Phone

I become another woman
when your voice hits my
ears, and it's not the one
you know and love, but
another creature altogether.
My words become sharp
and my throat lends me
no sweetness, and my tone
only savours of anger and
hurt, and self-defence. I
hear her talking for me,
when inside I want to show
you that I'm still here, still
that same girl, still gentle
and kind, and a little more
understanding than I
probably should be, but
can't get it out. All that
leaves my lips are the
songs of the wounds that
sit in the pit of my soul,
the promises you made
that you so casually broke,
and the frustration I have
with myself for thinking
that you were different.

Because right now,
you're acting just the same.

Best

Because I never lived my life
for you, I trust you to time,
and the perfection of a will
not my own. But that doesn't
mean this is easy, or that I've
stopped loving all of your
broken pieces, or that I'm okay
with this path you've chosen
for me. Yet I will bear with you
because there is really no other
way for me to go. I am always
here.

Archeology

I comb through the ruins
like an archeologist eager
to find the answers, looking
for signs in the dust that
offer the why, the how,
and the who. And the site
that marks the destruction
of "us" tells the story so
clear. Your reasons are
etched into the fibre of
your character, always
protecting and shielding
others from the beautiful
turmoil in your mind.
Oh it seems like you've
forgotten the day you told
me you loved me, the letters
and the flowers, the little
momentos and the way
you would stare into my
eyes and just whisper how
beautiful I was to you.
And since I would have
chosen to patiently walk
beside you through every
dark valley, had I been given
the chance, and loved you with
a quiet love, that lets you free
and lets you think, I have to
conclude that it was not I,
that destroyed this wonderful
gift, but you. You let go
of my hand and chose to
go through the war alone,
when you've always wanted
someone to know the very
depths of your wild heart,
We had seen bigger catastrophes
and weathered more treacherous
storms, but you through away
our love, and me, along with it.

Birds

My friend, I know he wants
your mind, he wants your
heart and the blood in your
viens, and he wants your hands
and your feet, your drive and
your will. He wants you to
bend to his darkness,
collapse under the weight
of the sin that he reminds you
of constantly, replaying
behind your eyes like a movie,
clear and detailed, he whispers
your thoughts, the ones you
suppress, but he knows, oh
he knows. And my friend,
I need you to see that he's
driving you into the cave
of your own head, isolating
you from the life that you have,
and magnifying your every fault,
shaming you for your humanity,
your unavoidable imperfection
and pulling you away from every
good and wonderful thing you
ever cherished, he's stealing
your joy, and selling you lies.

My friend, how much more
do you pray?

Emerald

Weeks until I touch the
ground of the only place
that has ever taken me as
its own. The only place
where I have danced in
the rain without looking
foolish, and seen the stars
unfold like a quilt, pulled
down from the attic. And
it's all I can do right now,
to hope in those weeks of
retreat, where I can stand
full and complete in who
I know I am, without fear
that it'll in some way be
perceived incorrectly.

How I long to be
bright again.

War

His lies are simple and easy,

swallowed without much 

difficulty, accepted without 

much push-back, and I only 

see the truth for what it is 

from the bottom looking up. 

He whispers oh-so quietly 

into my ears when I'm not 

paying attention, preying on 

my idleness, his only aim is

to suck the life out of me. He 

tells me I'm repulsive and 

underwhelming, the sole 

reason you've had to walk

away, and that I'm too 

weak-eyed and spineless 

for you to have ever cared 

for me at all. Undeserving 

and unworthy of you, and 

not enough to help you 

through. He rails on me as 

if he fears what I would do 

if I were allowed to stand up, 

and from the ground I only 

see the pure hatred in his eyes, 

drawing me into his deceit so 

convincingly, and he mocks 

the deepest parts of my soul.
With every day he tells me
you never wanted me at all,
and with every morning he
reminds me of the rejection and
its sting. He tells me your 

words are lies, he promises me
my opinion of you is false,
and he says that I'll always be alone. 

In a life of relational equations 

that always end up in the red, 

he tells me that I'm the common 

denominator. And I know, it's 

only the weakness in me and 

the cunning in him that stops 

me from seeing the truth. 

I promise that I'm trying.

Cold

There are days when only 

tea, and The Scientist 

will do. Through my 

tears and my cup of 

cream earl grey I sing 

"I'm going back to the start."

Tennis

The ball taps the pavement
on your side of this line,
acting as the metronome
to which you make your
next steps, while I am left
with no pace or way to
mark the time. My side of
this court contains nothing
but the wildness of my own
heart, and the chaos of
emotions too big for my
little body to handle, and
I enviously watch you
calculate your every movement
in order, and with thought.
You pick up the phone,
knowing I'm waiting on the
line, but you put it down again,
knowing it's not time,
knowing you're not quite
there yet, and I anxiously
wait for the call that might
never come.

I am strong,
I am strong,
I am strong.

Submarine

Today I caught
a middle-aged bald man
wearing your green
plaid shirt. You know,
my favourite one, with
the pocket over your
heart. He sat in our
usual seat on the subway
from St. George to
Bloor, reading the paper.
I couldn't think of anything
else but the smell of
your green plaid shirt,
and the way your eyes
shone when you looked
at me, holding my hand
as we arrived at the
interchange station,
and the smile on your
face as I shot you my
funny looks. He turned
the pages of the newspaper
while the announcer said
"arriving at Bay, Bay station"
and as he got up to leave
I could do nothing but stare
at his empty seat.

And you were gone.