Same old song and dance

You never notice how we've changed until we're placed into the same situation of time's past. We always grapple for a chance to redo, to press the back button on our lives and do it all again. What people don't realize is that the opportunity is handed to us on a silver platter. because we've lead ourselves inevitably back to what we know, what we've already known. History repeats itself more times than I'd like to admit, both in my life and in the collective experience. And now I stand where I once did, many times, from grade 11 to grade 12. on again and off again. You wanted to hang out. I delayed, but my conscience got the best of me. A hopeless pleaser of others. But something's changed. I could not look at your face ever again and be perfectly content. I've become privy to it all. See, you run in circles too. You hate me and then you inevitably love me again. You hurt me, because I hurt you. But you've always got that sickly smile on your face, somehow forgetting the past and we're back where we started. truth is, I don't want to run another lap in that world of yours. I forfeit.


Dream me

I've been living a dream.
As if the moment your lips met mine
you pushed me into a deep slumber.
Where the trees are made of sugar
and nothing matters.
I walk on a bed of moss with bare feet
not needing to fear the cuts of unpleasant circumstance
no worries of disease or danger.
I slipped into the glistening pools of your presence
conjuring only ripples that faded before they reached your distant shore.
We were so alive in eachother
but so softly, as an angel's breath,
that none of us noticed.
You are the western winds,
dancing with my hair
leaving nothing but goosebumps.
Intangible dreams of a sacred place
mossy stone archways leading to a silver lit pool.
I asked you if I was dreaming,
once upon a time.
You held me close and said this was real,
discarding my question,
an apple core in the Garden of Eden.
But I couldn't shake it so easily.
The surface too clear,
begging for something to destroy its slumber,
for a western wind to pull it toward some distant shore.
I never told you about my fears.
About a sickly forboding,
an impending falter.
In the beginning, when this newness was too new,
like fingernails cut too short,
it consumed me.
Curling about my fingertips like smoke
staining my skin with it's intangibility.
But now, when your breath is my own
and our heartbeats march in tandem,
your winds blew the grey tendrils far away.
But the scent of confusion still lingers in my hair.
And I still don't know, is this a dream?
Everything seems made of pillars of sand
faltering with the flicker of an eyelid
awakening from some deep slumber.


You came up to me so easily, took my crown of thorns.

I had a most spiritual weekend.
three days, two nights in tunnel mountain village 2 campsite with Scott.
Fresh air, peace and quiet, good food and endless possibilities.

I put everything to rest as we entered the park.
Alive in the energy of each new possibility.
Fog on the ground and lightening in our hearts, we came together.
As our bodies melted I felt your mind among my brain cell synapses.
The air escaped, bringing us inexplicably closer, unable to draw ourselves up.
We conversed with no words
and flowed in each other's footsteps as if it was always this simple.
And as the snow fell through the sunny skies,
I climbed more than mountains,
discovered more than trails.
I felt more than the rain on my cheeks and the heat of burning coals.
We laid each other down to rest on a bed of mosses and
watched the trees dance to the rhythm of our heartbeats.
We smoked the earth and steeped our laughter in waters that flowed through our lungs.
Found shelter from the storm in each others eyes,
breathing the heart connection,
speaking in tongues about electrons and Plato,
uniting science of the brain with the beauty of the mind.
We roasted our inhibitions to a fine crisp on the flames of easy existence.
threw away the shreds
cut away the threads
sipped on the dregs of tea made from juniper.
Loved in the early sunshine
Lived in the evening mist
created more than just fires
chased away more than just squirrels.
Smiled till it hurt and held each other close
as the world turned, had our fortunes told.
Loved life and lived love.
Hypothesized and prophesied
realized, and, energized, stained our souls together.
forged paths that could last forever.

Take my hand and come with me?


This would be so hilarious if it wasn't so devastating.

