that's what you get for waking up in

i miss waking up in the friendly city. that country is utterly fantastic.
being in the country makes you feel like the country is actually inside of you -
stealing your bones and replacing them with fire and alcohol
hours and hours spent up in the air. until we touch the ground, the sand, the ocean.
the air is thick. you can smell the salt coming from the water. and i worshipped the sun.
we made love on that first night. shortly after the hellos and my-name-is
day three and suddenly there are christmas lights and a tree in the lobby
santa claus, do you ever come to the ghetto?
there's something about waking up in another country. just knowing that you are halfway across the world from reality is mindblowing and ruthless and quiet all at the same time
there were the mornings i woke up and ate breakfast in front of the ocean
there were the evenings i spent reading or writing with my feet buried deep in the sand.
i dont think i've ever learned so much about myself
there were two nights (mornings) that i faced myself in someone's bathroom mirror
i watched my eyelashes touch my eyelids and i watched my front tooth grab my bottom lip and i watched my chest rise and fall as i inhaled the early sunshine and exhaled the evening's lust
looking at yourself in someone else's bathroom mirror is a raw reflection
you are exposed and vulnerable and heated
you need a cigarette but you won't have one.
what happens in stays in .
because this morning, i woke up in canada.

sanctuary

you wake up
you go to sleep in it
it can be dark and passionate

or bright and refreshing

it is sanity and comfort
there are no limits and that's what pulls you in
it's your go-to destination
(unless you're hungry)

hide your lovers under covers

put yourself together for the day

finish your coffee, your tea

make plans

make peace

make babies

at the end of each day,

it's a sanctuary

and nobody will understand but you

did i say something wrong?

for today, i have been waiting days. months. years.
no. 1
i love your mind.
and you stole every previous compliment i've ever received
no. 2
well your a special girl to me.
two words: how so?
no. 3
i just think your pretty amazing. and you are different. i like it alot.
this is the part where the director yells, "roll with it"
no. 4
i am pretty crazy about you.
for the longest time, i have been waiting.
days. months. years.
and now i'll let your mind sit on one, last questionwhere do your words take us?

absolute disaster. utter disbelief.

and then there was everything else before and after.

acceptance

i've accepted the reality of running into people that aren't in your first
circle of influence
people who are in your life because of people who are
no longer in your life
if you're still with me, clap your hands.
when you run into them, you lose your mental stability with small talk
you mumble. you hesitate. you become awkward.
because you're not sure if they know whatever it is you are hoping they dont know
clap again.
you'll walk away from that person with questions running through your mind
hearing the voice enter your world is like falling down a hole.
you instantly lose concentration
your world is all of a sudden forced into a portal of memories
and there is nothing better than truly accepting it
which i am proud to say that i have
seeing them is the utmost favourite.
their immaturity and their inexperience
have reached the same ground as their daily knowledge intake
what more could you ask for?
well... you sit here, feeling the world around you take off
feeling your world erupt into new opportunities and new experiences
you realize that human life is fascinating.
learning is easy, it's growing up that's the hard part
shit happens. accept it. take it all and run.

MADDER than a HATTER

this is a revolution
this is a turn around
this is the part where i break down

storytelling

earlier this morning, i decided to live my day for a little girl
a little girl who is a decade younger than i am; a tenfold braver
i don't know this girl personally, but her voice melted my heart
her intellect is far beyond her years
to be selfish, i wondered if i appeared as smart as she does when i was her age because she is phenomenal
she's vibrant and optimistic and grounded
there are so many people that i hope to meet in my life time
and if i had the chance to meet with her, i would stand honoured

her hair was falling out and she insisted on taking advantage of the entire situation by going to the most posh hair salon in town.
"it's ok mom, at least you dont have to pay for a blowdry!"

her spirit has shown me that there are so many small pieces of this world
that i take for granted every day.
listening to one little girl's story changed the way that i now look at the cards that i'm dealt

laugh often
listen intently
and live, passionately

madison scott was ten years old when she was diagnosed with lymphoblastic leukemia.
she is thirteen years old today.
she is still alive.
and cancer-free.

it's september, again

take a breath. quickly.
here it is.
right in your hands. finally.
there are few words to describe the feeling of bodies and words in constant motion.
suddenly, the only thing heavier than your heart is what's on your back.
stop. go.
some say the best things in life are right in front of you.
others say the best things in life are now.

i am one of the others.

there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza

today was not the same as every other time
the trees seemed different, older
the sky pulled at my ankles and caused me to tilt with the world
almost as if i was leaning away from it
which makes me wonder: were they feeling the same way?
were they feeling as if they were leaning away from the world?

