i talk a big game.
i joke and poke fun at the boy

but he really is the best thing i have going for me right now.
& i don't like that i have that much....
that he holds so much power over me.

life will go on if he
(when he)
leaves me.

but i like that i actually feel better after we fight,
and not worse,
because we fight clean,
& finally actually fix the problem.
it's never been like that before.

& i like how you want to make this work.
& i like how your eyebrows tell stories.

i want to keep you.
i want to stay with you.
i can give it up

My weapons:
my sarcasm, my teeth,
my sexuality, my coldness
my reality, my need for definition.
my nails, my hair.

i can lay them down and away for you.

do you see them for what they are?
do you understand?
naive, i adore you.
you don't see me the way i am sometimes.

or, then again, you do.
unable to see these weapons and parts
you see beyond them.

see me dancing in pink
laughing wide
see me small and sad
see me trying to keep my head up-
that's really all any of us are doing.

because im smaller with you.
im not the
ever expanding mess
that i have been.
im small and weak and young and normal.
it's fine tonight.
you hold tiny me close
and stroke my back.
i could scream right now and you'd be alright
you wouldn't run.
you wouldn't even hear the scream
just the thought behind it.
i look up and see you
see you wanting nothing more
than to keep me safe.

i thought you like a father once.

further speculation has lead me
and my scientific mind
(my hands dividing everything into base pieces,
claiming and sorting and arranging)
to believe that you take the stance more of
a
(heaven forbid)
protective
(loving
husband)

and the living is easy

weheartit

reaching up to touch my hair

(out of habit, out of nothing)

the tips of my digits graze something

-what is that?

retracing my steps i-

oh-

its the braid 

from two nights ago

that you wove in a quiet moment

for no real anything.

you never tied it.

had i not washed it out of-

once, twice? twice.

a smile plays on my lips

funny it should be

be there 

with no fuss and bother.

just like you.

the back of my head, the back of my brain,

youre here. 

  im writing again.

my heart is happy- isnt it funny?

i thought, for so long,

that i could not be happy 

could not love anyone else but you

but look at me.

im so different.

even different than i was with you.

no i dont love him.

but i could.

i could.

life with him is possibilities

is adventure

is romance from a novel i would read.

i like him. i want him.

i needed him in my life.

i need him still.

i want to keep him around.

so thank you

for letting me go.

for missing out.

and for letting me be free.

because im not tied to you
thank god

im not bound to you like i was

and little bird found someone she wants to sing with.

we were walking in the sun
you touched my hand and i smiled.
want to go to the museum?
we were running through the rain
laughing and screaming
coffee warms me up
and you cool me down.
it's all alright today.
walking and running with you.
im happy.
you make me feel simple.
its all so simple
i wouldnt speed a single thing up
or slow a single thing down.
our pace is perfect
even if we aren't

well that didn't last too long.

what can i say? tumblr is lovely but i love my blog. this one feels more like my writing one, you know?


hey, i am still just a
second place prize?
the runner up gets me?
it doesn't work like that.
i am not a second choice.
babe you can't pick and choose,
that feels like all i get anymore.
i get to be your
consilation prize.
you lost her.
you got me.



i've always really identified with Clemintine
from the movie
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
she's wild.
she's horrible.
she's mean and cruel.
she was in love and he hurt her.
she loved him so much.
she was afraid, but she tried to never show it
she would do anything to get rid of him
and anything to get him back


my wonderful talented friend raezavel did a photoshoot with me yesterday! stalk her blog- they should be up soon.

TO EVERYONE WHO TAKES PHOTOS OFF OF BLOGS

make sure you always credit the original artist, yeah? or at least the blog/site you took them from. it may seem like such a little thing, but seeing as i'm sure most of the people who follow me are young artists in some form, of course you understand that plagiarism in any form is just not cool. i found one of my photos on weheartit the other day, and it was taken from someone else's who didnt credit me. how annoying!!
i love you all followers, but credit credit credit! im not nearly successful enough, nor, i suppose, are many of you, to be comfortable with your work not being credited when it's been reblogged.
yes, i know i'm guilty of it too occasionally, but i solemnly swear to change my wicked ways from this day forward. nothing like a little taste of my own medicine to cure me, huh? :)


it's a beautiful sunday morning, and i am currently working on getting my summer to do list in order! summer is coming up fast and as it's my last summer before university and irrevocable adulthood and responsibility, i do indeed plan on making it count!

