Water Under the Bridge

I thought maybe you were different

but anybody can say anything with conviction

tell you that you are the most beautiful

the most talented poet

that your words speak to my soul

and everything you never believed in

becomes some ethereal proof.

There is not enough

water under the bridge

to forget how her lies

twisted me up

and left me vomiting up my guts

on words, on hatred

on putrid ideologies

of muses that do not exist.

I give too much benefit of the doubt

when I am not even a lawyer.

She can eat you up and spit you out

a lover,

she can see how a and b equals

her own fucked up perceptions,

the people I once loved

still love me back,

still want me,

ask to be forgiven at funeral parlors

through silent texts,

by changing how their darkness

strengthened their light.

But no need to search for you  anymore,

download any app you want

you will never see my name there again,

for

someone who is toxic

someone who is a devil in disguise of an angel

is the fruit that spoils.

Change your name again

create a multitude of accounts

I am  still me

one account

one love

no one can break through again.

ever,

women like you

make me lose faith in our power

and our sisterhood.

 

Floating Above My Deadline

If you want fire
light up a smoke,
it’s been too long
since I inhaled
your toxic words.
I am lounging
around, letting the cold air
fill my lungs.
Dragged from one city
to another in a state
of loss. Loss of the
astute ways you nudge
my knees apart
from the outskirts
of your town. Walls restrict
and leave me to build
fondness
admiration
of your fossilized words
that can bury me
under the frozen rivers
of this province.

I dreamed that you loved me
as you were meant to,
that you spoke to me,
as you would like to,
clearly
I saw your lips move
first in front of mine
soon after they traveled
along my frontiers.

It seems uncivilized to chase
a fox
yet honeyed words
will make most women
contradict and fool
even themselves.
She should stop.
She should go.
She should stop and go.

I teach my son how to drive
how to treat a woman
how to love
how to surpass men
and reach out and touch a soul.
He can do it. I have faith.
I cross my fingers as I wait
to see if my breasts
will continue to bring me
joy or pain.
I float above all my deadlines
punching numbers
and faces of years gone by.
I suppose it is best to dig up
the skeletons
tell you
how they sleep.
Best to add mortar
to my brick walls
peek through a crack
as I fade
paint
a new landscape
from my third eye.

Old past loves
never wave good-bye.
His last true words
carved into my heart
like the couples’ initials
forever on Mont-Royal.
Ink my name
on your skin
you talk about it so often
just do it
so you can be
reminded of how
I broke your heart.
Share a drink with me
one more time
give me everything in one hour
to last
years
meet me at the corner of Rue d’Amour
and Rue Je t’adore.
It exists
somewhere
we have never been before.

raping Lana

I couldn’t finish watching it

I couldn’t understand rape balloons

and how far do we take

this fucking glamour of rape

and submission

coming from musical “artists”

who should empower women

not bear black nail polish

and streaked tears like a red dress

under the grasp

of tattooed director

hiding footage

until the right time.

Is there even a right time

to show this to the young

minds that are already

fucked up

with the garbage they

hear and see?

Take me back

to the time

when “like a virgin”

caused enough controversy

to sell records

and get me away from

raped singers

raping social media

to shreds

with hits

and its manic faces.

Debate

So we’re sitting
and debating
raiding the liquor cabinet.
Cointreau, ice and water
ran out of juice
too many drinks
too many stories
he said/she said
reading alibis
making innuendos
media coverage
sex scandals
was it consensual?
She wanted it/ she didn’t want it
because if she liked it
and went back for more
then who are we to
say
judge
the score.

Then the rape scene
nausea, so obscene
the teddy bear
and soon all this
on SNL
to mock the man who fell.
But you know he’ll come back more popular, she says
even move to the States,
look at OJ
Allen, Cosby,
the list goes on
life continues
like nothing is wrong
with raping women
we just move right along.

Until another woman speaks up
we pass it around like the Holy Grail cup,
soon he’ll write a book
make a movie,
no end to the insanity
the mass consumption
of mixed values
lost childhoods
and dollar signs.

And the women, always the ones to get burned,

from the beginning of time
or the ones
to blame,
playing the game.

Debate never ends
as each new story
makes the rule bend.

And sometimes, I know, I’m not dumb
it’s the women that start the drum
or end it

But the men
have that strength
to the beat
and the past
creates the future
the discussion can never last
or truly end.