i have walked through the same rows of granite, marble, and slate
many times before
the countless types of stone used much in the same way as
bookmarks for books - to mark your place when you stop reading

"this is so stupid," and i almost regretted saying it
speaking my mind into the wind, "i cannot believe we are doing this."
her words swarmed back like bees,
"we are not doing this, they are."

today, there was no bookmark

it was stripped away from the cold, hard earth along with the five gold-plated letters

and the prayer -

long before we got there

standing before an open book, i was the one who felt exposed

it was not long ago that i sat cross-legged on that very place

i was afraid that her tears would knock me off my feet
they flowed from her eyes instantly, as if the man had controlled them with the same lever that he used to lift thirteen years out of the ground
six feet under and we were going backwards

there is no way of telling what you will find after thirteen years -
let alone, two
two years ago, the two of you were finally together
i was shown disruptance of the peace in an entirely new light today

my fingertips were numb with apprehension as i watched a burial in reverse

thirteen years is a long time -

and i'm still going to visit.

it's 8 am on thursday morning

to the most beautiful woman -
inside, and out
to me, you are beyond the world
and for the first time in my life,
there is no question: why?

there is no question, why
we aren't still best friends
after all these years,
we are absolutely in love
two girls, smarter than the universe

two girls smarter than the universe
once told me that we were lucky
i told them that my mom and i are so much more than lucky
we are unstoppable -
and happy birthday,
to the most beautiful woman.

in search of answers

playing cops and robbers or hide and seek is more fun.
making noise is more fun - nearly everything is more fun.
the child can't imagine anyone who would enjoy writing
except, perhaps one person -
the older sibling

adolescence is the saviour of writing, just as - to some teenagers,
writing is the saviour of adolescence.
it is at that age that effort involved in writing begins to blossom
with words, one can express oneself; and since every teenager is at one point or another,
misunderstood,
there is so much to express.
suddenly the possibilities of words begin to explode in the mind

the teenager reads and writes in search of answers.

emerald and glistening

it was never spoken about in her home; in her childhood
death and all it's friends - no, pals
everything did anything but die
flowers wilt.
milk expires.
lights dim.
batteries lose power.
wood decays.
bridges weaken.
learning about death and dying came very heavy for her
muy pesado.
molto pesante.
like a train coming at her from the end of a tunnel without its beacon
neither a whistle to warn her of its impending approach
no warning of death and dying.
...
pouring a second glass of champagne from the bottle; emerald and glistening,
she wondered when the ride would be over
where was this blackmobile taking her?
if this was the first day of her life, she would ask to die
the apprehension was slowly killing her
her legs produced a fictitious rip in the leather seat as she crossed them and sunk back into the sound of air escaping from a tire
more from the bottle of green that glistens
and she thought,
flowers can be replanted
milk can be purchased again at the store
lightbulbs are replaced with ladders
batteries are exchanged
wood can be treated and bridges, reinforced
always a cheap - no, inexpensive drunk; her mind was swimming in bubbly luxury
bottles are emptied.
dizzy with the nothingness of death and dying, the last of the luxury disappears
warming her soul, she felt a sting; like a bee, in her chest
and in that moment she thought about life and living;
honey doesn't expire.
(to be continued)

black doors

inside, it was as if she was in a new world
everything was shiny and looked brand new
expensive and black in all its glory
she hardly wanted to sit on the crisp leather seats
as if they would deflate beneath her; their cloud-like composition
thinking about all of the places that she longed to ride in a limousine to, she leaned back, finally accepting that the seat behind her would not collapse under her weight
her high school graduation; with friends and her date
her wedding; with the bridal party and her groom
a movie premiere; for which she was the author of the story it was based upon
and for a minute, she even imagined a funeral; although they have a different name for the limousine that the Guest of Honour rides in
imagining the lifestyle of people who get driven around in these things daily, she thanked whatever or whoever was responsible for not letting her life turn out like that
she embraced the fact that she didn't have a driver named Bill or Dave or Steven
and appreciated her many bus rides and walking distances
focusing her curiosity on the many compartments within arm's reach, she began to touch everything
as she pressed on each plastic door, they opened for her with the familiar pop of a kinder surprise egg
behind door number one we have a long, black (of course) remote control
pressing the power button on the top left corner of the device, she activated a secret door which opened for the descending entrance of a black flatscreen television
now that's first-class, she thought
marvelling in the classiness of it all
placing the remote on the seat beside her, she continued on her exploration
behind door number two she finds two magazines and a newspaper
neatly folded
pausing for a moment to take in all of the black that surrounded her
she scanned the inside of this means of transportation; so highly recognized
so this is what it's like, she thought
this is what it's like to be taken somewhere you're expected
door number three offered two champagne glasses
transparent, yet also black
door number four: the champagne
brilliant and bubbly in all its confinement
she revoked her curiosity of its natural abilities and sunk back,
allowing the leather to consume her
if only door number five could bring colour to this dark place
(to be continued)