The past little while I've noticed as I grow up I become more like you. Your logical mind, your intricate brain. In some ways I enjoy it, excites me. Other times it freaks the hell out of me. I don't want to inherit your anger, your convoluted logic and your chemically imbalanced brain.
I was privvy to one of your lovely arguments with my father, as he came through the kitchen door I heard you scream, as if you were scolding our dogs for something. My dad, possibly trying to ignore it, continues walking. You storm in, slamming the door in a fit of rage and, stomping your feet, signal to my dad to stop walking. You ask what's wrong, and he says "I guess i just can't do anything right." "You know that's not true! I'm not trying to make you feel that way." My dad walks away, down the stairs, and you follow, the convorsation becoming muffled by the drywall between us. I laugh despairingly, as bits and pieces float up. "Yes, it's alll my fault is it?!" I don't even bother to continue listening, I've heard it all before, time and time again. Truth is, it is your fault. But you refuse to see what your bursts of uncontrollable anger do to us. Or maybe you do see you just refuse to acknowledge it. You make him feel like crap, plain out. You nag at him like he's an incompetant infant, a blubbering fool, and then complain about his depression not being as serious as yours. You criticize his weight, tell him to excersize more and to stop eating, without realizing he can barely stand because of his bad back. And when any one of us tries to shed some light on your clearly askew logic, you think we're attacking you, try and turn it all on us, making us the bad guys for wrongfully accusing you. "I'm always the bad guy, I'm a terrible person!" I think you believe it, atleast halfheartedly. But I've given up on trying to decipher the twisty turns of your inner brain. Mainly because I think you've given up too.
"Hear the point! but you can't. And that's the problem."



it feels so good to feel so bad. it boils over like a pot of rice set on too high heat, and before you can stop it it's made a huge mess all over. But , it feels so good. You know it will pass quickly, maybe that's why you relish in it, let it take over you for those few moments like an emotional demon. You relinquish all good thoughts and respect for cheap emotional highs, how it shakes your foundations. And suddenly, it flies away as quickly as ash on the wind, in the absense of the earlier flames. And you feel foolish and weak, and empty, and life goes on as it did before, as you set about cleaning up the mess of the rice water all over the stove.

to me atleast

How do you write a good poem?
There is no manual, no how-to for dummies.
Poetry has a million forms. It is intangible, it is beautiful.
It has existed since the beginning of civilization, in each culture.
There may be rhyme schemes, iambic pentameter and strict rhythms,
but the true poetry is what fills these lines, the words.
There are 171,476 words in the Second Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Countless ways to twist them to your will.
There are thesauruses, rhyming dictionaries and grammar books to aid you in your quest.
But true poetry is what fills those words, the emotion.
Happiness fear, surprise, sadness, anger, disgust.
Countless ways to combine them, twist them to your will.
And when the emotion is strong enough you don't need thesauruses, dictionaries or guidelines.

The words melt their way onto the page
as you break down the flood banks of your inner core.
words bend around the powder blue lines,
ink seeps through the fibers
and before you know it,
a spew of words lay breathing softly on thin sheets.

This, for me at least, is poetry.



Time has stolen you away from me. You left me at the begining of the new year, it hasn't even been five months yet but I miss you like nothing else. You are my soul mate, I'm still convinced. But you've been gone for such a long time. Making new friends and not able to even send me a message, let me know how you're doing.
But now you're coming back and I can't even express my excitement.
It won't be long, yea!
The mind works in mysterious ways. Today two things threw rocks in my pond that I'd finally gotten smooth. Crazy, how the past can just creep up on you, tap you on the shoulder and rear its ugly face. Because no matter how much you've progressed, the past still happened the way it did. It's been six months since I've seen you and I haven't thought of you in much of a way since then. But I hate how it all changes. I get that nervous butterfly feeling all over again. I'd much rather ignore your very existence; but that's not possible. Lets see how well I can keep my stupid stupid heart at bay. I know I can do it, I'd never do anything. Never have and never will. I stay true to the ones that I've given my heart to, and it is now taken by the most amazing man I've ever met. There's no fear. It's that silly crush feeling that never amounts to anything, yet my brain seems to think it's something worth attention. I hate it. It's the feeling that got me into his mess in the first place.
Why do I fall in love with every man I see who shows me the least bit of attention?
You weren't right. I memorized the contours of your face as you laid beside me with your eyes seamed shut. Your skin reflected the light, a pale statue lain in marble, immovable. I wondered if I could feel your pulse if I tried, but I let you be, and I laid you to rest for good as you laid your feet in the south eastern hemisphere.
But now that you're back the memories keep flooding back as well, memories I'd rather forget.

