It wasn’t up until the year ended that I thought of all the things I replaced you with. It was how the sun sets from my balcony
how the sun sets when I drive
It was how the day never ends early enough. How the night is so long that even sleep does not help.
I have been writing before you existed and when I do not reply to the calls, I have stopped the sucking of my soul.
I hear the crying, but lock myself in rooms and escape. Make fun of me,
joke about my art
watch me drive on black ice
never buy my book
you were the first
and the last
typical cliche
horrible poetry being written
on the other side
and sometimes I compromise
other times I stand tall.
Why didn’t you kiss him hello? I’m moody.
That’s not an answer.
My daughter tries to get me
but she questions my motives
I have no reply sometimes.
I don’t conform sweetie, that’s all.
She breaks the rules
and here I am
trying to guide her
in this mess.
No answers to the arch of 2016
but do not want to see death
this year
want to bury the past
and conjure it up
in fragments
in poems.
Never challenge me
I break down
too easily.
Change my mind
like the Montreal weather.
You deplete me
with your absence.
No more fight in me.
Focus on my books
and bury the year under the rubble
of regret.
People on the other side
of the screen
mostly want
to bring you to your knees
and point fingers
at your weakness.
it’s toxic in here
in my head,
in my world
but it’s a new year
and I must charge up
my battery
or I’ll be drained by
the scavengers
that hunt for the art they can’t make.