i suppose i am cheating a little bit, as i'm going to be 18 this coming friday (may 21st i'm a legal Canadian adult!)
tell me, is being an adult supposed to change things? because the closer i get, the less i am convinced by this.
so i'll be able to get into clubs. i don't really dance all that well anyways.
so i'll be able to drink.                          legally.
what else is there?
i can buy cigarettes (addiction will welcome me back with open arms i bet)
but other than that,
what's the big hullabaloo about, really?
i wish i had done more things as a kid.
but i still have this one last summer. so...!

next time i will be post my summer to do list, and i hope you all will do the same!

have a beautiful day

A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.  The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.  ~Charles Peguy

so, why don't you love me?

i admitt it, 

i sometimes think about our lives if we were together.

and i like how it looks in my mind.

and i even put in the fights.

so sue me

i like to sit in tims with my best friend

and smile at people.

so sue me.

i get angry easily,

i yell.

my heart breaks into a million pieces

i cry.

i feel too much always. nothing is half way. ever.

i hate you

 

 today, i painted my toenails flat pink.
they match the apology flowers you brought me.
this was not done on purpose.

you havent written back, and that breaks my heart.

i want to change my style. and who i am.

i often feel this way

but im finally doing something about it. 

watch for music videos feature little star and i! they'reacomin'! 

look around you, cause you're not alone

When I wake up in the early morning
my arms search
the cool sheets for you.
You aren't here.
You nevere were.

And now,
tonight,
my whole body is inkstained.
and when i wash
i'll know when i am clean.

i hate being ignored.
but you arent ignoring me.
you simply arent around.
you arent here
which hurts the most.
If you're going to go,
go.
though you were never here.

the trees smiled at me today,
and the wind kissed my arms.
i like when they do that.
sometimes i pretend that you're there with me.
Think of it.
Walking in the heat
stopping for a lazy kiss
whenever we need
or selffishly want on.
think of it.
bare feet in the house.
no need to cover up.
we can leave all the windows open
we can leave the butter out.
i don't mind.

  inside silent dorm rooms
you and i
 run
   and create a rhythm of soft
     bare
       feet.
i ask for poetry
and reason
from your lips.
and get kisses on my cheek.


they aren't the same

and again youre gone
up in the sky
moving away from me
at about 300 miles per hour.
i say miles because soon that'll be the world you live in.
i guess you've lived there for a while.
you're just returning to
where you belong.
without me.
goodbye dear,
i'll see you in 5 or 6 months.
i hope.
goodbye dear,
i'm a little bit broken without you.
goodbye dear,
i'm going out to play.
because there's still a life that needs living.
it's not gonna stop for my grief.

after the battle, i painted stars in our bedroom.*

finally

tell me,
do you recognize me?
its been so long,
and god knows
i've grown.
i see you
crossing the room
with that same old grin.

oh
youre coming nearer
oh
youre eyes are still so-

just a new women
one who must have so recently
been just a little girl
just another conquest
just another pair of eyes
lips
breasts.

and i falter
because i know if you touch me again
like you did so many- so long-
i'll shrink down
to orginal size.

after the battle,
i painted stars in our bedroom*
no prayers
no pleas
no promises.
i painted stars in the room
where we slept and wrote and moved and loved.
and with ever stroke
i breathed your name
and saw your face.
after the battle, when there was nothing left
i recreated us.
after the battle,
i awaited your return, as i promised i would.
no sobs
no screams
no songs.
i waited,
for the war we created to be won or lost.

this is why i live

"there are things you do because they feel right. and they may make no sense. and they may make no money. and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other, and to eat each others cooking and say it was good"

given the chance,

i'd swallow

every work and every look

that you've let slip

whole.

as it is,

i keep your kiss

in my back pockey.

my favourite little secret.

today, i want to

braid a ribbon

into my hair.

today i want to

laugh in your

stupid love sick face.

i hold the power

and i hold you in contempt today.

alright baby.

go ahead.

and have your temper tantrum.
im not your mother.
im not your babysitter.
so go on babe.

scream and cry

pout.

because i wont flinch

unless to

walk away

and leave you to you.

A philosophy assignment

There is no God. No purpose, no meaning, no collective truth.
Why don't we all kill ourselves? Why do we are a species, continue?

I don't think these are good enough reasons to kill ourselves! There is no collective truth, but I don't find that depressing. I find that freeing! No. I find that inspiring. If there is no collective truth, then there is only individual, subjective truth. And when individuals find a common truth or a common beauty among all the chaos that a god-less world just be, then it's all the more beautiful. Design is all very well and good, but beauty from chaos is... aweinspiring. And majestic. When you look at you friend and you both laugh because of something you thought but never said, and you see their smile, and the sun shifts and the atoms all aling just right and choices are decided which lead you up to this one moment of, 'oh your eyes' of being you, and here, and me, and you and me and this.

