wolf-skins

had a dream last night

about a little girl

with a good family, and a pretty

apartment in the city

i can’t remember what she looked like

but i know that she was kind, and sweet

and oh-so-naive

had a dream last night there were wolves at her door

and no one saw the warning signs

but i did

i was strong enough to catch them

and good enough to try

so she wouldn’t ever have to spin around in darkness

as they closed in around her

wondering if she was dreaming

or just losing her mind

so i fought all the wolves with my bare hands

threw them in a freezer, to never be thawed

and passed out on the floor, the blood freezing in my veins

i don’t want to die like i’m one of them

i want to be light, and weightless

i want to drift for just a little bit

longer

so i grit my teeth

i crawled out along the frozen ground

i wrestled my way through corpses

and i closed the door for good

told her it was safe now

she’d never know this aching worry

a bitter thing with teeth

and i don’t know what

what it would be like

to be carefree, and happy

thought i was poison, once you really get to know me

so i kissed her head

woke up to pouring rain

and swaying trees

alone in my bedroom with no one else to save

wanted to weep so hard that my pillow

grew a garden of flowers, mostly weeds

wanted to find that girl

and apologize for things i didn’t do

and when i looked out the door

all i could see was wolf-skins

and overgrown fescue


I really did have a dream like this, and I’m still not totally over it.

up at 7

sometimes it feels like i just blinked / and woke up in someone else’s story / the middle left a blank / until the very last minute, when a burst of panic comes my way / i’m up at 7 / dragging my feet / and i’m curling up in the blankets, watching tv / clinging to the nearest body that’ll hold me / even if it’s burning up my skin / and i’m bandaging up scraped palms / swollen cheeks / on the bathroom counter / the guidance counsellor tells me not to worry / but every day flies past like a shooting star, always just out of reach / cause one minute, i was ten years old / and now i am twisting the keys and starting the ignition / again / again / i’m up at 9 / jacket over flannel over turtleneck sweater / laying my head in your lap and crying my eyes out / picking gravel out of the wound / bit. by bit. by bit

ode to a stranger’s home

the driveway is cracking to pieces, and the lawn’s more weeds than grass. your world’s slipped past its time now, hasn’t it? and so i’m walking up the stairs, and i’m sifting through the heaps of old books from the seventies. with their glossy covers, and their overzealous promises. my mom would have been a kid back then. the carpet is stained, and the wallpaper is peeling, grape-vine growing in through the ceiling. it’s been a long time since anyone has called this place a home; silverware strewn out on the floor like a secret code. and isn’t it such a shame, that someone could have all this, and still let it crumble to shattered glass and rotting boards of wood? isn’t it a shame that the world will never know what happened in these four walls, down to the very last days? isn’t it a shame that it all looks so small, as i walk through the dew-soaked grass. away.


I’ve had a couple of experiences in the past six months where, by chance, I’ve ended up wandering around old homes. I went to this estate sale a couple days ago, and it was such a weird experience to walk around in this stranger’s home. (The second time was helping move a friend of a friend out of their house–I shot some photos while I was doing it, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever post them.) It just got me thinking. I don’t know if this is something anyone other than me has experienced–but have you ever outgrown your favourite pair of jeans, shoved them in a drawer, and then come across them months later, and suddenly these pants you used to wear every day are unrecognizable? I think that most things in our lives are really like they–they seem more important up close. Even huge things, like houses. And then, suddenly, you’ve outgrown this thing, you’ve left it behind, and it doesn’t feel like yours at all. That’s the feeling I was hoping to capture with this poem.

click

8am; wake up. check your phone. scroll through the notifications, check again you’re all alone. check again, check again, find something to latch onto like a dog with a bone. file your teeth into sharpened points, do anything if it’ll just make someone look. look, look, look at me.

10am; wake up. bubble bath rush through your chest. ’cause they love you now, they love you so. and now it’s all worth it, right? all those late nights and stupid fights, and bruises on soft skin.

12am; make lunch. put on music, check your phone again. check it until your fingers ache; ride the high for all it’s worth. maybe you’re going to be forever alone; shivering and violent, surrounding me on every side. draw pictures on your skin. you want to dye your hair, but who are you kidding?

1pm; bathe in the glow of that silver right, and think about people who don’t exist. who will never love you as much as you love them; dedicate your life to a quicksand pit until there are no ugly words left lingering in your throat.

6pm; check, check, check again. skitter and look away. it’s easy to say just appreciate the moment when you’re pretty, and perfect. when you’ve got a yacht, and a million dollar car, and no demons at the baggage claim.

12am; they say you’re perfect, and you’re staring in the mirror manic glint in your eyes. they say you’re perfect, they say you’re gonna be fine. and doesn’t it all sound so much better on paper? twist the sheets beneath your fingers, and dream about strangers.


The structure of this piece is pretty weird; it was this stream-of-consciousness thing I wrote a couple weeks ago. I definitely have a less idealized view of the internet than I did a few years ago. I’m incredibly grateful for it, and I loathe it with my entire heart and soul, all at the same time.

horizon

this morning, i drank coffee, and watched the rain fall outside, crushed by the weight of my own ignorance. but i bet someday, i’ll miss it, as i pick and choose through a brand new set of rose-coloured lenses.

but right now, i’m just trying my best not to think about irreversible damage, or moral gray areas, or the rising tide. right now, i’m gonna try my best to be kind, and soft. melt my armour like candle wax, inch by inch. i’m good at that–always knew how to compartmentalize.

so why does the smell of smoke make me want to cry? why do i do this to myself? is there actually a meaning to life? and how come times goes by this quickly, each agonizing second dripping down the clock?

marked by heaps of dishes in the sink, deadlines and homework assignments and sunshine days frying my mind to a crisp, twisting in my skull and driving the point home. again, again, again. like an overplayed song on the radio. but i can’t live without it, can’t make it stop, so i guess i’ll just have to settle for putting my hands over my mouth.

the horizon burns my vision, cotton-ball clouds brushing against my forehead. it’s so fucking delicate. ready to be remade at the flip of a coin. tell me you think about that too, sometimes.