I don't even know why I wrote this blog entry. Guess I just had to get it out of my head. Well, it's gone now, but you're not. I guess the real test is seeing you in person to return you what you lent me, I'm just hoping it'll be in a big crowd of people so I don't have to talk to you that much.


Blue stingrays

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster with the breaks disengaged. But I can't tell which emotion is the incline, which is the decline. There's no final destination either. No goal to complete, no markers telling me I'm going in the wrong direction. I climb and climb to get to the top. The top of what? Of nothing. I climb to fall down again. Or do I fall to get the momentum to climb up again? I could make a million different scenarios, mapping out each possibility like there was a point to it all. That's all we're searching for in life; a point. No one knows the meaning of life, no one knows the point. Because there is no point. We exist because we do. We exist because we've made it so, or something else has made it so.
I'm having a very hard time following this routine life without hesitation. Something in my mind is placing resistance on these feet that walk the empty miles. The ability to see the larger picture? Or the refusal to see the smaller one. Once again, mapping out endless possibilities. I've had these moods where I've seen the error in our ways (in my eyes) and could not even take the bus without wondering why the hell we have buses. Why the hell do we have streets, houses, manicured lawns, dead end jobs, money, time, music, school, technology, the list continues forever, since everything man made is on it. The best way I can explain it is I had the thought process of an outsider, a wise animal for instance, looking at the human race and laughing because of their ridiculousness, striving and slaving for nothing, thinking they're so great. I felt stupid, to but it bluntly. How we've gotten so tied up in what we've decided to call life, the point of life being making money, buying a house, settling down, having a family, popping out one of two children, settling down into retirement in Florida or somewhere nice. And the cycle continues again. with every turn we become more and more entrenched in it, drenched with the notion that this is what needs to be done. And I cannot follow it. I can't get a job, I'm going to university, but only so I can learn more about this planet, and eventually save it. I'm thirsty for knowledge because it's something the streets can't give me. Not the knowledge I want at least. I guess what I'm searching for is the meaning of life, but this is a fruitless battle, because, as I stated before, I don't even think there is one. I guess I'm just on an endless loop of a roller coaster, running tracks in my mind, becoming entrenched deeper and deeper with each turn of the clock, each turn of the seasons. But once again, I'm mapping out a world that has no borders, no coastlines for reference, just a chunk of grey area. But I guess it's my human nature to continue searching, regardless.


the last summer of youth's abandon

This is going to be a summer to remember. I refuse for it to be anything less.
I am filled with such fervor and determination, prodded to achieve something great while I still have the chance. The world is out there waiting for me to discover it, and in turn discover myself. I only feel alive when I'm running through a pathless forest, or wading ankle deep in a cool flowing river. I need the sun in my face and the wind carrying my laughter and pushing my hair around. And most of all I need you beside me. I need you within me, all around me. How can it not be fate, when we were made this way? We fit like two lost puzzle pieces found under the couch. I feel alive in your skin, inebriated at your very touch of nakedness beneath fingertips. I want to wade ankle deep in the oceans of your eyes, explore the wilderness of your limbs, feel your laughter pushing through me, echoing in the caverns of my soul. You are beautiful in everyway, especially in the way that you make me clean and new. Like a tarnished lucky penny, you picked me up and shined me down. I have found a new life in your arms, I have found a new me. And every moment with you I discover something with the help of your gentle touch. I want to discover everything with you, both inside and outside my casings. I have four months to make the most of what's left of my youth, and I am going to absolutely take life by the reigns and reign my own little world in the midst of this big big world, with you at my side.
take my hand and come with me?