blame canada

What makes you so special, really? what
is it about you that has me moping
even after one hundred and fifty nine days?
oh yes, i counted; did you think i would not?
Everyone knows I remember more than I should
of the things they say when they're not
sure they mean any of it

The problem with being me
is that I always find
a way to find
meaning in everything

pilgrimage

darling, there is nothing I can tell you.
of all the knowledge mankind cloaks itself with
there is none so frightening as this -
that you are the future of the world.

i will walk down forbidden paths
as youth, as woman, as promise
i will find the ways in which i am fooled
fooled once, fooled twice; and shame on us all
i will find faith where people have stopped looking
and purpose where they say there is none

down a road alone
who will come with me?

remove from list

a favour i'll ask
of you if you
won't return my letters
unwind that skein
of please-forgive-mes and send
the thread back to me
so I can undo
all the pity I brought
into this friendship

at that point when i'm mutilating daisies

I miss you when you're gone
I miss you all the time
I wish you were here, though i cannot imagine
past the fulfilment of that one wish
I drop references of you into disconnected conversations
the way one drops names of famous people one knows,
nonchalantly on purpose, like secrets that beg to be told
I think of you every second second
in spurts and shocks and spite
(in spite)
of all better judgement
I hold long discussions with you in my head
where I say all the things I wish I could think of
when you were around, when people heard me
I wait with busy signals and pointed status messages
all for you, only for you
and I forgive you when you never notice
I write you letters pages long in my imagination
and then tear them up because
they all end up making uncomfortable admissions
that I am not sure i believe...or want to

I've been here before
will I survive another one?

retreating into old habitats

I can no longer find the words
with which to cover my confusion
I do not know if I can stand
how will I bear to stand uncovered
unclothed here without the benefit
of my inconsequential chatter

I worry that not speaking my mind will mean
that it is more misunderstood than ever
But in these silences I find calm
Is that not something to be happy for?

for lack of better subject lines

you hurt me, you do
even if you don't mean to
or want to
and i wonder at how many tears i will cry
before the coincidences overwhelm

for i'm tired of being cautious
and i don't know how
to read what you give me
you expect so much
more than i can give you
perhaps it's time to
just let it go

limbo

If there were some way
I could unburden

If there were a way I could
lessen the load
the guilt, the shame
promises unfulfilled
potential unrealized
if I could
I wonder
if I would

Because if I told someone
someone would know
what would i do for secrets, then?

does it have bunnies

sickle cycle
how we turn
to stay in
the here and now

and other Pink Floyd moments

I can't wrap my heart around you

I can't

You're not here

Where I am

'pologies

Sure, I knew from the beginning
This equivalent to summer fling
would last as long as we would let it
Or I, in case you didn't get it
I wondered just a little though
If I shouldn't have felt more low
Apparently, though, there is no guilt
At the charming picture I have built
Perhaps because I had the sense
To make no wishes in future tense,
make no promises in my sleep...
Only promises that I could keep

:)

regretfully

Mister, I can't
talk to you any more
I am afraid of losing myself
of pretending to be somebody
because i think you'll like her
better

See, I did it before
I won't do it again
so goodbye

I have had a nice time, though
And mostly I was me
Mostly, unexpectedly
Much thanks for that, sir

sunday sleeping

I dreamed of you but
not involuntarily
not unconsciously, not subconsciously
the un-prefixed way; on purpose
scenarios putty in my mind
Like daydreams, only not
because i sleep for these
Sleep multiple night-times
in the middle of the afternoon
sleep pudgy lethargy
until I come out on the other side
and then turn over
and do it again

I didn't expect to miss you
and then did it anyway
When are you coming home?

because it isn't exactly blue

go away, marcie
i'm very good at references
see the pie
he loves me because
of the terrible fish

ellipses

perhaps the deepest secret regret is
that i will never find that perfect series
of random events that are so easy
to imagine in my wildest dreams
perhaps romance is
not something that will find me
tiptoeing unhindered up behind me
to give me memories
i already remember
from tomorrow
perhaps there are no love stories
for someone like me

wrapped

crushing
first boy i told
so bold
mother, she would scold
well hey
were i to say
oh, stay
would you say okay
chat a while
and smile
or is it all futile

like whistles

assonance

little white cat
it made overtures
crouched under cabinet
my mews alternating
her eyes gleaming
and with lights out
a streak
of flying fur

tomorrow, perhaps purrs

anthem

This is my body
You will not touch it
Not without explicit
permission from me

cattle prod

and when you go to sleep at night
do you replay all the things we said?
when walking, wandering, do you hear
created conversations in your head?

and when i send you letters without
subject, purpose, stucture; do
you think that they require replies,
or are they simply passing through?

write me, go ahead
yes, i know that i'd said
i wrote not for replies
well, then write me some lies
what are you afraid of letting slip, anyway?

not what they were looking for

what if i just go, what if i just take
the next bus that comes, to away and back
let go of everything, everyone
break the ties that bind

and i want shoulders to cry on
but i cannot trust the ones around
i know, like quicksand they'll slip
slide under weary eyes
and the tears will only puddle
around my feet again

perhaps i should be watching better
almost fell out that hole in my head
i'm so much older than i can take
and the repetitions drain out more
than i can spare

showing petticoats

went out walking
in love with you
and everyone knew

perhaps it was
the smiling
the humming
the pirouette every third step

but no
perhaps it was
that i yelled it
out loud
let the secret out
with the cat

oh, but it couldn't have been
really
i know better
that would have been as bad as
sunday
longer than
monday