Dear (Friend),

We’re getting old and I miss you.
Sometimes I miss the days where we were curled up in the fetal position, orbiting each other and everyone else like wounded satellites. Too broken to fix anything, too beat to care.
We’d roll around on dirty floors, in dirty jam rooms. Nap on thread bare couches with tears resting in our eyes. We’d walk the cold streets of a city I can’t name in our shredded shoes, our big hearts resting in our throats and trying to strangle us. We’d search, aimlessly trying to figure out how to breath again. How to breath deeply and with meaning.
How to breath through the cigarette smoke and smell of dirty laundry. The dumpstered jokes and food bank treats rotting next to the compost bin. How to breath through the oppressive smell of our sweaty dreams shouted out like threats all over this city. Threats used to cover up the fact that we’re cowards as we roll another smoke, roll another bitter joke over our lips, roll another piece of paper into a ball. Another piece of paper containing a failed letter to another failed friend. Again and again, because practice makes perfect. Ball your fists, balls of paper. One better than the other to throw around, one better than the other to fail at I suppose…

Dear (Friend),
We’re getting old and I miss you.
Sometimes I miss the nights were we spread our arms wide and yelled out at the dark. Our thoughts falling all around us into ideas and dreams as we believed in anything we could wrap our minds around. Our hearts exploding with hopes and desires and caring.
Sometimes I miss the idea that things could be that way again, before you were broken, before you broke trust with me…

Dear (Friend),
We’re getting old and I miss you.
Nothing will ever be the same again, and for that I am grateful.

Dear (Friend),
We’re getting old and I miss you.
Please stay strong. (I’m trying to forgive you)


Emo night, no cover.

Sometimes I get hit by a wave of sadness so hard and fast that it feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Taking the wind right out of me and leaving me disoriented and in pain.

There’s so many people I’ve loved over the years, and now I’m sitting here in my room at 2:44 on a Friday morning wondering how so many friendships just faded or went on hiatus.
How so many people can fail each other. How much someone (me) can miss because shit went sour and then went even worse.
I’ve made mention to leaving, to change, to running away.
I was so fucking broken when I left that I didn’t know what else to do. I spent three years drunk as fuck and shit got bad. Sometimes it was better but worse than before. Other times it was just worse.

I came out of those years yet again wondering what the fuck happened. Again destroyed even further with hurt, pain, lies, abuse.
I came out of those years with a fucking drinking problem and a concussion.
Some more scars and chips to put of the list of shit I’ll never, ever fucking let happen again.

What ever friendships I had saved from before those years really struggled to survive them. I lost more friends because I was broken and becoming more broken. I was hurt and becoming more hurt. I was losing myself and for all I fucking cared I was about to drowned in the bottom of a 20 pack of Caribou green and set my self on fire with a pack of Canadian Classics. Preferably every night. Or die trying. Hopefully.

And now I’m sober. I’m trying to give up smoking.

I’m starting to see folks around that I haven’t seen in years. It looks like a lot of people are moving out this way. People I used to be closer to and miss dearly. I’m terrified to open back up again, I’m not sure if anything has actually changed. Some of them still hold parts of me. Some of them I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive. Most of them probably don’t give a fuck about me anyway.

I miss so many people so fucking much, but maybe it’s better off like this?
Maybe some of the bridges need to stay burnt.

Tonight is a night of sadness and loneliness.
Of remembering the ones that are lost to me, but not gone.
Tonight is for missing you and wishing I could erase the hurt.
Wishing you would come and hold my hand like you used to.

Tonight is for mourning parts of myself that are better dead.
For believing in my ability to find strength even in my darkest times.
Tonight is for honouring the feelings I have and respecting that I can miss people who hurt me deeply in the past.
It doesn’t make me a contradiction to have feelings, It makes me human.

Say what you mean, don’t be mean with what you say.

It’s hard to not take something personally when it’s something personal.
You said you won’t talk about it because no one wants to listen, but if that were the truth, then why did I ask to hear you?
So you lump me in with all the people who were here before me, because you’re afraid to be hurt by opening up and saying your truths out loud. Afraid to answer questions asked in honesty. Afraid to be hurt.
So you hold it inside yourself instead and shut me out with cryptic statements and hard to understand truths.
It hurts me too, you know?

And I’d say sorry for being true, for being honest, for trying so fucking hard to be a good person, a good friend.
I want to say sorry, but that’s a reaction I’m trying to unlearn. I did nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing wrong.
I don’t want to hurt.

Honesty in caring, holding myself open to accept and hear you, communication in ernest.
These aren’t things to be sorry for.
Why should I be sorry?
If I were to take back my attempt to be a good person, you might spare me the hurtful words and emotional push-back? But then I’d be living another lie, because there wouldn’t be honesty in between actions.