left and leaving

her peripheral vision offered the clock on the wall
the minute hand dancing circles around the hour hand
the seconds hand in canon with her heart beat
an engine breaks the silence
shifting to park, the vehicle waits in the dark street
does this mean...
the coffee shop is closing
she had been anticipating her exit
would it be quick and flawless,
or laid out and intricate?
removing her jacket from the back of the chair, she regretted having to leave such a beautiful atmosphere
everything you'll require awaits in the car
long and black and desperate; it would have waved her over if it could
she didn't know if she should thank the man
for his company, for his strength and kindness
placing one foot in front of the other she made her way to the door
the sign hanging in the window was double-sided and from the inside of the shop it read: OPEN
but who had gone and turned it over?
surely she would have acknowledged an employee walking past her table towards the door, changing the sign
he opened the door for her and she stepped into the quiet air
and she paused
will i see you again?
she said this in the direction of the vehicle
as if she was saying goodbye to it, instead
close your eyes
as he walked around to face her, she was reminded of his spiciness
slowly, carefully, he reached for her hand which hung down by her thigh
lifting it up towards his chest,
tell me what you feel
the senses in her palm searched desperately for a beat that never came
not wanting to believe it, she closed her hand and made a fist where the beat should have been coming from
she had his heart in her hand
his heart was her hand in that moment
knocking twice on a body as hollow as a log, she opened her eyes
his chest was no longer where she held her fist; his heart
instead, an older man in a black suit stood in front of her
one hand on the handle of an elegant black limousine
he had left; and she was leaving
(to be continued)

greatness

her mind was beautiful and intricate
like an underground tunnel with secret doors and passages
nobody knew how to figure her out; not even herself
of course the doctors could read her
she was an open book
as open as the door of the limousine
the one that would be arriving shortly
why dont you tell me five important things
about what, exactly?
anything. anything important.
her thoughts were floating in an aquarium; swimming on clouds
and then in no order she began
it is important that people know that they put bread into the toaster
(how many times had she heard "put some toast in the toaster"?)
it must be too many
go on
people should remember to laugh. it is music.
how desperately she had wanted to be a concert pianist in her youth
making music with her bare fingers
(laughing is much easier)
bacon is the best part of breakfast
her nostrils flared just thinking about the smell while her ears listened for the sizzling sound; too familiar
(it had been there all along in the crack of the fire)
two more
wanting to impress him with her depth, she paused to think about number four
she didn't even know this man
should she need to impress him?
and then it hit her like a wrecking ball through a building
it is hard to get to know someone if you're trying to impress them
what is it that draws the human race to impress each other?
even in the moment of death their last, dying breathe must be captivating
she didn't need to impress anybody anymore though the back of her mind was thinking about those golden gates she'd heard so much about
(would she be of enough greatness?)
after moments of silence she lifted her chin to the ceiling as if awknowledging a higher power
almost struggling, she managed to finally say
love yourself.
and in that very instant, she was of enough greatness.
(to be continued)

something salty something sweet

the needs of a woman are simple
any man with a decent IQ should know what women want
your basic brain surgeon who owns oceanfront property and his own jet (landing strip out back)
he knows the perfect age of wine and has millions somewhere in the cayman islands
right?
that's what she wanted, right?
wrong.
as much as she has loved materialism in the past, what she knew today proved differently
today, she would have settled for a man who could hold down a steady job
a man who could open her heart without having to cut her open
no IV. no operating table. only love.
wanting and needing are two entirely different things
but for her, wanting and needing were too similar
she wanted time.
she needed time.
and she wasn't really allowed either
inhaling the smell of the ocean that she could have wanted, she smiled
how wonderful it would be to have her own orchard
to have a man who could age the wine himself
the combination of salty and sweet
maybe that's what she needed
no, maybe that's what she wanted
who really knows the difference?
(to be continued)

waiting.

time went by slowly for her; for the two of them
how often had she been checking the clock?
she thought back to when he first walked in
what time had it been?

