Wednesday, September 28, 2016


There’s a cut
Across my heart
A broken string
Held on to my friendship
With you

I hear, little feet
Across the floor
It’s 4 am make sure
I’m still the constant

We adopted each other
From a cage in the heart
One night you whisper
Thanks constant

Listen, little heart beat
Against mine
Learning she’s safe
My place like concrete
A constant

The constant is here to stay
You can leave if you like
But the constant is here to stay

I hope people show up on
Oct 3rd at every shelter around the world
Ensure a life isn’t senselessly
Taken away and we show
The world we are

I wrote this poem about people giving up their pets when they get married or have children or move and how much my cats depend on and trust me even if they are giving me the stink eye. I didn't know how to finish it until the pit bull ban in montreal. I hope the poem speaks for itself but if you can't take on a pit bull, know that there are thousands upon millions of homeless and neglected animals that need help. On Oct 3rd if you can't protest the killing at a vets office in montreal go to your local shelter or sanctuary and see how you can help: a donation, a dog walk learn about what you can do in your own life to support not just pit bulls but animals in general. 

As I type this my friend is taking time off work because her granddaughter was seriously hurt by a dog attack, and not a pit bull. My heart goes out to her. 

Saturday, September 17, 2016


I healed a part of me I didn’t know was broken. I talked to a theatre friend I hadn’t talked to in 20 years. She mentioned how the acting teacher had this huge influence in where her life had gone. You see she didn’t make it into the Acting program and that was her one dream in life. For a moment when she was talking I didn’t see the connection with me. And then I did, you see I didn’t like the way he taught and so I decided not to audition into the program.

My childhood dream was to become and actress, as was hers. And we put all our effort into getting to DAL and becoming the only thing in life we thought we could be. But we didn't get our dreams.

One day, I sat in class and worked my way through whether or not I wanted to take acting at DAL. I had not understood, that if I consciously made the decision not to audition, that my soul wouldn’t be OK with it. That it was an earth shattering decision to make a 19 in the middle of a theatre 1000 class. It was only last week in itself that I was able to say “It was better that I chose the writing path, because I need writing to breathe.”

Maybe I did need theatre to breathe and have been drowning myself all these years and didn’t know.

I can now stop waiting for that magical theatre moment to reappear. I can stop putting my emotions on hold waiting for my acting moment, to appear to the old washed up dreamer. I wasn’t the only one whose dreams slipped away at dal; I wasn’t alone. But yet I was because I had control over the decision.

 I didn’t even know I was hurt, because I had made the decision, I thought I couldn’t be hurt.
Think of the friends who hadn’t made the decision, whose audition was just turned down and they couldn’t go to a new school.  I send you hugs my friends. May we all have healed.

And so I cradle a little part of me whose dream didn’t come true, and appreciate the pain that was in making that decision; even though I did make that decision, it still hurt a lot.

Monday, September 5, 2016


SO things are becoming a little bit clearer. Which is good, but the changes affect the way I see the world: a lot. When people use to ask me about my writing, I’d always say there was something missing and I’d go to a writing workshop and learn more and always there would be something missing, something holding me back. That piece missing was me. My confidence my health and my ability to write that was all hampered by depression,by me.

I see other people who’ve never taken a writing class be published and succeed and I get hung up on maybe it’s not good enough, so the hang up is still me. No matter how many times I write “I’m good enough,” believe that “I’m strong enough” or look in the mirror and know “my eyes are sparkling enough,” there’s still that part of me that doesn’t believe I can do it, and that’s the part that hold me back from succeeding.

I’m not good enough, I haven’t had the right writing classes, I haven’t had enough writing classes this one will teach me something I don’t know. There is always something I don’t know. But I won’t know it until I do it.

There are many writers that say you don’t know how to write until you write and come up against yourself; no amount of lessons are going to prepare you for what you face when you write your own work and then you have to relearn to write again when you do your second and third and fourth piece etcetera. Even with short stories, we can’t get one sent to the editor, and not have to do a million drafts of the next one.

And so I find that although I didn’t want it to be me it is me that is the catalyst to whether
or not I succeed.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

All You Need is Luv

All you need is love?

But what kind? And by who? And when? And what does it look like. Romantic love, marriage, and children is not in the cards for everyone. Some find out too early, before they really get a chance to hold someone’s hand. And some find out too late, after they’ve spent time looking for the person to take them to that final level and complete them in a relationship or they’ve had children and now they have lost their creativity, their independence, because a flow chart in highschool told you that to be a complete person, you had to fall in love and get married.

