At the time, I was nervous

for living,

when no one else


wanted to talk with my mind.

You have no free time

to sacrifice, nor do I.


All our time is filled up

with taking others for granted.

Yet we talk on the phone

every couple of years,

and become friends


over preferred lovers.

When  we were lovers,

we loved each other,

we lamented our skin


As old lovers do.

It never gets old. Your skin is my map


Time makes clouds

of us all.


I have no hard feelings

over deleting you

It is merely a word. Define it.

Gone, evaporated. Hack me!


The moments are in hearts

reliving the kisses

and the touching


every spare day

I spent it all. Poor again




Book Review of “Bones in the Garden” by McKayla Debonis

Book Review of “Bones in the Garden”

by McKayla Debonis



My Rating: 4/5 stars

This poetry book is adorable, even though it is about heartache, McKayla Debonis has written a book that takes place during a painful breakup, it also illustrates a resourceful and strong-willed woman. I am so excited to get a signed copy by the author for my collection. I cherish poetry books, and especially signed copies! I know how much time and energy a poet spends in creating a book and it is an extension of our own soul.
“Bones in the Garden” is a small, compact book that is more of a chapbook, than a full-length poetry book. It consists of seventy-nine pages with poems that are a couple of lines per page, the longer pieces consisting of half a page.
The poetic form of this poetry book influences the reader as does the poem, namely, the micro-poetry collection inside of this book, so hence poems have their own effect quite apart from the content. For instance, a sonnet, speaks with precise logic, but here in this poetry book, the form is free verse and open-ended. The messages of these poems reinforces the thought of the poem, which is basically a broken heart and spirit.
The poems are easily understood. The word “bones” is a central theme throughout the book, italicized for emphasis, but at times that may seem overly stated.
The poem
“Bones ii
Deep in my bones I know that I
will never be the same again”

In essence, Debonis is telling us how every relationship changes us and after a hurtful and emotionally abusive one, we will never be the same. I feel that these simple statements are more sentences than poems. She has written a poetry book full of lovely quotes that can lift one’s spirit and broken heart.

I have included some photos of my favourite pieces. My favourite poem is “Barren Wasteland.”





The illustrations by Rachel Aquino add a special quality to the book. This is a cute book to have in any collection.

McKayla Debonis can be found on the social media sites below.

She has a beautiful website at
Her book can be purchased at all on-line bookstores.
Twitter: @mckayladebonis
Goodreads : McKayla Debonis
Instagram: @mckayladebonis
Her email:



Never Tell

I can never tell who loves me anymore

they like to rehash old shit

from five years ago

when I wasn’t the same person.

They like to pretend they know me

because they read my poems.

I can never tell who needs me anymore

they live their own life

without calling me

or texting me a simple hello.

I can never tell who wants me anymore

they don’t say “i want you”

they ignore me

and make me feel useless

and hated.

I can never tell the time anymore

it keeps on making my future


I am losing my witching powers

and becoming too normal

I dislike people

and only want them one on one.

Groups are killing my spirit

eating up my leftovers

and wiping their mouth

with glee

at my destruction.

I just can’t tell anymore

if love

is real.


If the water on the windowsill

could be your molecules

they would give me a paper

to smell

a pen to place safely away

near my utensils

think of me when it rains

how the droplets

become you and me

falling from the sky

like bullets on a battlefield

like trees in the rainforest

sometimes still

most times turbulent

aged and chopped

preserved and honoured.
From “Love & Vodka”

All my books are available at all on-line bookstores, Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, etc. Thank you for reading & your support.💞


Physical Pain

I met you at a time when I felt lost

and all the physical pain

collided with my emotional state.

You were the last person in the room

to approach me, and the first to notice.

I told you a story about how lovers

were stuck between all the worlds

they created and you rolled your eyes at

me. Oh, God, you said, another poet.

I’ve never met another one, I said.

Don’t fall in love with him I told myself.

Although I knew I would be the first

to fall for your dark eyes before you

even noticed mine. They were

as dark as my thoughts. You’ll

break my heart and I’ll lose count

of all the ways you want to love me

and other stupid thoughts kept

pestering my brain. shutthefuckup my brain.

I just want to get over someone

so badly, you said.

Me too, I said because it didn’t sound

so pathetic as (well step right up handsome

I’m the one). It’s funny how my mind

says one thing and my mouth another

or my mind thinks one thing and I type another.

No one really knows me then.

They just think they do.

I went to the bathroom and you were gone.

I thought that was just perfect.

A perfect ending to an awful night.

I had concocted all these ideals

that you were  the one

and other such bullshit

but in the end

you were  another character in my poem

I never knew.

I scared you with my witch eyes for sure

and other such nonsensical thoughts

raged my brain

of why men leave me.





The Pitch

I want to pitch you some poetry.

Take my batt out and swing it

hard in your direction.

My intention is to love you with it

to make you feel whole. I know

you are broken, it’s such a cliche,

true, you might be rolling your eyes

at me, as I do to you.

It’s fine. I have conversations

with you in my head.

You advise me on what Alan would

say, or what a dead rock star wrote

in his poetry book. You are too smart

for the public, the masses, your lovers.

You use the same lines

over and over

and I see that you are not

capable of loving me

the way I loved you.

I love you so differently.

I love you so perfectly.

I love you so absurdly.

