Forget

It does not matter who forgets who

or who lives in the past.  The moment

is all we have, switching gears to

satisfy our needs. I left my heart in

the parking lot, it happened so quickly

did not even know I was going to quit you.

I meant for us to last like that movie

twenty years of longing and never having.

I meant for us to be together in my head

not in real life. It can never be, so why

risk my sanity? I spent so many days

in the hospital, I know one day I will

ask for help. I hope you answer my call.

I hope when you see my name on your

phone, you won’t get scared of the truth.

I have these knots in my stomach

my heart, sometimes I can’t even orgasm

because I’m blocked, stuffed up on life

bleeding sinus pills. I wipe your scent

off of me, when all I want to do is inhale it.

You want someone else

I can never be her

I have known no one but you

and this is what heartache tastes like

at nine fifteen in the morning,

I have to run

to another life

but one last hug

you forgot my present again

and I am coming to believe

I am the only one who gives

again and again.

This is what I am made of

a lifetime of silence

spurting forth words

for you to read.

Impromptu

we were just walking

when in a tiny entrance

I saw this magic

before me

I knew i had to go

my friends didn’t need

that much begging

they knew from my expression

it was meant to be.


And they weren’t

disappointed.


Last song

crosses all my lines.

The Orpheus Theatre is beautiful too. Reminds me of the Olympia de Montreal.

Sometimes the most spontaneous moments

are the ones that you never forget.

That’s me and my bbf’s (b for bitches) since grade 7.

Yup they like when I make up

acronyms.

Or when I impress them

with my brilliance

or confuse them

with my ditziness.


But Brattle Book store

left me

with rare books and ghosts.

It’s a level of consciousness

artists feel

that feeling when dead poets

reach you

and you bolt

out of bookstores

for air.
Live in the moment

or

don’t live at all.

when you’re called fucking Canadians at a pub

you know how to shrug

with some Montreal flair.

Bath time

The bath reveals secrets
in its playlist
temperature
and sound.
It can soothe me
distract the duties
as I examine unclean walls
no motivation to change you
or my reasons
for leaving you as distant
as you truly are.

The poor men that hush
swoon
whistle
shout
I felt the tension
and ran upstairs
to my apartment
shut the door
so fast
my daughter saying
that was awkward Ma
I agreed.

They probably talked about
all the ways they’d like
to fuck me
but none of them
could look me in the eye
their eyes on every part of me
except my eyes.

No wonder I run
from whom I live with
and who wants my mindfuck.

And age means nothing
in the context
it never did.

And money is just an afterthought
because any restaurant will do
as long as I’m sitting across from you.

And cars are mere jewels
I can ride a bus.

And this Indie playlist
is fucking around with my head
as music tends to do.

And this calgon scrub
smells like vanilla
making my skin silky.

And floral is my scent.

The water is still warm.
My phone still in my hands.
The distant closer.

Hot night

Pack of Benson & Hedges
slim
bitch sticks
they say in Greece
some Cosmo
and the conversation flowed
on the terrace of rue-St. Paul
where I used to bartend
sambucca shots on fire
mini-skirts full of desire
one hand on my thigh
the need to be high
horse rides along rue de la Commune
heat, summer, fire works
Montreal in constant tune
these are the perks
yet running south is bravery
only found in dreams
no matter how it seems
I’m always loving you
the one witness to my
internal blues
let’s discuss art, impressionism,
Cubism, abstract love
undress with our eyes
drink each other up
with good-byes
and start all over again
never ready to drop my pen.

The hot nights make me weak
uneasy
please me
deny me
all is wrong in this light
for the dark squeezes my waist tight.