There’s not supposed to be any other feeling in the world like having a lover. That we learn about ourselves and challenge each other and teach each other to grow. But what if we hide in that relationship, if we torture each other, hurt each other, manipulate each other. Then isn’t it better to be by yourself; discovering yourself with a notepad and sharpie. A piano and your favorite tune stretching your voice and learning to speak and grow in many different ways?

All you need is love?

We’re proving that love is different than that flowchart we saw in school. Different than what we learned in church camp; that you had to get married to your sweet heart and have some kids. No matter who you are. I wrote myself a letter in grade 5 that said I didn’t want to get married. I thought maybe I jinxed myself as reached my twenties. But maybe I knew something, that marriage and family, it wasn’t for me.

And I did something, I followed my instincts and other people followed theirs. And we ended up where we want to be, I hope.

The flip side to the story is, I have depression, so I'm always left to wonder: would my life be better or worse if I had a lover to sleep with me and talk to me at breakfast time. Would I not have depression if I were married and had companionship with more than 2 cats, a computer, a piano and my friends who fit me between boyfriends, husbands and their own ideas of what friendship and love should be.

If I had a soul mate, if I spent my time looking for love, if I got married to and had great sex and awesome soul feeding fights would I still need Prozac? Or would it matter?

All I need is love.

And only I know what that looks like for me.

Thursday, August 11, 2016


I just wrote a tough little piece, that I will work on and save for later, when it’s all alive and stuff. In it I listed what made me happy, the only thing I’ve liked about myself in the past forty years was being alone. So many people said it wasn’t the normal way to feel that I fought it. I thought I could work with great people and party and all I wanted to do was be alone with my cats and write from the heart.

That’s the truth that’s the pure truth. Kacey’s top forty on the weekend when I could no longer play the piano, my books, and my writing as a kid. Sitting here like this, warm and sweaty, in my apartment in the summer, with words and choices, I chose to live happy. Surround myself with people that I like, not worry about how many people like me and not believe people when they think I couldn’t be happy.

Let the whispers wash away, the voices of others judgement.

When people want their childhoods back they probably don’t want to sit in a little room with blue walls being alone. But that’s what I liked. That’s what I like now. It took me forty years to identify the truth. Now what to do with it?

Monday, July 4, 2016

How Much

I’m alive today
I’m breathing
I’m feeling love
I’m beautiful

Silent and sleep
Over take my body.
Tell me it’s time to rest
When I just woke up.
Tell me it’s time to give up
Before I ever tried.
It doesn’t matter how many I take…
If I don’t do it myself who am I?

Life and death
Pass over my sight.
All I see is blurry
When I have new glasses.
Tell me I’m blind
Before I even open my eyes.
It doesn’t matter “how much” you tell me
I rely on what I’ve seen.

I’m awake today
I’m alive today
I’m good enough today
I’m fabulous

Mist and mire
As I fall deeper.
The sun light turns into fire
Turns into ice mountains.
Tell me I have no feelings
And I will find them.
There are rabbits in these hats

Magic, I am a heart beat.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

Log in the River

 not my photo

I did my morning pages late today, at like about 5:00pm, so I had a day to think about them. I’m at the point where the medication is making me chemically balanced and I can’t imagine there is any more gluten or dairy to squeeze out of my life. This means any depression I have is due to habit or hiding from my emotions.

Some people say they feel fear or anxiety, and it breaks them. My emotional palate is empty, lots of positivity and forgiveness and understanding, but I usually need to be in bed at 8-8:30 because I’m sooo flippin exhausted. Maybe from not dealing with my true emotions?

I’ve heard emotional issues will see a persona having to get rid of the thing that makes them well but doesn’t evolve with them. If I’m drowning in rushing river, a big log will save my life, but soon, to avoid the water falls or to get back to the river side, when I gain strength again, I need to let go of this log.

Sleeping has kept me safe saying: “I love you” over and over “I love this life” or “this life is love” works until I reached a place where it’s no longer to healthy. I have too be able to see the things that are working and give myself “props” for discovering them and knowing to keep them. But as I wrote in my journal there’s only about half of myself that I truly know and love the other half I sleep away and loathe.

It’s kept me safe until now to only love the lovable part, but now, and it won’t be the first time, I have look into the darkness.

I have to know what I forgive and what I need apologies from other people for. I need strength and colour to take the next step.

I’m letting go of the log, letting go of the safety net and giving myself permission to feel and dream what ever I need.