i'm glad that you could make it.
i'm sorry to have kept you waiting.

she had been expecting him, hadn't she?
maybe she just knew that he was on his way
maybe there wasn't a specific time
her coffee had been much warmer, though
and he was sorry
to have kept her waiting
waiting.
the average person spends 45 to 62 minutes a day waiting
she had been waiting for this day
this day in this room with this man
which is why she was glad that he could make it
she was in love but she was leaving
which is why he was sorry to have kept her waiting
because he knew that she had to be somewhere else, very soon
he knew that she had waited for more necessary things
as inevitable as waiting is, he felt guilty that she had to wait
for flowers to grow
for the bank teller
for test results
for him
in 70 years, the average person spends at least 3 years waiting.
she was twenty-four.
(to be continued)

a mother's love.

the room was silent again
and dark
she would not admit her fear
there were wild horses in her stomach
the sound of their hooves pounding through her ears
or was it just the silence consuming her?
inhale: long and deep and full of life; how ironic
still, the silence was swallowing her
and then he spoke again, unexpected
your mother.
the silence, a black hole
she was strong and independent
she taught you how to take care of a family
she taught you how to love yourself
his words hung like icicles on christmas morning
there was something about the way that he spoke
the way he carefully chose his words
she felt so much though he said so little
inhale: pure and thick and passionate
safety overcame her in the presence of the stranger
there was no need to admit her fear
capturing the notorious image of her mother in the kitchen, radiating beauty and love
she blinked back just one tear
there was no need to admit her fear
(to be continued)

seven hundred and thirty

so i wake up, leave the house
it's a saturday.
the gas light appears when i start my car
like a doorbell, it rings every so many kilometres.
how much farther could i drive on 1/8 of a tank?
large double-double
$1.64, please.
clock in.
clock out.
it's already after 4:00pm
on a saturday.

i never visited today.
seven hundred and thirty days.
and the number only gets bigger.

i miss you.

i love you.

i'm sorry.

the world in her hands.

she thought about everything that was going on at that exact moment in time
the room seemed less smokey since he'd arrived
wrapping both hands around her mug, she closed her eyes for a second
your silence will not protect you.
she opened her eyes to meet his
why dont you tell me a story?
she was always the one to ask that question, but she brought him back to her childhood anyways
i used to love going for walks around the lake when i was younger
the air was cleaner and the colours more vibrant
at least it seemed that way to me
sometimes there would be one or two people walking their dogs
but most of the time it was just me; alone with the world
i remember feeling like i was holding the world in my hands
i'm not sure how, but there was one sunflower at the edge of the lake next to the rocks that i used to sit on; sometimes for hours
the wind must have blown the seeds to make it grow there; because there was only one
anyways, they're my favourite
is that the end?
she paused, laughed quietly
well it's silly, but, i've always liked to think that someone planted it for me.
as if trying to tell me that they've held the world, too.
(to be continued)

i'm sorry. did you? i'd never.

taking the seat across from her, his eyes wander
they glance for a minute at the logs, engulfed in red and orange and yellow
(he always liked the fall)
pausing for a second to stare into the distance until he met her eyes
they were green but golden as he examined them
almost counting her eyelashes; he studied
(she: the model, him: the artist)
two mugs of coffee appear between them
cream and sugar for both

i'm glad that you could make it
i'm sorry to have kept you waiting

their hearts were the only two beating in unison
in a room full of people

do you have the answer for me?
did you not have a plan B?

for the first time in her life, she felt safe
in a room full of strangers

i was counting on you
i'd never let you down

reaching across the table for her hand, she lets him embrace her thoughts
palm to palm, he wraps his fingers over hers
she has her heart on her sleeve and chipped nail polish
(to be continued)

tall dark and handsome.

she walked into the room; the air was thick and smoky
reminding her of family barbeques in the summer time
(everybody enjoyed each other's company back then)
that started out as alliteration. weird.
sitting down at a table near the fireplace, she hung her jacket on the seat back
as if it were cold; next to the fire
(how could it be?)
inhaling the mahoganey of the table top mixed with something sweet
she paused, enchanted for a second, by the drops of water sliding through the fog on the window pretending that it was a race; remembering rainy days as a child
she was complex and beautiful in a room so simple and brown
heat radiated from a shadow that approached the table
a creak in the hardwood; also mahoganey
something new to smell: spicy.
(expensive taste)
the silence became noise the noise became static
filling her head. her stomach.
endless conversation riding on the thoughts of partial strangers
strangers in a smokey room
(to be continued)