Friday, May 18, 2018

Strawberry Toes

these are not my toes: random internet toes....

So we had a good write night the other night and was inspired by the woman who thought, in many ways, differently than I do, or maybe I’m not there yet and needed her to question my reality and where I need to go next in my head and in my heart.

She said one thing, that I wrote down, which was “It is beautiful to see people dependant on each other.” Which challenged every ingrained piece of my heart and soul. Me, who has believed that it is beautiful to have lived 20 years independently, short of help from friends and family, and not had one person, or lover (or many) to lean on for any length of time.

“It is beautiful to see people dependant on each other.” But I grew up in a generation where we were told to have our own bank account in case your loved one abuses you. To protect yourself in case your loved one has AIDS or some other sexually transmitted disease.

I hear so many woman who explain how each partners has to change their thinking as they’ve grown older because this partnership has drifted in so many different directions.

And here was a lady with a Masters Degree stating that couples were a beautiful thing. Dependency was a beautiful thing.

 I’d forgotten that part, or maybe I was never shown that picture. Through all the lessons at school and all the people who were interested in me but I wasn’t interested in them and vice versa. It’s never “worked” it’s never been beautiful or shared as beautiful nor has it ever been explained as something I want to be part of.

I want to be part of something beautiful. I always want to be part of something beautiful. Oh, you should see my toes right now, I had my first pedicure, ever, and my toes look like little berries and that is beautiful to me: Something a strayed away from for so long was a little bit of bit of beautiful. Something I was so sure had no relevance to my happiness made me smile and show off my feet, my feet could be like all the “cool girls” Could my love be like all the beautiful people?

Thursday, May 17, 2018


The day is hot,
the kind of day my mother
takes me to the beach
buys me an ice cream cone
let’s me swim in the ocean.

My prepubescent body
unaware of how cold
The water actually is
I swim
 until I turn cold

It isn’t until I ‘m a teenager
I actually see my body turn blue
I shivered on warm days
like I was hypothermic

This kids on the beach
laughing and taunting
that I was sitting on the shore
making an ugly sandcastle

I swim
once or twice after that
experience but cold happens
the temperature in the thirties
Warm breezes making me cold
Over the years I gained weight
filled out
lost again
I skate in minus thirty
fingers freeze
needing a warm shower.

This summer
 self hate is topped off
Like a cherry
with hateful letters, stating
every ugliness
Every mistake.
Every whisper.

Hello darling,
I say when I get tired of
“I love you and your beautiful.”   

To my face in the mirror
The only one
I ever loved the only
body I have given pleasure
I hear whisper

“You look unbearably ugly today
And people don’t like you. And while I have your attention
Calling other people ‘freaks’
Doesn’t make you feel any
Less of one yourself.”

Today they found a rat
Under the house and you were just like
“it is what it is,
Just as long as it doesn’t come in my house.”
What if the rat is already in my house,
What if my hatred,
Your self doubt and ugliness
Is the rat in your house.

I hate that I don’t
Make enough money to get by
And don’t do anything about it
It’s called running a straight line
Down the labyrinth.  
I scream out loud and it only echo’s.

Why all these little steps
don’t take me out of the hell
Into something: something, anything.
 I remember everything
prayers to get out of darkness
and the darkness still engulfs you
I am dreams of
your dead grandmothers
rotten mac and cheese
I have to wake myself
In the middle of the night
To get out of the bad dreams

I feel like screaming the word testimony
it doesn’t make sense anymore that
I’m haunted by hateful dreams
of hateful places
of hateful people
I want to take life back
Make some of it worth it
I want to fight
Everyday I feel like telling the world:
“I’m here fighting a war here.”

Like walking to work is being raped.

I had to fight and scrape at my skin
Just to make it out the front door
I didn’t want to have friends
I wanted to live alone
be alone
have a house alone

I tried to be someone else
be who I wanted.
The truth is
“I’ve always wanted to be someone I’m not…”
I had to sit alone in the house
Just be cold.