Fuck that, fucking fuck living a lie. I’ve lived there before and it’s an ugly and horrible hell. I’m still trying to navigate parts of myself out of it’s darkness. I can’t and won’t avoid or circumnavigate parts of myself to please you or anyone else. I can’t let my feelings and truths be over shadowed by another persons, not when there’s enough space for everyones truth to come out. Not when I’d be risking the safety of the small place inside myself where I’ve finally found refuge. Not when every act of letting someone in risks that safety. Honour what I’ve offered you, don’t take it for granted.

Don’t try to hold me hostage with my feelings, I’ll cut that shit lose so fast and slip out into the night without a sound.
I am wild. I am fierce.

Sometimes I’m afraid to keep trying because I’m not sure how much strength I have left to keep picking myself back up.

I am strong, but I feel defeated today.
I feel so fucking frustrated.
I feel sad.


(*I want to kick something, but not hard. More like a tap. I need a hug.)

For the memories

You’re all dead.
Your bodies rotting, scattered across stolen land.

All the great mysteries that held the parts of you together have once again become of the Great Unknown.
Tossed back out at the stars, the sky, the sea.
To be discovered by something new.

Voices I’ll never hear again.
Maybe the undone thoughts will come to me through new ideas, new ways to be.
And I try to accept and humble myself.
Energy is infinite and moves herself through the universe,
holding her own idea of the order of things.

I’ll miss you,
for the memories we’ll never have.
You’ll always be real to me.

Be still / Still be.

All I want is a secret spot to leave all the letters and bits and pieces and photos I have of you. A spot to put the memories I’ll forget if I don’t keep them safe. The dreams I’ve collected.

A quiet little place to keep parts of me safe while I’m in the world being alive.

Because I need to be out there, living. Because I’m here trying to do the same and things just aren’t right. Nothing feels quite right.

I can hear the chaos rumbling quietly off in the distance and the tide is drawing me in and out over the shoreline. Rearranging the view of things on her own accord. Pulling me out with her, sink or swim. I’m trying frantically to hold fast. Handfuls of sand slip so easily through finger spaces. And the space between everything seem so very small and so very large. Time, distance, ideas, feelings, dreams.

And I must be good at this game, because I’ve played so well for so long. Catch and release. Come and go. Here and now. Tomorrow, then what? And I’ve tried so many times in different ways, but the more still I keep my body the farther my mind goes. And I don’t need the stillness outside, I need it in.

Resolution through impatience causes solution, not satisfaction.

Just to become. 

September 20th

At times I feel like I need new eyes, these days have passed me by.

And if patience is a virtue and a virtue is a grace, then I lack civility today.

I saw them, sparks shooting up from the prairie grass, while I was speeding past.

I don’t remember the fireflies. I forgot the dew scent of the Midwest.

Tired days and endless nights.

Memories are a strange thing, how quickly they are made. I try to hold fast, relive the past, while all the good decays.

Now time slips by in different ways.

I promise this time everything has changed.

I saw them, sparks shooting up from the prairie grass, while I was speeding past.

I don’t remember the fireflies, I forgot the dew scent of the Midwest.

Tired days and endless nights.


You woke me up in the night and asked to hold my hand. I can’t remember another time where something so simple had offered change.

I always remember that once, years ago, I saw a thunderstorm hugging the horizon so tightly while my ride rocked rhythmically on its ties. The full moon and prairies rolling by. My skin felt cool to the touch in the August heat. I wanted for nothing. Even in a time where so many everythings had overcome me, I could still find tranquility. One chance at a momentary peace.

You brought me back from the spaces inbetween those memories and held my face in your hands. Those hands have helped me become again in different ways. You called me back from hiding and looked into me. Your eyes have helped me see things differently in a new way.

I am greatful. I am humbled. I am real.

Destructor Destructor

Life is filled with compromise. The cheaper the compromise, the more freedom within the spectrum of capitalism.
I choose to live subversively because it circumvents some of the irrational responsibilities our society tries to teach us are inherent. I’m still scared, I’m still unlearning. I’ll never stop growing.
Time is subjective and, within that subjectivity, it is unlimited. Waiting and learning patience for things I desire tells me that my insides are fighting to believe and understand the subjectivity.
It’s a process. It’s a challange. It’s life daring me to grow.

Things are changing because they are always changing. Momentum is a given in the unruled world of physics and chaos. Sometimes it’s easier to feel that shift inside of myself.

I arc myself to that challange. I accept the dare. I embrace the chaos gingerly and with a respect and fear, so timid.

I sometimes forget I’m in the throes of a world so wrapped in disorder that there is no up to swim for.
I feel the glow of trouble and curiosity. That spark that was seen so very many years ago is a raging inferno inside of me.

Tear this fucking city down.
I wanna feel the ocean breathing.
I wanna feel the salt water flowing through my veins.