Sunday, December 31, 2017


This year I debunk “that” myth. 

The one I read about in a self help book 20 years ago, that said "it is better to have as many friends as I can. To be fair and nice to everyone and keep myself quiet and let things work themselves out." This year Karma may get a little push. When people hurt me I will not immediately make excuses for them, I will heal myself from the verbal stab they have injured me with. I may even stand up for and defend myself.

I’m looking at the person I was in my twenties, the person that I “just was.” Sure, I tired to search my soul and understand who I was inside, but a lot of what I did was impulsive and: just who I was. Now I search through all the crap that was surrounding the impulsive me, and I can say that was the genuine me vs that was me being some that I wanted everyone to like. I understand better... what survived and what didn’t, why things happened the way they did. Justification. 

Maybe 2018 will be the year of justification?

I put up an event invitation for the march of women this year and one of my co workers from 20 years ago, (Even though I felt completely awkward and unconnected with most people back then.) that I’ve managed to hang onto through facebook, liked my post. “Yep that’s why I love her, that’s why she’s still there.” I said to myself.

We were all the same age in our twenties and the other people we worked with were older, and had been through their 20’s before. Now I’m working with people who are just getting to know me, who are younger “and wiser” then I am, and things are different.

SO it’s a new learning curve and new lessons. Lets go 2018.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017


For Christmas I received an “Hello Kitty” touque, a white pussy hat. I was a little sad because I got it a day after hat day at work, but I wore it any way the day after, under the understanding that it was a Christmas hat.

I wore it to “The Market” on Saturday and I didn’t get in the door when a lady complimented my hat, excitedly I said “I am a Nasty Woman” and she began to tell me about a picture of the Maud Lewis cats with little pink hats on. I googled it but I couldn’t find a picture. There was such a beautiful human connection over this little hat.

I thought I’d try it with our MLA and asked when the next women’s march was, but she didn’t seem interested. That’s ok I know a lot of woman who marched last year. Maybe I'll get to go this year...

I got a blanket to keep me warm over the winter and I just had a refreshing two hour nap with my cats and my new blanket.

I wasn’t sure they were able to understand Christmas and they’re a little out of sorts at my parents. But there was a moment they were both in the living room with me on Christmas morning. I had a present wrapped for both of them and after they sniffed the packages we opened them. A bag of treats, a scratching post and a little bandana for the cats. They really are my babies.

After opening their gifts Tini went over to the biggest gift with the biggest golden bow and asked me to open the box by trying to get into the wrapping paper. But I had to wait for my parents to open the rest of the presents.

But we had this moment, the cats and I.

My mom knew what she wanted to get for Christmas and instead of asking for it went out and got it for herself. A record player; and I hope every mother was that happy on Christmas day, laughing and dancing and clapping hands. Going through records like: Glenn Miller, Bryan Adams, Phil Collins and Leonard Cohen. Among others.

And now it is all over and life can go back on. But I hope we take what we learned over the holidays and use it in real life as the year begins and ends…

Tuesday, December 19, 2017


My friend put out a call for the names of Nova Scotian poets for a data base she was compiling.  I wanted to write on her Facebook page “me me… what about me? DO I count as a poet?” Then I thought “when the latest magazine that I sent my work off to will publish me I’ll be able to say I’m a poet.”

People can use the words lovely, intense, etc. in front of my name too.

And then last night, when I came home, two weeks after I sent out the poems, there was the SASE. A letter to me in my own hand writing. I knew that the speed in which it was returned, there was going to be a disappointing reaction, and I was right.

This was going to be the justification of all that I do, it all rested on these poems. All of them had been workshopped, edited or commented on by more than just me. All of them were the cumulation of feed back I’d been getting from “RED PENS,” “Writing Circle” and other rejection letters.

I’m allowed to call myself a writer, just like I call myself a singer, even though I don’t sing for other people, but can I call myself a poet if I haven’t been published? Can I hold Writing Circles, if I have no idea how to satisfy the publishers of small little magazines? And of course the ultimate question do I keep going, sending out my own stuff? Keep encouraging people to write with me, if I have nothing to say I’m successful except… “I wrote myself out of depression.”

What’s the next step? What do I do next to improve and understand my writing? I’m reading and collecting as many poetry books as I can, playing with song writing and looking for places to send my work. But what are the next steps do I take, so I can call myself a poet?

There was an article on CBC radio the other day of people who did what the self help books said, drop everything and follow their hearts and it turned out a disaster, although they did get a radio interview out of and possibly a book, I wasn’t listening very closely, Too wrapped up with my own shit…

DO I accept my destiny as a call centre worker, or do I keep fighting this writing game?

