Nothing

In death

people don’t disappear

they brighten up and write poems

on the other side of the sky

wait for you to decipher

their lines.

They bury the flowers

you planted and eat your leftover soup

even if living with the dead was hard

their life in your hands

is as comparable

as empty hands and brick walls.

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Woodnotes

Last night I fell asleep

before you came home.

I dragged the dog out for a walk

but he hates the cold as much as I do.

He pissed all over the kitchen floor,

he despises being alone.

He ate snacks before bedtime

wallowing in loneliness.

You wanted to have sex

while I had creative writing on my mind.

My blue journal sprawled between

my thighs,

I want my head there, you said.

My pens took precedence

Patience was playing from my phone

I ignored you. I fought your lights.

You take it personal, but I’m a writer

and you know that I can’t interrupt

my flow. Sex came and went,

making love is for another lifetime.

I took the kids out for dinner

ate avocado rolls

veggie burgers

St.Louisbourg burger

with onion rings.

I said, it’s hard to be an artist

to be in a relationship,

I am preparing them

for the heartache, but it’s

Too late.

If the one you’re with

does not understand what a woodnote is

or what defines you.

It’s a natural musical tone

or the song of

some bird

no one cares about trees

nature is becoming extinct.

The young and old have their heads

filled with useless information

school shootings

young wolves writing poems

academia taking the back seat

poets knocking on your door

I am locked in;

dead children

another statistic.

Here we are sleeping together

never at the same time

chaos in our fear.

Writing prompt: word: Woodnotes

#februaryfalls18

Drowning in Carnations

You said write a poem

about New York moments

we almost had in our arms.

I ignore you

only focus on the times

we had;

the walk hand in hand on Ste-Catherine street

the xmas gifts I gave you

in April—

you forget everything I remember,

that is how memory prevails

I could never be true to you.

I apologize for the past,

present, and dead future.

I apologize for being cruel

for changing when you could not.

You were not who I thought you were,

I wasn’t who you wanted me to be.

Bitterness is not changing

aging is ice skating on my dreams.

I held back

this is why I am not in muddy love.

I gave you corner bits

you wanted me whole.

I apologize for not loving you,

when I said I did.

At the time I felt love.

I am not a global liar.

I was drowning in red

carnations,

the smell suffocating me.

I wanted to melt in your arms

instead I was alone again

amongst five day old flowers

and a fake necklace story.

#januaryfalls18

The ticket

I said,

stop the car, I need to vomit.

What’s wrong?

Must be something I ate.

I ate words.

His words

for breakfast

lumch and a québécois supper.

I told the police officer.

I never drive down this fucking street.

I wanted to be thrown in jail

but she let me go. Who knew

that being a bitch really worked?
I can’t sleep well.

I feel like I can’t write anymore

and I fear my secrets have a way

of becoming my only company.
What do you think Simone would do?

Is everyone knocking on his door?

Why should I care?

The line must be long

intense with chatter.

I struggle with letting go

holding on too tight.

I kept chains and locks

for him

but he cut through them

with penstrokes, cockstrokes

brushstrokes, I made up words

with flair and desire.

The full moon is in my heart

beating inside my chest

where he once rested.
There is someone else for him

so many lovelies

all colors, nationalities,

pageant show beauties

all for him.

She has brand new shoes

and purses to match

his ego.

I stumble around bookshelves

wander through poetry sections

take a look

at legends and death

peeking under glass bottles

from the wrong side.
Miss, be careful out there, it’sslippery. 


I thought it would be different this time.

I thought he could love me

for the right reasons

but a million poems

cannot make up

for all the lies.

I will stomp the grapes

write my name on the bottle

and dedicate

a book to him

so he could throw it out

and never know me again.

Drive carefully.




Soul mates in the waiting room

We did not fit in that house

always felt like my neck was too long

for the kitchen

like Meg in that video with Jack.

We did not fit in the bedroom

my sex was too dry

for your heat.

We fit in the car

perfectly.

Back seat sex was us.

We did not fit on the soccer field

watching each others’ kids score.

We fit at that overrated cafe

having sex in the bathroom.

We did not applaud each other

when we broke up.

I smoked the whole pack of cigarettes

in twenty-four hours

went to that underground club

too old to breathe

but young enough to fit in.

I matched his wits

but you sang Angie in my ear

and promised me rose gardens and picket fences.

I stole my gut instincts

when I shoplifted cheap eyeliners

waiting to get caught.

I feel like I will never get caught

when I want to

face my demons

head on

like a car crashing right into my daylight.

