bandaid patches.

everyone has a burden

but it isn't what it is that matters,

it's how you carry it.

my fortune cookie tells me

"Good fences make good neighbours"

but really, what does my fortune cookie know?

don't give me crap
about your traffic accidents
and bleeding scabs.
everyone knows if you keep picking at it,
it will never heal.

stop picking at me.

i need time to heal.

what use is bad advice?

and even though i chose not to listen,

what happened was worse.

was always worse.

when i grow up,

i won't pass on your advice

but i won't say nothing either.

good advice will come from bad people.

but it is not up to them,

and never up to fortune cookies.

epitones.

i may be a discord,
but don't write me off.

don't don't don't
hold your hands over your ears,
because you know i will still be there,
under your melody.

the notes might rise, might fall
but your riff is still unfinished.
i may be a discord,
but i'm what you need.

your music trembles,
with the overeager use of tremolos
but i'll still be there,
over your melody.

i may be a discord,
but i'm what you need.

deep deep oceans.

as always, i wish
the sound of the pounding waves
will block you out.

who knows why,
but the thought of you rushes in
and rushes out,
it crashes my mind.

sometimes, it is the picture of stealth,
soft, almost a whisper, or a murmur,
something i'm so used to
i don't even notice it's there.

other times, it roars and rants,
storming at the corners,
the darkest recesses of my thoughts.

the dreams of you pull in and out
making sure i'm never lonely,

they make sure i'm never wanting for thoughts.

even the unwanted ones.

your ocean is deep,
and, it seems,
will fill me forever and ever.
but this is not for me.

i did not ask for this,
i never wished on a star
or on a birthday cake.

but, wanted or not,
i know your tides may ebb and flow,
but, wanted or not,
i know you will never leave my shores.

season months.

the problems with
my heart go deeper than you think.

they are larger than the pomegranate seeds

you feed me,

thinking that's the only way to keep me with you.

i hate you for the winter cold you brought

to the world,

but i love you for the fruits you give.

just as when, in the grips of cold,

your caves of darkness,

you undress your pomegranates.

slowly peeling the tender flesh

with your lips,

not caring for the juice that sticks your fingers,

your face.

it is only when i'm gone again,

and your fruit trees bear no fruit

that you are able to forget.

wind currents.

the wind, does it leave you?
i'm knocked out,
breathless from it's handshake.
from the gut wrenching punch.

it whistles
up and out
through the winter tuque
you bought from your favorite vintage store.
the wind whistles with the echoes
of the past lives of the trees.

it's hard to remember how much older they are,
and that they will outlive you.
maybe they will outlive everything you own,
and even you, not as strong as you think,
will be brought down with a mighty crash.

but it won't be with a whimper, or a bang,
or even the droning sound of a chainsaw,
or with any sound at all.

you will be brought down, somehow, someday,
with only the sound of the wind,
whistling through the trees.

memories.

when i turn it on,
the lighter hisses
like the cat that used to hide in my great aunt's house.

do you know the sound?
do you know the noise?

i wake up, and i remember.

i wake up, and i know the world has changed.
that it is waking up with me

but, when it wakes, will the world remember?

will it remember the sounds it makes
when it is happy
or lost
or lonely?

will it remember the sounds it makes
when it is without me?

watershed.

it might be selfish of me, but i wish it were summer...

this water life
feels far away
feels like it's going nowhere.
everyone i know will speak of this.
they will whisper
that they saw it too.

they still don't know
don't know what they saw.

for the better?
maybe.

my questions burn like fire,
but even the water
the water is everywhere
and it can't put them out.
it needs to get out.
but these roots are not free.

they are never free.
let's hope that this ocean will find its place
will free its mind
will let me out.

again, it is different.

i carry my teeth in my pocket.
these days i'm too worn out.
too worn out to face the water.

but i see the salt spray when it hits your face,
when you wipe it from your cheek.

it will never go away.

i wish that i would never go away,
that you could carry me in your pocket instead,
that i could empty myself of all the things i hate-
i hate so much.

but the water will pull me in again
so that i will go, down, down, down
and down again
until not even the sea lions can see me.
i know you can't.

and i wonder what it would be like
if i stopped asking questions.
would i be troubled still?
would i be the same?
would i finally get some answers?

who knows.
god knows i don't.
i know you never will.