when i packed up our apartment,
and said goodbye to final memories,
ones i lived in alone for months,
i noticed all the little things i gave,
to make you significant.
the things i bought for our love,
that i thought we’d do together
from the pan set, to the rug, to the vaccum,
i cared so deeply for you,
anything you needed i provided you,
i gave you my future,
and that’s a reflection of my love
that made you seem so special
surrounded by neutral items,
turning into a person,
i no longer believe in.

If masculinity's attractive -
and still socially confined.
Why do your crying eyes,
light my heart a million times?
Your weaknesses I favour,
to cunning hopeless tricks.
Messages once ignored,
and gaslights burning thick.
Call me your precious darling,
tell me your forever heart.
Every peice of you adoring,
even the smallest parts.
Your strength has come in threes
as goods and bads always do.
You have feelings,
You have morals,
You are more of a man,
that's strength too.

i don't want you,
not really,
i just want a compliment,
and some matty's patty's,
and i want to kiss you,
so maybe hold you?
okay we could walk
to christie and
talk about our feelings
i don't want you,
not really,
okay but maybe we could
go see the new marvel movie
and laugh at failed CGI...
then touch knees on the curb -
don't patronize me
and make me feel seen,
tell me about your
childhood dreams
okay i want you,
but not really???

this season is about me
how i read and speak faster
telling stories like a keeper
hugging longer every day
friends holding on tighter

laughing into sunshine gates
swinging hips to blissful fun
entertaining ideas and values
becoming better than yesterday

this season is not about love
the golden torsos and unsure flings
tense midnight overthinking
does he, does he not, does he?
i don’t need to know anymore

holding onto my own forearms
sweating into the steam rooms
to sit by myself in serenity
i love myself and my company
is becoming better than yesterday

i walk down Richmond quietly,
waking up to white crystal roof tops,
while St. Mary’s church bells
cry out for my resignation.
the fallen angel, walking on ice
with a birth control pack, Diet Coke,
and sometimes his painter sweats.
my Tim Hortons guy laughs with me
as i slip on black ice backwards.
for me, just breathing is falling victim,
to cold noses and cherry cheeks.
or to hope, long shots, and long hauls.
winter is here, i’m inside cozy,
and my mind gets too noisy,
to see things clearly.

smelling your back
as i hold you into my body,
loving you quietly,
rubbing your shoulders
as you fall gently to sleep.
picking up the lint in the morning,
and folding your laundry.
remembering your sisters
birthday from last week,
that you forgot a gift for,
like the flowers i wanted
for my masters acceptance,
was your love lost in the mail too?
i gave you safety and comfort,
you gave me distain and distrust
with a twisted sense of humour

you broke my heart on a wednesday
i cried it out for nine days,
and let it go because i had no other choice.
you hugged me goodbye in the wrong way,
and told me you still loved me.

you're running in etobicoke on a thursday
i am buying my own apartment,
and kissing another tall kind man.
you text me about the yeti cooler we bought,
and tell me that you're proud of me.

i don't think about you at all.

see me without a pen,
shaking out emotions, reeling
run on sentences, trying to catch
a moment as it’s passing.
i’ve tried to live in the moment,
but they leave me too soon,
and i can’t hold anything in -
thoughts fall with gravity.
i wish i was mysterious, even secretive,
harsh questions of wondering what
she might do next -
that facetious woman with
a superiority complex.
i break the binds of open books,
kiss and tell to voids beneath me,
and i’m not obscene, just obvious -
okay, give me my pen back.

i want to apologize to everyone
and my bird of paradise plant
and the guy on the bridge who
i couldn’t say hi to back
i want to say sorry for clinging
too long to things that couldn’t see me
for all the ugly parts i am
rigidity and emotion gasping for air
i want to make amends for chasing
ideas of what i wanted things to be
and who you couldn’t be, even if you tried
(did you ever really try?)
i want to beg-pardon for saying too much
providing the instructions on loving me
as if i was a wrench or owners manual
objectifying something indescribable