"This Cat is not Adoptible"

Hello, Tinkers mom here. I found Tinker on the SHAID website on Nov 16 2012 after a week of realizing I was ready to adopt a cat. There were many to pick from, but Tinker had been there a year and the internet said that she needed a special house no kids no other pets, not a lot of craziness going on.
The next day I went to SHAID and looked at all the cats I'd seen, and there curled up in the corner of her cage scared and overwhelmed by everything was Tinker. She had been there for a year and while my sister and mother questioned my choice. I kinda knew that we could heal together. I picked her out of her cage and she was so scared, her food and water dish went everywhere. I knew the cats that came to the cage door and purred would be easily adopted. I knew Tinker was my soul mate.
I brought her home and she refused to come out of her tiny little carrier until I left the house and then she hid in the closet. I used to bring the food and water to her as she hid on an open box of cloths.
Little by little when she thought I wasn't looking she would peek out of the closet and one day she discovered the sunbeam on the couch and finally realized she had found the first step to freedom.
She has no trouble giving her opinion. Like when I asked the lady at the shelter, “what type of food she liked” I was told she'd eat anything, but if she doesn't like it she looks at me and say NO NO NO.
I thought a cat like Tinker would be fine on her own, but she would look at me when I left as if to say "Mama, it's lonely when you work your 9-5" and so I brought home Addy, a cat completely opposite from Tinker; and they're best buds.
4 years later she still runs and hides when I come home, but when she's sure it's me, she sneaks back out.
And when it's bed time she paces until I go to bed, when the covers are up she lays down beside me and purrs that's if she's not kissing Addy.
I saved my cats and my cats healed me.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Day Dream

My heart is full;
My dream coat colourful;
My shoes are ruby
Yet I click my heals
And can’t jump to
New worlds

I can disappear  into
Day dreams and
Heart aches
But I always come back
To here
To this and
I can’t be 40?
Can I?

My father sicker
And more determined
To do what he did
When he was twenty
What he would have liked
To do when he was twenty

My mother losing her mind
Dementia and who are you?
When sometimes I don’t know
Especially in the mirror

I wanted to play
And worked and played
And played and worked
Until I broke down
And cried
And here I go

Starting all over again

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Buffet of Broken Dreams

Listening to the silence
Makes me hungry;
Playing the piano
Fills me up
At the buffet of broken dreams

Even without a lesson
I am a guest of honour
Fingers going from
Night to day
Across Beethoven’s breast

Performers entered with a spotlight
Breaking through the red curtain
Introduced as our spirit animals
Masks over our head
Ears and beaks elongated

She’s making a special
And you thought
She was nothing
“Come on up and sing”

I gather notes, chords and keys
Like a child gathers wild flowers
Hiding their beauty
In the corners of her room
So no one else can take it away

And things get taken away
So quickly
Around here
At the buffet
Of broken dreams.

The waitress who makes
The really bad coffee
Of ash and chimney soot
Gives me a hug
And we are friends

10 years of agonizing hell
Fall to tiny tears
And I draw pieces of the heart
For our back drop
And we laugh

The audience in the dream
Is looking for poems
To sooth your soul
Put them in the glass case
That holds up your heart

I introduce the love of my life
Whom I’ve never met
He begins to sing a song
Pointing out the bits 
Where we have been

I stop playing when the song ends
Grab his hand to take a bow
Wake up at 6 am
The love of my life
Is nothing but noise.

Quiet again
Across the buffet of broken dreams


Saturday, April 21, 2018

Room Service

I was asked this morning by a dear friend if I ever “feel lost?” Those are big words “feel lost.” To me feeling lost was the first few days on my antidepressant medicine in the city when it messed with my brain and I couldn’t find my way home despite the fact that I had walked the route a million times before. It that what is? To be emotionally lost? To have taken the steps before but to not know where you are?

I bring this up because I had an interesting connection with a friend  that I worked with more than 12 years ago for many years.

You see I dream of working at the hotel all the time; I would have liked to have stayed there and worked shit out.  But it wasn’t meant to be.  The only touch I have with the people I worked with is facebook. And didn’t realize I had any “live connections” to the halls of the lord nelson.

But this friend posted all her clip boards at her new job just like we would have room orders and function specs to fix for the day at the old hotel. How many chairs needed to be set how many water glasses needed to be polished etc.

And then I realized I organize this way too: LOL. I don’t have room for clip boards but I hang poem ‘works in progress’ up on the wall with a binder clip and a tack and sort them all in little trays when they are  ready to be sent away.  It was heart warming to me that I had taken that piece of the hotel with me.  The icing on the cake was that I showed her the picture of my wall and she said: “Ahh all the room service breakfast orders”. And I was like yeah, “that what I did” it’s not just in my dreams, I wasn’t there alone and I didn’t leave it all behind. SO I guess I was a little lost before this happened.

Sunday, April 1, 2018

The King

Little feathers
In the air
Little birds
Fly here and there

Little kitties
In the bush
Grab the birds
By their little tush

“Don’t” says mama
As she runs outside
With her housecoat and
Slippers: her rules, to abide

Little tabby
Has other plans
Birdy dinner
In special pans

Four and twenty
Baked in a pie
Pie pie pie fit for the king