasted like smokes. (less)
we got rained out in the winter. my skin thanked the warm, moist air and the tickling sun after rain shining through the glass.
pieces of stuff and things lay strewn around my room, dusty. why did I need all this stuff? no one can give any of this(more) shit meaning except for me. I should throw it all out. the dead can't appreciate the collection of this stuff. the future generations of me will less than appreciate it. I'm throwing it all out and replacing it with warn, moist air and tickling sunshine. (less)
he wasn't ready for me. he met me at the cliff where reason eroded and dreams flew high. we rejoiced in sacred evenings crowded around a computer screen or gathered around a dying tealight at the dive by his house. i'd order a beer, he'd order a beer. i'd(more) swallow a drop and pass it off to him. i didn't need more beer.
escape artists. hiding away in pain but bringing it out in one another.
now my brow won't un-furrow. my hair feels like greasy rags. he's not ready for me.
"sometimes i don't want poetry," he said.
"i can't think in prose. there's a film over my brain again," my head.
"you're making me fall for you again. you're so beautiful, so strange, so lovely."
romance is short-lived. love is the answer. (less)
"would he have made it if i didn't do those things?"
we're fine, i'm fine, you're fine, she's fine.
if i didn't know him, would i be moving out?
(more) if i knew - if i knew more, would i have known him?
the pink over my eyes, seriously misleading my interpretation of everything. he wasn't what i thought. or was he exactly how he'd portrayed it?
monday was blessed but then tuesday he came home early and bought a bottle of wine with money he'd borrowed from me because his brother asked for my number at a parkdale dive two weeks before. i took it. he texted me. i replied. i deleted his number.
nothing ever happened. but it opened a can of worms for him. a big, fat can o' worms that he climbed into and let consume him. i barely hear a word from him.
sleeping, not eating, not living properly. not doing it right. so wrong. so wrong. things were going well. he couldn't let it be. he had to turn inward. he had to think too much, to the tipping point. and here we are. (less)