I can love you until I close my eyes.

I bought you a gift

I imagine how you would open it

and look at me with glee.

I cry for you.

I have no illness, no anxiety,

I am pretty normal

except I’m a poet

so that makes me see the invisible.

I can see the lethal toxic world

and I could handle it.

I pitch my life to strangers

and they listen.

The same way you listened


It hurts and makes me sick

to not ever see you

talk to you

but death

is like that

it makes it surreal.

I write in my notebook

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott-Fitzgerald

on the cover. Ironic how that was the book

I read when I met you.

Poets can pitch words

poets can wear mitts

throw them around for fun

for games.

You did it to hurt

and I can never

wonder again

what you’ll wear when I see you

when your face is gone from my world.

Driving my New Car

It was a cool night in May

my brother’s birthday

and my sunroof off on the highway.

I picked up my girlfriends

to bring them back to 1984.

We bear the cross with our outings

leaving dishes and kids

in sink

husbands in disarray

wide-eyed and handing out cash

for popcorn and music legends.

Do you need consoling again?

All the time.

I sped to 1030 in a hurry

and cried in the front row

with a sore neck.

It’s like reliving Rocky Horror

at Vanier

and living through another first time.


I love all my firsts

and dread the last.

The view from Brossard is epic

over the bridge

but please drive my brand new car

I got that tingling sensation again

to anxious

to look down

so let the night

feel me up.

I imagine backseat limousines

and cab rides

where our hands are free

to touch each other.

This is what races

through my 110 km ride

off of the Montreal lights

as Purple Rain never runs

out of gas.

I never bore

and my friends joke

the author formerly known as Chrissy.

It seems that strangers can see through me


they believe what they read

and think that every you

is a living person

but most of the time

it is the dead

who speak to me more

than the living.


Book review for Pointe of Darkness by Paris Andren

I started reading Pointe of Darkness on Saturday and by Monday night I was finished. Granted, I may be a fast reader, but honestly I couldn’t put it down. The fact that I spent all of Monday night in emergency at the hospital, I managed to survive with this book in my hands and time to read it. I pretty much read it two sittings which is rare for me. Every chapter left me eager to read the next one.

Paris Andren writes with knowledge and passion. Andren tackles the sex slave scene in LA with compassion and authenticity. We first meet ballerina Ava DeLaney arriving in LA to become a prima ballerina and soon she becomes tangled up in an underground sex industry that will leave you turning the pages and wanting to read more. I will not give the plot away, but LA itself is a character in the book and that alone enticed me as a reader.

The darkness and brutality of how men treat women in these underground “clubs” also raises questions as a reader and a society member. The type of men that kidnap or drug these young lost souls kept on frustrating me and intrigued me to continue reading. The plot was constantly moving and the romance between Ava and Sage felt real. Sage, the protector and Dom like figure to Ava, who although was a strong heroine, underwent turmoil and pain in such a short span of time that would mark her forever. I would have like to have seen more of Ava’s and Sage’s characters and focused on their relationship more, but this is because I love romance novels and like to delve into each character’s motivations.

Throughout the novel, the reader gets a first person narrative perspective through the eyes of most of the characters. The introduction of all of these characters entices the reader to know more about them.

I recently spoke to Paris on the phone about her book and congratulated her. I told her how I loved that LA itself is a character in the book.  I feel that location is one of the key elements when writing a novel. The reader has to feel the place and time of the novel. All the characters in Pointe of Darkness have flair and a uniqueness. I told her I couldn’t wait to read more of her writing and the stories of Ava’s friends. Looking forward to reading more of the LA Series.

Congrats Paris on this huge accomplishment.


Here are the links to her websites and books.






Your scars were open to my caress

as we travelled the world with choirs

trailing us. I swear I could hear every

song you ever played for me. We were

never inactive, our depression

enveloping us as our hearts beat

too fast when we approached

each other. Our body temperature

spiked, our breath quickened

and there was no hibernation

in our bodies when every word

you spoke captivated me.

I cannot believe you saved

my voice.

I cannot believe you kissed

me in the middle of the day.

These things happen at night,

under the canopy of the stars.

You make every time blend

into one.

It is easy for you to love

effortlessly, while I evaluate

the proximity of the moon

in accordance to my natal chart.

Every instinct I feel,

is aimed directly at you.

I care about your safety now.


And that is how I mend

my own scars. 



i woke up to the voices again

after all that drinking and St-Henri parking

in front of the usual side streets

with bearded hipsters

open door lofts

stolen dreams. Coming out

of Cayenne and Pepper

sexy shoes and leather.

i don’t know what i was

thinking when we had those

shots, those drinks,

wine, and i didn’t smash

into you at the street

corner, looking like

quite the classy whore,

there was some white lace too

enough of it to want to see

underneath. no more questions

about my ass

my poems

just listen to my voices,

or ignore me.

it’s what you do best.

i ran out of cream

have to always catch myself

as I fall. my arms

are comforting

my words free me,

it’s the only way

to breathe from the place

you make it hard to breathe from.

what distance? you’re here,

what time? you’re on it,

what sky? you’re staring at it,

what sex? we did it.

did you have enough of me?

trust me, i know,

i have had just about enough

of myself too. i can’t blame you

for leaving me, i wanted it,

it’s my island

i want to be alone

on it.