teenage dreams

You know those teen movies

you know the ones

that eternal summer

dripping popsicles

scuffed up converse

running around the carnival

lana del rey playing in the background

thinking that life is hard

not knowing how hard it really is

that us against the world mentality

filmed in gritty 90s tint

the drugs and the sex just breaking through the surface

“coming of age” they call it

we had that.

you and me, us against the world

two misfits who found each other

the few memories I’ve preserved

would be nothing if it hadn’t been for you

my partner in crime

the yin to my yang

we were those kids that weren’t alright

but somehow

we were

with each other

a beautiful, cinematic, triumph.

spring reverie

A rose gold sky that baths light over the land
tricking the eye
momentarily distracting from the deteriorating snow piles.

I smile to myself,
inhaling a burst of air into my sleepy lungs.
The little things.

As she rises, she changes
showing us all her beautiful shades
Reaching out over the grass, caressing all she meets.

The air is fresh and full
of teasing spring scents
wet dirt, flowers pushing through the earth, animals awakening.

Just like that, and my heart is warmed
what once seemed distant, too distant to look forward to,
is now so close.

life’s a beach

salty breeze licking at the nape of a bare neck
the gentle crashing of waves upon the shore
a night sky full of twinkling stars, so far away
a new night sky that is all different and all the same.

long tanned legs laid out languorously against red cushions
covered in sand and oil and the stillness of the night
there hangs in the air a certain quality
an importance that is neither here nor there.

there is laughter in the distance
all too familiar and yet somehow impossible to connect to
the mood here is all too different
the energy underneath it hums and burns.

the pitter patter of nervous hearts
the conversation deep and engulfing
my head a mess of uncertainty
I am once again searching for answers I can not find.

the best memories attached to the worst people
how can someone have such a duality within
to show such carelessness
only to turn around and envelop you in a caring that is far too much.

perhaps if it had been a different time
a different beach
a different life
but then, all the damage has already been done.

memories will fade like tans
or maybe more like waves, coming in and out
bringing with them new stones to overturn
taking with them the fragments of shells.

one man wrecking ball

A one man wrecking ball.

You see him surrounded by admirers’
Never alone, always a pair.
You think, him? Everyone loves him.
He must be a Good Guy. 

Yet you haven’t seen him in almost a year and you still have nightly nightmares.
The things he said and did haunt your thoughts daily. 

“People aren’t all good or all bad”
You remind yourself. 
But how come no one else sees the bad?
How come he’s allowed to hurt people with no reproach?

A broken boy who stacks his defenses up and launches a war at the first sign of storms
But he doesn’t see himself for the storm.

I wanted too much, I came on too strong, I cried one too many times.
Does that mean that I deserved to be treated like a villain?
Did I deserve to be told “everyone hates you. Stop crying, we all know you’re faking it”?

Of course not but nobody sees that.
Or they all averted their eyes and pretended I was the evil girl who deserved it. 

It’s easy to justify your actions when you shut out the damage you’ve done.
It’s easy to say “it wasn’t my fault” when you have a whole chorus of followers behind you, cheering on your vindictive ways.

I can not blame him for being charismatic or being loved
But I do blame him for using it against me.
For trying to hurt me because he wasn’t ready to heal himself. 

Because what people don’t see is the trail of broken hearts and broken girls
Left behind in the wake of a one man wrecking ball.

the multiverse theory

People are so concerned with themselves
no one cares how they hurt others
everyone is too obsessed with their own world
to ever notice anyone elses’.

We speak of multiverses as if it’s some sci-fi theory
yet it exists in front of our very eyes
each person lives their own creation
yours, slightly different than mine.

How much more enriched we’d be
if we simply took the time to celebrate one another
to really appreciate each world and
the multitudes they contain.

Instead we are obsessed with making sure our own worlds get noticed.
Notice me! Notice me!
we scream into the ether
failing to hear everyone screaming around us.

We are doomed by our own petulant selfishness
to miss out on so much depth
to have the chance to feel understood, less alone
all for some self-preservation, that doesn’t exist.

Eventually we are returned to an eternal slumber
snuffing out the light of our universe within
lost forever to a world
that doesn’t even being to know what they’ve lost.

love letter to the universe

There is something innately peaceful about
a snowy field in the middle of the night.
You can really hear your thoughts,
hear them sync up with the pulse of the universe.

I look out across the roaming vista,
inhaling the frigid air into my icy lungs
I am both exactly where I should be,
and somehow, nowhere at all.

The wind picks up and the trees dance
while the stars above twinkle and shine
the universe is having a celebration
and tonight, I am the guest of honour.

It is impossible not to let your thoughts run free, out there.
All of the room, all of the stillness
they coalesce to form a beautiful symphony
a harmony between nature, and me.

That we should ever feel alone is absurd,
for who could be alone in the universe
when she herself is a kind of alive.
On nights like these, its easy to imagine, its just her and me.

on mental health

On my good days

I am like sunshine

extending out to reach the farthest corners.

On my bad days

I am like fog

overwhelming, thick, impossible to navigate through.

On my best days

I am certain that I am cherished beyond measure

that everyone who loves me does so unyieldingly.

On my worst days

I am certain that I have never known love

that no one could possibly see past my tenebrosity.

On my best days

I see possibility everywhere

nothing could hinder me.

On my worst days

I can not see a reason to go on

I plan my escape route.

On my best days

the light shimmers and dances

even when there is none.

On my worst days

I simply can not recall

ever having known light at all.

Then there are all the days in between

because life though black and white

has so much grey.

I am the amolgamation of all my

bests

worsts

in betweens.

I am still learning to love me

at anything short of my best days

I am still learning to love others

at anything short of my best days

because the one thing I know for sure

is that I still have a lot left to know.

wildfire girl

She is a wildfire,
who doesn’t care who she burns down
on her quest to self-destruct.

A raging fire can be a beautiful thing,
so full of life and yet
it so savagely destroys, as well.

Her flames burn crimson red and deep ochre,
even violent blue, not a solemn blue,
though sometimes it may seem so.

Sadness can be destructive too,
folding in on itself,
not dampening the fire but feeding it.

The people in it’s path,
so distracted by her calamitous beauty,
left burnt to a crisp in her wake.

Don’t be disillusioned,
a fire does not burn maliciously,
and neither does she.

A force of nature simply,
knows no other way to be.

big questions

Do you claw your way back from oblivion?
It’s easy to sit here in all of my moods and say
it would be easier to just not feel at all.

When you’re in that moment, when you feel the life draining from you,
your consciousness fading
out, are you suddenly desperate not to leave?

Sure, life is grim and painful and pointless,
but what if there is truly nothing afterwards
and just as quickly as consciousness came, it leaves,
nothing, in an instant.

I go outside at night and I cry to the stars,
that you might hear me,
that anyone might hear me.
Begging the universe to show me a sign that this isn’t all there is.
This isn’t it.

The urge towards nihilism is so inherent in me,
and yet I can’t crush this hope,
that somehow this is not all for naught;
simply the waiting room before the real magic.

This constant vacillation is exhausting,
invigorating still, encouraging me onwards,
while I scream into the wind and tear at my skin,
answerless questions forever clouding my mind.

dream sequence

What dreams do know,
as they float about,
we sleep softly and
yet, our heads are in places much remote.

A sigh, a toss, a turn,
reliving ones loss
in the dark of night
it’s hard to know what’s wrong
what’s right?

These dreams do lie,
and play their tricks
they dangle promises on our lips
so that when we wake
the sweetest pain
just to have seen their face again.