autumn

3/4 in a suite of seasonal poems

she’s bitter, and mean

takes away everything you’ve got

leaves you begging on your knees

you ask her for an answer, and she never comes clean

she’s cold wind and rotting leaves

she’s got plans for greatness

half-hidden up her sleeve

she’s going places, you see

so you listen, and you wait

her kisses sting like vinegar

and her breath gusts with hate

she’s worms in your apple

mold in your bread

and you hate her, and you love her

you dream her soft kisses and lullabies

you dream her gentle words and pastel eyes

paint her in oil, and watercolour

try out acrylic for a change; but you never get her right

she’s got a plan for greatness

and you’ll tag along for the ride

put your hand out the window

wrap yourself up in cardigan lies

there’s a knot in our blankets

there’s a knot in my heartstrings

she’s there and she’s gone

short days and long nights

windswept hair and cold feet

the draft, slipping under the door

the silence of midafternoon

i won’t miss her for long

in the creaking pipes and the leaking roof

leaves in the gutters and rust in the door

she’s here and she’s gone

and i don’t think i’ll see her around anymore

machine

when i wake up / the first thing i do is check my phone / and when i go to bed / i count out the seconds in my head / until i don’t have to be alone / yeah, i can’t think of anything new / cause it’s swimming through my brain / it’s drowning / just off the coast as the wind grows louder / and the sky shakes through to its core / when i wake up / i’m just as exhausted as i felt the night before / it just never ends / when it comes down to it / yeah it’s 24/7 and i’m sitting down at my desk and i’m trying to find a meaning / but it just keeps on spinning / and if we could just stop for a moment / put this whole thing on ice / maybe i could catch a breath / figure out how to apologize / cause the words are spewing out of me too fast to count / i hope they keep on coming / i hope i never buy a house / or have a family / hope i work and work and work / and i burn myself down so you won’t forget me / hope i’m never satisfied, or happy / hope i’m everything i dreamed and more / hope the walls turn to fog, and smoke clogs my throat like cotton candy / hope i’m better than everyone else / like, really / and when i wake up / the first thing i do is check my phone, scroll through pictures of things i will never be / check my notifications / and go back to sleep


So… I have basically been on social media nonstop for a good three years now–and it’s starting to wear on me. At first, it was super fun, and exciting and all. But these days, it’s starting to wear on me. So I’ve been taking a semi-break of late, where once a week or so I’ll do the bare essentials and go back into hibernation. I think it’s good for me, not to spend so much time thinking about what strangers on the internet are doing with their lives, because sometimes, just scrolling through Instagram for five minutes makes me feel like garbage. I really love the internet–but I don’t love certain unavoidable aspects of it, and I think I just need a little bit of a break.

Lots of love,

Lorna

sob story (3)

it hasn’t been like this for a year / or maybe it was two, beats me / cause time is a blur in my head / and the past few years feel like some kind of daze / like sleeping under plastic sheets / condensation dripping down my lips / and i’m not sure when i’ll wake up / but when i do / it’s gonna be fucking brilliant / okay? / i’m gonna spark like a supernova / gonna burn it all to ash / except… maybe i won’t, you know? / cause we’ve gotta keep our metaphors realistic / so maybe i’ll just kinda feel groggy / and i will go and make some coffee / burn my tongue and spill the milk / heat up a burrito and call it a day / and i will walk along the asphalt until my knees ache / and my jaw cracks open / and life’s gonna go on, i suppose / i’ll put off anything remotely challenging / and avoid new opportunities like the plague / cause everything i want feels a thousand miles away / and i’m wilting, slowly / and in the wallpaper silence / i can’t help but wonder if this is it / glass ceiling shattered pieces / digging into my shoulders / as the smoke alarm blares / and i won’t make it out in time / we both know that / but i’m still but as the fire closes in / i’m running for the exit


Yay, another addition to this suite of poems! An update on that poetry book: I’ve been actually writing it, it’s growing very slowly in my Google Docs. So we’ll see where that goes. 🙂

Lorna

tadpole

so i’m wading by the shore, and everything is fine, tadpoles slipping between my toes. but there are monsters living in these waters too. i know that–even if i’ve never gotten one alone. so i’m sure to be extra-careful on the long walk home.

cause there is a god out there, what if he just doesn’t give a shit? cause millions of people have lived miserable lives, determined by factors completely out of their control. and i don’t think you understand, that this not being my fault may as well be the scariest thing in the whole wide world.

’cause if it’s not my fault, then the pain i feel is out of my control. i’d rather blame myself than be the victim, so here we fucking go.

when i was younger, they told me that the second i held a hammer, the whole world would start to look like a nail to me. they said it like a bad thing. but i’m pulling up the drawbridge, i’m closing the gates, and sleeping with one eye open because the world is out to get me. and i’m doing fine! i’m doing great!

except the crocodiles are snapping at my feet, and the mud flats hold depths i don’t want to know; rain knocking down my spine like buildings of old. and i’ll be all right. paint the prettiest stories on the back of my hand to look at, when i get sad. try to remember what the therapist said, and laugh at her stupidity.

’cause i definitely know better than the people who care about me.

2000-and-something // sob story (2)

does it really matter how old i was?

and are we still doing this?

this stupid thing

where i will give you my silly putty heart

and you will weigh its innocence?

***

2000-and-something. i was soft

and guilty

quick breathing

clawing my skin off in the counsellor’s office

’cause it helped me focus, or something

as she told me, told me, told me

that my brain was wired wrong

cyborg girl, can’t be fixed

lazy and reckless and cold

and what was i supposed to do with that? you know?

except in all honesty

i can’t remember what she said

and for all i know, she might have been a perfectly nice person

who was trying her best

but i do know is how it made me feel

like a scratched hard drive

the faulty cog in the machine

who hid under tables

who cried and cried and screamed

but i built up a callous, you see

and i learned a few things that year

don’t cry in the hallways

don’t make a mess

and above all else, just try your best not to feel

’cause then i will be normal

i’ll be happy; i mean honeycomb sweet

i’ll curl my hair

and and wash my face each morning

and if you play the ukulele

i swear i’ll sing along

***

you know what?

maybe the trauma made me better

maybe it smashed my head against the rocks

until poetry bled out; maybe it taught me

to pick my friends carefully

and keep going on

but i was a child

i shouldn’t have had to be strong

so if you’re listening

all the way back from 2000-and-something

i’m sorry

that people hurt you

that you hurt yourself

cause you deserve good things

twirly dresses, bookstore gift cards

play-fights and daydreams

and raspberry hope

i know it’s hard right now, though

i know you trip over your circuits

i know you can’t stay in time

and i’m still working it out

but i do know:

that knife-wounds will soften

and burn marks will fade

and i am trying to be better

every fucking day


Is this becoming a series? Maybe. Probably. I don’t know, I really like this format, and also, writing this piece made me very emotional.

Lots of love,

Lorna