I dreamed I loved Drake, but I was right next to his face.

I have always, always been a jealous person.
I often give myself a bad case of the why you,
why not me,
why am I so unlucky.

I feel down, down, down on myself.
Slipping deeper into the hole.
People who can afford LuLuLemon pants,
and blow money on heat, just using as much heat as they want.

Someone slap me.
Or let Drake date me,
so I can stop feeling sorry for myself,
and afford the rich things.

Sitting in a Conference Hall Listening to a Lecture on Grammar

I’m in the same room as an ex-lover.

And I can feel his smooth shoulders, from three tables over pushing down on me.

I’m suffocating, I’m back; lost among the crumbled sheets, was it possibly four years ago?

I can’t remember anything with clarity, greyness has clouded my vision. I’ve forgotten the colours of black and white.


His breath is travelling the same unmoving air as mine. Sharply I feel it again, against the base of my ear. Tickling the hairs slightly.

Causing them, at this moment, (real time) to quiver just a tiny bit.

I have trouble looking around the bend, too far in the future.

I have never been one that knows which bump is coming next, or even what bump I wish was on the path.

I don’t know what I want.


I am empty. I said it.

I don’t make goal boards, or lists of things to do beyond next week.

Because I have never been sure. I have never known deep down what it is I am looking for.

But I move along,

and mostly I am modestly happy.

I feel pressure weighing down on me from others, and sometimes myself. about what it is I want.

People want charts and graphs, explaining the path of my life to them.

But I’ve never known, one thing one way or another. I feel like I am a ball, bouncing between walls and being content where I fall.

I fall and I think about where my next bounce will be.


I am 32 years old, and those around me are changing their paths with children and houses, cars and marriages, savings and vacation packages.

I forgot I was supposed to make a decision, I am appalled that time has crept about to me like this, I feel physically trapped under a couch, heavy and suffocating. Overwhelmed with decisions,  and how can you be sure?

I have never known anything for sure.

Except perhaps my unabridged love for dogs and hamburgers.

But where does this leave me?

Daylight Savings Time

The darkness, sets in much earlier.
Making us feel, darker inside, like perhaps there is no hope at all,
perhaps we are even capable of evil;
as we hole down into our respective homes
huddled and shivering under piles of dirty blankets.

Wondering if we will ever be able to feel the brilliant sun on our pathetic pale faces again,
desperately holding out hope;
for May.

A Familiarity for Lilacs

A Familiarity for Lilacs (The Refreshment)

It was almost like we were real lovers today. No, not at all; that’s not what I meant; we have always been like real lovers.
Today, it had a bit of tenderness to it, a certain amount of familiarity. They say familiarly is the anchor that will crush down your heart, but on you, it felt new, like a crisp white man’s t-shirt straight out the dryer.
Oh! On you it felt like I was lying in warm clothes, breathing in lilacs. Lilacs are like the two of us, barely living before they are dying.
But the thing is the lilacs always die, every year almost before your nose can be surrounded by their very fragrant light, every year, after two to three minor weeks, they began to die.
They never all live together, some are on their way out before their partner even blooms.
But the other thing is; we aren’t going to die. Not yet. I still believe deep down that there is some hope for you. And even when I said I didn’t have any for me, and when I really told myself that I didn’t have any at all for you…
Even the crickets, even the computer drums you use in love songs to prescription drugs, even the mandatory bottle of wine; they all knew I was lying.
Hope always lives, doesn’t it? In a way, don’t the lilacs come back every year?



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