We were perfect apart

wanting each other

and remembering only the good sex

the throbbing need to have each other.

We were horrible together

imagining how we should part

and discussing the philosophy

of n o t h i n g

Sartre at our doorway

his shadow we could see

in the night.

In the waiting room

and the disease never left

it comes and goes

and all the thoughts you know about

are far away

from the ones you don’t.

The living room was too small for us

we shared pizza in our underwear

and we were lovers

for a week.

Clocks didn’t exist then

as much as they do now

and parties lasted for days.

When one person keeps on looking

it means they are never satisfied

and waiting rooms

are full of these laws

of attraction

these bullshit theories

that blink and ignite

in lost eras.

Beginning to understand

that soul mates

exist only

in our imagination.

 

Unleash the Soul in me

In the morning you were sleeping in the dark

you know that type of morning dark shade

that is so opposite from night,

and all my reasons to wake you

left me with cold feet on the hardwood floor.

I bought time once

and it left me broke.

Ancient people talk to me about how

we held hands and made choices

in the new land. A black and white shot

of all the dead people sitting on a quilt

up in the Greek village where

I saw the sky for the first time.

If my soul was on a leash

it would be easy to control

but I never worked out my life

like musical notes.

It would be ideal to see how

the last act plays

but the fortune teller told me

I would live long,

sign my name

over and over again

until I was tired of Christina

and change it to Chrissy

or Krissy with a K

or Chris, or Tina or Christine

and all the ways everyone

changes the spelling of my name,

but

it starts with an X

and not many people know the truth

of how I unleash

the soul in me

from time to time to breathe

and take deep sighs

then tie it back up

to write a book

or drink one bottle of Jack

in three hours.

Beware of a writer’s reach

and length of a book or poem

it means that nothing ever ends

and it all starts over

until all the smokes

and all the bottles are emptied out.

 

Sixteen

There was a time in the 80’s when I was sixteen

and Michael was my everything

while I was his nothing. And even years

later every time I’d see him he pretended

i was nothing. from nothing to something.

from something to nothing. i call him an asshole

now. even my daughter knows his name. it’s not

a fucking secret how i loved him. you probably never

get over a love. and when i left or you left or whatever

happened because it’s all a blur, for the second or third

or fourth time and i ran into you on the street and you told

me to stop my car. you always wanted me back

every time I ran you ran faster. you married me

we had kids

i had red roses and an Alfred Sung gown.

Once I met a man, it was brief, maybe twenty minutes

or so, once he told me how my beauty

marked him. another time a man wrote

a book for me, he wanted my blood

as his pen. sucked me dry out of my silence.

created some Greek fucking muse of abuse

and left me with ashes on my cheeks.

It’s true that you never forget a love.

It’s true that you love your wife.

It’s morality to want it all and smoke in the hall.

i’ve lived it. you have no idea how I live.

I’m an artist and he supports my locked up frustrations.

my midnight madness

even if he isn’t one, he loves my crazy.

But you, you get all of me

in a brown package

delivered straight to your heart

and soul.

and you open me up gently.

just be sure

to not mix me up

with your other soul mates

and i will do the same.

my eyes and hair haven’t changed much

everyone says i look the same. IMG_7644

every love

is you.

Closer to loving you

It could have happened sooner,

if you had let me go

but, no

let me not love you, i said.

two joints over the jewels

you intend to buy.

She said

i was ready to trust

my instincts,

only put up those walls, my darling

you’re too giving.

don’t want to see you

in my spirit guide.

don’t trust the animal.

My sweet intelligence

is my curse. Keep my

one eye open.

i can feel the earth’s

sadness: my morning

tears, the ones you feel

from miles away

as you turn the key

to my heart.

depends on the song;

my serendipity mood

the phases of the moon,

the clouds, the sunset time,

my misplaced dyslexic words.

Kiss down

my nervous energy

warm my hands

with yours.

bring

back the romance.

just make the voices

fucking stop

no rhymes in paradise

only peace

to the sound of my heartbeats

turn off notifications

no internet connection

shut the blinds

open my heart

its glowing

bright orange.

free me

and undress

my wounds.

One Thousand

In one thousand eyes

I could search for you

the purple sky

right at that time

when you can’t

take your eyes off

the colors

even photos

cannot capture

the life

of one thousand souls

to reach you

I could take the dark

keep it close

lose myself in its arms

but your thousand songs

comfort me more

I was born one thousand times

and all the while

it was you

I met again

to only meet again

under the thousand stars

that divide

us and connect us

Bold or bittersweet

it has brightened

my universe

into one thousand poems

for you.