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Poetry Therapy

It’s the sound of darkness
Leaking from my heart
All the truth
Infecting dreams
Making light again

Just the click of finger tips
To clear my mind
Open my heart
I went looking
For my nannies and grampies
I was so sure I was dead

I put my mind on the pillow last night
And knew I was going
To a different land
I fell fast asleep
Slipped away with no control
I went from house to house
Banging on doors and windows

Images of the past
Houses I’ve only seen
In my dreams
And some I’ve never seen before
I was so confused
Time began to change
9 am
10 am
5 pm

Late for work
Wake up? Wake up? Why can't I wake up?
Become a slave
To the system

So I looked at “the man”
And said
“I must be dead
And if I’m dead,
I’m going to find my nannies and grampies"

And still I didn’t wake up
So I figured
The house had burned down
Or I died in my sleep
But there was no pain
And everything was fine
So I went looking
For my nannies and grampies…

Until I woke up

Sunday, December 10, 2017

My Canada is...

How does that make you feel? 

For me it hurts. 

If my animals looked like that I know people would arrest me and take them away. As a pet owner I vowed to take care of my animals keep them healthy and happy and strong. And I have plenty of strong people watching me, if anything goes wrong, my animals are taken, every time the picture I have of my pets are shown to people who love animals, a comment about how well they look and are taken care of.

What if I kept a picture of this polar bear in my wallet and said "He's my responsibility too.”

He needs me to speak for him. So here’s a start.

I want to call someone and report animal abuse, earth abuse, oh and so much more. 

Justin, this place that we call home is crashing … it’s not enough that you’re a cutie, we need to save the world.

As it was said in my theatre film rant I didn't speak out I didn't get hurt, but my dream of working in theatre and film didn't come true. I shrunk off and worked in hotels and call centres.

What if this time I don't shut up? I get so moved, like my Father wanting a Dr., like Ashly Judd screaming "Nasty Woman" at the top of her lungs, and women standing up to their accusers. What if when I go out I mention this picture and say we've got to do something, not him, not they, not those people; We, all of us. 

Nasty? I'm an angry woman who is watching animals, die in front of me. I am an earth keeper, I live on this earth they are my animals too. And I just got angry.


I guess in my passion and friendship I want to get a little angry next year, that there’s a little bit of angry that needs to punch through. I think the last straw was that polar bear. Edged on by my friend who wants to start a wildlife rehabilitation centre, on her own. I listened to her talk about sitting by the side of the road petting a rabbit hit by a car and wishing there was some way to help it stop suffering.

I’ve been moved in the last month to the point where is hurts. Friends losing their babies, me turning forty one. Getting more work out there in the hopes that someone will publish it. A new job and not being able to express and process while I need to being calm and passionate. I want to get angry and make a big noise. I want to be the one who leads the rebels into the line of fire to save the future.

I, of course, can’t buy a ticket to fly off and save the Polar Bear. Bring back all the Missing and murdered Indigenous women.  But I have a feeling, between healing me back to health, and a stronger voice I can fight a bit.

I just got a little sad. I had the whole week off, so I’ve a massed a lot of energy and clear thinking, so once I start working again; I’ll be exhausted… But I can dream that I’ll have this energy to live off of until the next vacation, lets get it together people. Collectively, when we go out to coffee or dinner we discuss how to save the world; Our inner world and our outer world.

I’m starting to reach out to people from beyond my apartment and make friends and choices which strums emotions that I don’t get when I’m being a recluse or a hermit. I little string of inpatients, sadness, and the need to do more.

Lets see what happens when I go back to work…

I may not be able to silently let the world go by while a work on myself...

Saturday, December 9, 2017

It Should be Snowing

All I wanted to do, when I was little, was eat French fries, vegan stir fry and watch the Muppets. 40 years and my mom still has family meals at the table and no TV until after supper and that’s the news, then it’s a free for all. I like watching tv during the day but usually feel guilty early in the morning. Family meals in Duncanville consist of vegies, rice noodles, and crime television.

I gave my mother a vegetarian cookbook, she wanted tahini recipes and this one had four or five. In the process I washed the cat hair and dust off of the ret of my collection of cook books. I’ve been eating rice pasta and smoked tofu for a year or two at lunch, at work. Really, I boil a bag of pasta, the pink bag with the bunnies on it dump some hot and zesty spaghetti sauce over it and it last at least 4 days some times 6 days depending on the mornings.