THIS IS WHY I LIVE

I want ownership
with none of the responsibilties.
i guess i'm weak. i guess i'm wrong. i guess i'm lazy. i guess i'm bad.
but i want what i want
and i need what i need
and you are an obligation
clawing at my door.
am i supposed to weep?
fall to my knees
when you say the word love
after handfulls of ecstasy?
no.
and i do not want
to clean up the messes you feel
i ought to.
ought.
duty?
no.
that's not me. not anymore.

just a little comic

to lighten the mood.

September 12th

There is an art to you and me.
You make promises, while I sit and wait.
Sound familiar dear?
It should, because it's happened so many times, I've lost count.

And today, I sat in the grass,
still wet and cold,
watching the planes take off.

One of them carries you away
into a world where I can only dream of.
Into a world I can barely touch.

I miss you.
I hate you.
I love you.

Too many days, I've been afraid of love, love, love, love, love

I was lying on my floor today
felling the rough

hardwood
on my back and bare shoulders.
You are the celing above me.
You are the vent near my head.
I am an area rug

with eyes.
I am a lump a bump a
girl who won't jump
and it's raining cats and dogs
right outside my window
as this hump this bump
rolls to examine
a scratchy bit of the floor.
It's August, can't you come out to play?
I promise to be good,
promise to be-
bump
We could stay in the shade-
Lump
We could not saying anything at all
We could be as silent as
the shade
As the rug, as the celing.

 IT IS NEVER TOO LATE
TO BE WHAT YOU
MIGHT HAVE
BEEN
- George Elliot

When a heart breaks, it is not a sudden, defined, SNAP; a clean break into two neat pieces.

No.

It's a gradual flaking and chipping.

And some flakes get lost.

And some are never found, so that when you try to put it all  together again, and start anew, there will always

always

be a little something, off,

everytime.

Susan Minot

"I wanted a life beside him,
he handed me my coat"

"I could eat tin, I'm so
hungry and light.
Could eat these words
I write"

Simply, you make this all

simple.

So I can lay my weapons

at your feet.

Which you stare at

but do not see

for the dance they

could be.

Would I that I could

hide them under my bed.

My sarcasm, my coldness,

My realism, my sexuality

my need for

definition.

My need to always know

who what why when

more.

I am as a part of you
as your pinky nail

and as forgotten.

as easily misplaced.

you trim me

maintain me

neglect me
then cut me down again

when i get too long

and large and

in the way

I think you're just swell

August Third:

you can't decide
to turn your back
or to reach out.
So
goodbye.
I'm not the one to shirk desicions
of this nature.
You and I know me.
I love a challenge
but I'm not stupid.
I know a hopeless case
when it hopelessly sways in front of me.

I miss the ocean
really, I do.
Cups of coffee
reading books
writing.
Staring out and out forever

See you laying in the sun
and I can't beat around the bush.
You, good sir,
are a spoonfull of sugar.
There's no reason now to hide.
You're safe and I'm safe, and you're more than just
a dream in my head.
My fingertips brushed your skin briefly-
the most contact we've had thus far-
and rejoice at the feeling of the youness of you;
of the fact that they have not gone straight through you
like a ghost.
I cannot recall when I last felt this way.
I guess,
you'll just have to excuse me today,
because I can no longer beat around the bush good sir.

Come home
'cause nothing feels quite right
nothing feels the same
Nothing doesn't remind me of you.
What's left in this prairie town,
besides the memories?
Down by the river, you fell to the ground
and On the side street, I fell for you
because you lifted me
right off my feet, and I haven't stopped spinning yet.
so won't you come back to me?
Come, I'll make it home,
it'll be okay.
This prairie town misses your sweet face, and so do I.
Your sweet face, and large hands, and bent nose.

Knowing I am no longer the object
of his affection
[fixation]
makes the air a little cleaner.
My legs relax themselves into the mattress,
it's good to be new and freed.
To be young, with so many better and worse than him to come.
To be alone in this room, which messy though it is, is mine.
Is safe.
Never realized how solid these four walls could be.
How much I love the mess and the green.
I think I need a plant.

Knowing all this, I think I'll just get some sleep for now.
Maybe say a quiet thank you
to whomever or whatever is listening,
and then let the silence of
2am take me where I ought to be.

Goodnight.

Here Comes The Sun

And I say, it's alright.


