Poetry

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the pussy

oh but the pussy is brave

lest we forget how much pain

the pussy can take

how much pleasure it delivers

unto itself and others

remember

how it spit you out

without a flinch

now here you are

using the word pussy

like an insult

when you're not even 

strong enough to be one.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honourably.

She may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

Because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

did you think

did you think i was a city

big enough for a weekend getaway

i am the town surrounding it

the one you've never heard of

but always pass through

there are no neon lights here

no skyscrapers or statues

but there is thunder

for i make bridges tremble

i am not street meat i am homemade jam

thick enough to cut the sweetest 

thing your lips will touch

i am not police sirens

i am the crackle of a fireplace

i'd burn you and you still

couldn't take your eyes off me

cause i'd look so beautiful doing it

you'd blush

i am not a hotel room i am home

i am not the whiskey you want

i am the water you need

don't come here with expectations

and try to make a vacation out of me

Love After Love 

The time will come 

when, with elation 

you will greet yourself arriving 

at your own door, in your own mirror 

and each will smile at the other's welcome,  

and say, sit here. Eat. 

You will love again the stranger who was your self. 

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you  

all your life, whom you ignored 

for another, who knows you by heart. 

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,  

the photographs, the desperate notes, 

peel your own image from the mirror. 

Sit. Feast on your life.

inspiration

little poet

it seems like the more words you write 

the more you think

it is you writing them

why do you think you're in control

didn't the words come spilling

out of you the first time

pouring without permission

and now you're trying to

make them work for you

but magic doesn't move like that

your rushing is

suffocating the masterpieces

baking inside you

your job is to

show up for the process

be patient and when it's time

the universe will use you again

Loving Hard Love

Motherhood, sisterhood. Being a child. Having a child. 

Being a parent. Being with your parents. 

Friendship. Partnership. Romance. Intimacy. 

These are hard loves. Trying loves.

The people you spend the most time with

Will see all your shit. Everything. 

All the hidden hills you try to pass off as glorious mountains. 

The coyotes eventually come out. 

All the bumpy roads you turn into fun roller coasters. 

Until someone gets hurt. They always get hurt. 

They hurt you. You hurt them. 

Disappointment everywhere. 

Why didn’t you treat me better. Why don’t you behave better. 

What’s wrong with you. What’s wrong with me. 

They’re not wrong. You’re not wrong. 

We need to be better. We need to accept better. 

Accept ourselves. Accept flaws. Accept darkness. 

Or do we?

Maybe these are red flags that one day I’ll see that 

I stupidly ignored and accepted but never accepted. 

Or is this love? Is this intimacy? 

Going through hardships together. 

Isn’t the outside world supposed to be difficult 

And our relationship easy? 

Easy to go through the struggles of life together? 

Is that utopia or is that healthy love? 

Aren’t they the same thing?

When is it love. When is it self-abuse. 

When do I stay. When do I go.  

I don’t go. I make them go. Or I try. 

That’s where it gets really messy. 

I don’t leave. I make them want to leave. 

And then the storm passes. And I love again. 

It’s peaceful. Fun. Intimate. I feel close to them. 

They know me. I know them. 

We’ve seen each other through so much. 

And then the next storm. And the next. 

And I hate them again. Must move on. Must cut them out. 

How many people can I cut out. 

For my self respect. For my well being. 

Who’s good enough for me? 

Am I even good enough for me? 

Isn’t that where it all began 

And where it all ends? 

Slowing Down Slowly

There she is

Going through the days

Soaking in the sunrays of the world’s emotions

Soaking in the laser shots of her own feelings 

Emotional reactions hitting like arrows on a dartboard

Thoughts and ideas flood her mind 

The dam opened wide, freeing the once captivated creativity 

For so long. Waiting and wishing to come out 

It’s overwhelming, drowning her now

The pressure is real. She must act on it. Right?

The creativity is freeing and imprisoning her 

Her imagination is taking over

A true dream to let her mind free flow like this

A true nightmare to have her mind free flow like that

Balance, the equilibrium that makes all digestible

Moderation

That’s the true goal, that’s the true elusive holy grail

Obsession is easy, it’s lazy

Moderation takes discipline and control. Self control

The mother of all challenges

Knowing oneself, saying no to oneself is difficult

When all you do is neglect yourself

So you say yes to the excess, no to the moderation 

And then cry confusion when you suffer

Balance. Moderation. Equilibrium 

These are not sexy, they’re not spontaneous 

Not adventurous, not dangerous

They’re boring. Like us. Humans are boring

And bored. Bored of life. Life is bored of us

What a true joy. To be bored. To slow down. 

The Magic

Where is my magic

When does it arrive to rescue me

When does the boring become special

When does the special cure all? 

I’m looking. And waiting. 

I’m trying to find the special. The excitement. The thrill

The adventure. The pure magic. 

Where is it. I don’t see it. I keep calling for it. 

I keep doing weird and exhausting things to make it happen. 

I’m told that I need to live life. So I’m living. I’m living the hell out of my life. And I’m so tired. 

Where is the magic so I can calm the fuck down. 

All along it’s been there. Everywhere. Every. Where. 

Every. Thing. Is Magic. 

The most boring is the most magical. 

But we fear the boring. It’s too boring. It’s not fun. 

Not exciting. Not thrilling. Not impressive. We can’t show off boring. 

So we don’t believe it. We don’t believe boring when it whispers magic to us. It’s not loud enough. Shiny enough. 

But the true magic is there. It’s been following me like a shadow. 

Loving me unconditionally like a dog. 

Pulling my arm for attention like a kid. 

And I’ve ignored it. For something better. Waiting for something better. 

To come and rescue me. 

When will I rescue myself? How boring is that? 

No one will watch a movie about me rescuing myself. 

In the silence of a quiet home. With just me in there. No music. 

No romance. No scandal. No drama. Just me. And me. 

Rescuing myself silently. Quietly. Slowly. 

As I pick up the pieces of my heart. 

The pieces of my emotions scattered across my life. 

In my mind, I hug myself. 

I tell myself I love you. 

I tell myself the words 

I always wanted to hear from someone else. 

You are enough. 

You are special. 

You are not special and don’t have to be. 

You don’t have to perform or be useful. 

You don’t have to do or be anything. 

You are enough. 

You are loved. 

You are loveable. 

No one needs to know. 

You don’t have to prove it. 

You just are. Enough. 

In that silence I heard the loudest and clearest message of all. 

The one I searched everywhere for. And asked everyone for. 

The music stopped. The movie of my life stopped. 

Everything is on hold as I take my breath away. 

That’s the true romantic happy ending. 

The beginning of a true life.

Of rescuing myself.  

Questions

I used to envy 

People in long term relationships 

For everything they had built together 

While I was still searching alone  

I know now that  

I cherish my own experiences 

At times I knew exactly who I was 

And what I wanted   

I was once in the trenches  

Of a career and job 

That I loved and adored 

It was short lived  

My usual route was to feel  

Lost and unguided  

Bewildered and wondering 

While others seemed so anchored  

I know now that 

The relationship I have is more 

Flexible and fluid than it would have been  

Had I not questioned everything first