Each day is a day you can change.

They say. The memes, the Twitter re-tweeters, the fashion and fitness magazines. The painting with the quote on top.

Change is difficult when most change requires money, or as I think about it, almost all things require money. Real change means to the masses new clothes and a gym membership. A trip to find yourself. A new degree.


I want to change and I am not happy.

I feel like I am drowning in a puddle of despair but I can’t tell anyone that because their happiness is sparking and no one wants to hear about the bad. It might drown the sparkle..

I might just need a good nights sleep and tomorrow will look better.

But for now? Now I am pushing my nails in my wrists to leave marks to remind me that I am real.

#CrazyforCanLit People are Cray

May I present the list of Damn I am CrazyforCanLit and People are Crazy

1. Thirteen Shells
2.Paper Teeth
3. Still Mine
4. True Arab Love
5. The Most Heartless Town in Canada
6. We’re All in this Together
7. I am What I am Because of What you are
8. Bad Things Happen
9. Stranger
10. This Will be My Ruin

Read them and weep, people be creeps! Ha.


Being stuck in a place where I am not satisfied is like always burning a fire, inside your own throat, allowing the ashes to scatter down to your heart.

Always constantly comparing yourself to others is like dark poison that you are injecting into your own brain.

You are stabbing yourself in the back.

You are pinching your own nerves.

You are the one pushing yourself off the cloud.


But it never really helps,telling myself this,

picking scabs has always been a beloved passion.


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?