What's going on with me? I know I haven't written in a long, long time.


I've been on a few dates with this guy, let's call him...... J.
I can't seem to wrap my head around him.
He's fun and romantic. He makes me laugh. He yells. He's serious. He has both feet on the ground. He holds doors open for me, pulls out chairs.
I like him.
You know that feeling, when you look at someone, and suddenly, you're inexplicably, completely elated?
Yeah. I get that from him.

Love? Love love love love love love love.
Love.
I don't understand that word right now.

Love does not come in a box.
There is no preconspetion.
No constrictions or confides to it.

Love isn't something you can ask for and recieve.
Love can't be given with rules.
Love can't be requested in a size five, canary yellow.

It's not that someone comes to you, with a box
and you open it;
Oh! It's exactly what I wanted!
Look, it highlights the colour of my eyes!

It's not that you can wear it a while, and then pack it up because it doesn't suit you any longer.
Pack it up, and put it back in it's box, and give it away again.
Or store it under your bed, waiting for a cold and rainy day when you need it again.

Love isn't like that.

But while I can tell you with some confidence what love is not,
I cannot tell you exactly what it is.





Though, I'm no longer fearless
I'm no longer reduced to
that shaking sniviling child you had me.
Let me see this clearly;
am I a novelty?
A wild flower that catches your eye,
you pluck and take with you,
until you reach where wild flowers grow rampent? And I am no longer special?
Or, until we reach the city,
where I seem odd and young and foolish and decidedly out of place.
My large hair, changing in your opinion only;
Wild and careless and untamed at first
now is messy and difficult.
It was always all those things.
So discet me, to my smallest parts
and try to know what you are in for.
But once you do, I'll become nothing but
my various bits and pieces.
An arm, a leg
absent minded, loud
a toenail,
sensitive.
What now?

I'm back

I can't see why

everytime you fall
it's my job to catch.
When I fall
Where are you?

I'm seeing a pattern
as I shift through the ruins
of lovers past.

I want you to love me
when you're sober.
I want to be loved for
who I am, now how I make
you feel.

I can do the math
but math can't figure
what's in your heart, or mine.

Something inside me tells me
sober love is a different breed.
One who's contact has been limited.
One who I fear,
though loathe the alternative.

Which will win I wonder?
Fear or hate?
I can train the hate, the distaste from me.
But is that really

how it should be?

I'm a new soul- no.
No, I'm an old soul
with a new spirit.
I'm a young girl
I'm a small
to mid sized city girl
I'm a women with a left over lover history.
I've got big dreams
and I've got a heartbeat
so tell me why I stay here
in this state.
I'm an odd child, and I
have a strange sense of how to
live this life.

Pig Song - Margaret Atwood

This is what you changed me to
a greypink vegetable with slug

eyes, buttok

incarnate, speading like a slow turnip,

a skin you stuff so you may feed
in your turn, a stinking wart
of flesh, a large tuber
of blood which munches
and bloats. Very well then. Meanwhile

I have the sky, which is only half
caged, I have my weed corners,
I keep myself busy, singing
my song of roots and noses,

my sog of dung. Madame,
this song offendes you, these grunts
which you find oppressively sexual,
mistaking simple greed for lust.

I am yours. If you feed me garbage,
I will sing a song of garbage.
This is a hymn.

The burdick theater will always feel like home to me. The catwalks, the wings, backstage, basement. The musty smell mixing with the uncommon smell of cool air. The squeek of certain chairs, the movable walls

I watched your eyes
shift and sparkle and change
grean to grey to blue

with my words
and our stolen subtle touches.

Now I close my own and recall
the snowflake raindrops
dancing in time to our music,

resting finally, softly, on
your pink cheeks and my warm lips
before melting away

to something more pure.
Absorbed by our words.
I remember you lent me your gloves
though your hands shook as much as mine.

You smiled at me
and I smiled into my coffee.
You shifted green and closer, or must have,
because I could feel

the heat of your knee
through four layers of fake skin.

Why / Still / You

Why does my heart skip a beat still?
Still.
Still, after so long,
somehow you still
still
take my breathe away.

No.
That's to harsh a way to say it.

You smile.
And I smile.
And everything clinging to my mind
my heart
my soul
my weary body
slides gently away,
leaving me smaller
quieter.

If I was a Buddhist,
you'd be my transcendence.

How I can hear a song
still
still, and think of you
and those many nights
of gibberish
and sentiment
Of stolen moments, and the "ohhh" feeling, when somehow,
still,
you take me by surprise
and all my air just seems to hitch, then start again,
a little different from before.