I went home this week for a break from reality and a stay-cation. And started read the book I leant her and started to pick out lunch recipes and this week I’m not going to have pasta. A great little avocado and bean salad that I will make up tomorrow and there will probably be pictures  on Instagram and twitter. Unless it sucks, then there will be pasta :p

I usually go to the coffee shop for a gluten free pumpkin muffin and a super duper wake me the hell up coffee. But I didn’t really want to wake the hell up this morning. I made what I  thought was a ginormous coffee and cleaned up the house and went to the coffee shop for lunch. I had 18.00 in my bank account and spent 17.94 on lunch; so that’s it until pay day.

I was going to save the money and I made a huge kale salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, sat down, at a table, to eat it. And it all fell over the floor, So I decided against the cheep meal and let someone make chili for me.

While I was there in one corner, my friend was in another corner and to end her meal we sat together and talked about our futures. It was very nice, I usually have a list of things I’m “Going to do” but this week I did most of it and now I’m just waiting to get through Christmas. But she’s got a lot of new things going for her. SO that’s awesome. I hope it all works out.

I then came home and slept for the afternoon, full stomach weaker coffee than I thought and a drippy rainstorm when it should be snowing. For the love of god will someone save that polar bear, all the polar bears. Our earth… We’re next; Dummies…

I had some noodles and sat in my bed with my cats and wrote fighting every minute of going inside my head to write.                           

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

chased away the light

Has chased away light
The past the future
The right now
I long for
And it has chased away light
I want my friend
To hold her little baby
Alive and breathing
I want another singing lesson
We loved by singing
I want to sit in front
Of the light
Of my grandmother’s
Christmas tree
But she is not with us any more
I just want to cry
For all the things I’ve lost
I’ve never cried for them before
Wrapped up
In my chest and
Under eye lids
I wanted to sing and dance
Deep into the night
Here I am 
Alone in my room
Alone in the darkness and the words of Peter Gabriel.
Red Rain
I don’t want to be reminded that at the age of 40
I learned to write songs
And be confident
I don’t want to see that my new job
Is better for me
I don’t want to know
That I made so many fine life
I only want to cry
And cry
For the one or two that aren’t coming true

Ever will come true 

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Morning Time

I guess I’m rethinking weekday mornings, I’ve never been well enough to actually take action. The last 20 years has been struggle to wake up, a struggle to get every thing done before heading out the door hopefully the coffee will kick in between morning naps, egg timers, and as I go to work/school. Where I jump from break to meal losing my shit If I have to wait a few extra minutes for either because I’m so hungry.

I remember 25 years ago having huge breakfasts even resorting to salmon burgers in hopes that I could make it through the day without feeling beaten down by hours and gravity. And they didn’t help, for one reason I probably had bread around my burgers, and by the time lunch time hit I had a sandwich or walked down the boardwalk for some cross contaminated fries.

I’ve perfected the diet, I’m not afraid of a little coconut or olive oil, and decided to fry some eggs with my waffle the morning (still lots of coffee 😊)  and I made till 1:00 waiting for lunch in my new job. I walked into work happy and alert and I wasn’t thinking about food all the time.

You know what else? If I get up early enough in the morning I can relax and write and enjoy coffee and not rush around and forget to clean the litter box because I was half asleep. I haven’t mastered getting up with the alarm yet, but, I have had extra half-hours to write in my journal and not feel rushed in the morning. The new message to me is that the morning can be just as much a functional part of the day as the rest of the day.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Write on

I guess I want to write more. When I come home at night to sit and write, my brain is usually blank. I have to really force it to create and be focused. My brain shrugs at the shoulders and decides that there is nothing to say, nothing to write about. Sometimes I get something sometimes I don’t. Which has been acceptable till now but...

At Writers Circle, there is always something to write about, and I can write about it in any format. At Writers Circle I can do anything I put my mind to.

So my question to myself today, as I go off to spend 8 hours at my job, so I have a house to live in and write for an hour or two, when I come home. Is how do I translate Writers Circle into my house. 

How do I sit down and write almost every night?

Do I need to set up a better desk? Do I need to turn off the music? Or does the music help? DO I need more writing prompts? Or do I start every day organically and see where it leads me.

Today morning pages were about compassion, my compassion the worlds compassion. About ourselves, our world our animals. I consider myself pretty compassionate but can I be more, can I share this compassion with others?

Will these generations that are following me, say “Oh look at all the great things people have done before us…” and keep harming the planet. Oh will they be like “whoa nelly” and say we have to do things differently. Why can’t my generation do it.

To be fair there’s been a complete revolution in how to treat women in the film industry and people seem to be listening, now let's do that in how the world treats not only our millionaires, put those is poverty and our whole world.