You're a medical disaster waiting to happen.
You're the phone as it vibrates in time to the music
late at night
when my eyes are glued shut
and my heart is in my lower intestines.
You're the sunlight that pokes it way through my
dark brown curtains in the morning.
You're a shower after a long walk.
You're the song that hushes me, when little else does.
You are that moment when
one sentences
one stray thought
makes everything fall into place.

You're the reason for my grumbles and my inexplicable love poetry.

Take me down to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty

Bc, here i come!

I'm off to the island, where the salt can be smelled from my bedroom window.

Where every morning my grandmother and I have a cuppa, before going for a short walk to the beach to discuss the days plans.
Where the trees are green and flowers already exist

I really need this trip.
Really.
I need to just get away from here.
From school, from home, from winnipeg, the endless prarie sky, the dead air, from him.

I'm bringing two cameras.

I leave sunday, return the following.
Ergo, I shant be posting after sunday.
I'm bringing a notebook or five with me, so you'll have dated "journal" entries once i return.

All the pictures here were taken by me, on location

It's not about what you did
it's about what I did
and what I allowed
"make myself translusant, to let you in"
so now,
the one who swore
to always love me for me
to never judge me,
has decided,
he doesn't like what he sees.
"they will lay you out in the moonlight, and reinvent your name"
how could I?
how could I have allowed you to convince me
that I can trust you,
that I can let you in.

Awake soon
The mindstorm
I feel
I feel
the stars out.
The fear goes,
I soar now
As far as I can carry you
as deep
as deep.
No theif can take away from you
the way you have taken from me.
His mouth
full of loose teeth
I see
I see
The liar is weeping
and down on his knees.
The light no longer terrifies
the grief goes to sleep.
So
beauty came with agony.
But sweet
oh every love
is sweet

Goodnight dear readers. Look forward to the morning.
It's 11:11 as I post this. I transfer a wish to all of you.

I've been kinda down lately.
I don't know, maybe too many sad songs.
But you know when things all just feel...
too much?

Yeah.



I can't tell the difference between
black and white anymore.
It's quiet here today,
and I can hear the quiet
even if I hum to myself.
It's hard enough without feeling
like I've killed
this little part of you.
It was quite a lie
to make me think that this
was more than it was, I suppose.
My fault, or yours?
Cause I stood still,
I closed my eyes,
I let you take
all you wanted from me.
If I'm not to blame,
If I'm not the reason,
then what am I?
Heartbroken is extreme,
but battered and bruised sounds
close to me.
And nothings riding in
from the distance
to save me.
I've contridicted everything
I ever wanted.
I've left behind everything from
before
and am left
only with these
fragments
these bruises that
refuse to yellow and fade.
This hand that still aches
from that too-hard-squeeze.
Who am I,
now that I am no longer
defined by what you do?
In the night
I know I am defined by what you did.
By what I allowed.
I see you in every pair of hands.
You saw the terror in my eyes that day.
And you dare to ask me
why.
And you dare to beg me
and I dare to cry one more time,
before I fall asleep to be defined again.
I am doomed
to know that this is
unchangable,
and I am responsible,
that my anchor crushed me
and I am lost inside this quiet tonight.

Wow, it is chilly out today.

My friend had to work today, three shifts.
One at his full time job, two djing.
One of his djing jobs was outside near my house,
so i walked and brought him coffee and we hung out, got a bite to eat before he took me home, afterwhich he headed to his next dj gig.


Work. I've applied at McD's.
Wow, right?
Places like that crush my soul, but really,
as a teenager, I can't be picky about where I work.
Money is money, right? Right.
Really, what is there available for someone like me.

Qualifications:
- Writes 3 hours a day, at least
- Daydreamer
What is there out there for people like us?
Tom's a Dj. I wouldn't mind doing that actually. When I'm 18, I'll give it a try. The program he uses is really cool, and I could definitely be a great Dj.

But anyways, McDicks.
Well, what can I say? It can't be all that bad, right? All jobs suck when your young.

Take me home, I don't want to be alone
tonight


Once I saw you leaping over obstacles,
and I smiled, thinking how your energy was complimentary.
I lost sight of you for a while.
I forgot to look at you.
Once I saw you again, making your way uphill,
dropping everything for me,
and staying with me.
I didn't lose sight of you again,
but I guess I lost perspective

I guess I lost sight altogether.
And now?

I find myself content to play it by ear.
Is this really me?
I find it hard to believe.

Is this really how it is?
Is this really

real?