I guess I'm offering myself two challanges...

Friday, November 10, 2017

#You Too?

I wasn’t in the industry for very long, but I had a rep that preceded my very quickly. The boys knew I wouldn’t randomly sleep with them, I was there to work. I remember one time I reminded a male co worker that I was available to work on his movie. “Ah you don’t want that role, you have to take your cloths off.” I didn’t know what he meant.

I remember through all the “knowledge” that my inner me had that I WAS  pretty, I didn’t feel the world giving it back. He just made me feel fat and ugly and rigid. I had people refuse to consider me because I was “too large” and they hadn’t even met me. They could just tell. Imagine my shock when I saw (at 40 a) a picture of my tiny cute self at 25. I was so cute. I wish people had told me that. I wish I had lived in the cuteness rather than the shame.

I couldn’t get on a set of boys who knew I would follow the rules (no guns on set boys) I couldn’t get a walk home from the boy who knew I wouldn’t sleep with him. I didn’t feel safe with these people. I guess in retrospect I’ve heard a lot of bad shit that has never happened to me, but that doesn’t mean what I experienced or felt wasn’t any less. That I knew there was something going on that my mind couldn’t identify, but my body was screaming “this isn’t right.”

My writing prompt this week for writers circle is write what you can’t see, and the above is what came out. As a first start. It wasn’t what happened to me it’s what didn’t.

It wasn’t that the boys disrespected me to my face, it wasn’t that they said said “watch out when you run through the hotel at night that you don’t get raped.” It was that they rarely said “good job glad you’re on your team,” and the one night I couldn’t handle in three years, the one night, they wanted to fire me, because I alone, I couldn’t handle, a whole hotel on my own.

I guess for the last couple (dozen or so) years I’ve let them in my head. I always thought It was my fault: I could have been stronger, I could have been this: I could have been that. But they weren’t looking for someone like me. “Frosty you would be good on any set.” I was told by one man, but I never got the chance to show it. 

I can’t spend the rest of my life, like a wife in a battered relationship saying it was probably my fault that it didn’t work. Tonight I think “It was my way out, away of an unsatisfactory unfulfilling life choice."

Thursday, November 9, 2017

Monday like an Elastic

I started a new job on Monday. Can’t say a lot about it. Still at the call centre, still with the same client. Just crawling up the stairs a bit. 

In the middle of the transfer from going from a basement in the old hospital morgue, back up on the floor, and all it’s action; I caught a tremendous cold. The last time I was able to sing, was a week ago, and my throat has been too scratchy to do more than five basic notes. Although my Base is pretty powerful.

Why I write this, is that I keep myself pretty calm on regular basis; I’m silly and can get wound up, but my mind is always able to work shit out when chaos is going on around me, and if it’s not I put on a pair of ear muffs, dissociate, and keep up what I’m supposed to be doing.

Well this week I couldn’t, my body demanded to be listened to, although my thoughts were numb to the changes: I was asked it how it felt to be leaving the group I worked with for seven years, to leave what my body knew like the back of my hand, and to go to something I still had trouble explaining to people until maybe today. Today I got it. But I just shrugged. Monday was another day, like Friday was. I walked in and walked on.

On Monday, day one of the new job, I actually threw up. All the while my mind was telling the body it was just another day, my body was wound like some sort of elastic band twisted and turned. My body was freaking out, but I had no way of hearing it, until I was leaning over the toilet.

SO there’s a lesson here, that while I appear to be calm on the outside, I am wound up tight on the inside. Maybe, now that I know this, I will listen to my body and I don’t have to exhaust myself during the day. I’ll find a way to balance my energy and find a way to heal this silent anxiety.

My aim now is to not so much worry about calming the mind as it is to listen to what my body is silently screaming, and that’s going to be new.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

the force

I began to hear pine needles
Drop to the forests autumn floor
Like hearing the sound of a single
Triangle, patter, throughout the symphony
I’m reading her poetry and for a moment
Am taken to the world where the bears
Eat salmon on the river bed
And the eagles fly over head
The kind they chose for that Robbie Robertson video
And although there was no music I knew in would be
Skin Walker. Like Skywalker has a light sabre
To break though evil the evil that is brothers sisters cousins
Family; family sticks together except when the force
Rips them apart.


Monday, October 30, 2017


Perhaps we learned a lot about spreading germs at school, about having a cold, a flu, pneumonia. How to pass it when you don’t wash your hands, or as you got older they said “mono from kissing.” But I rarely catch a cold. But there is emotional illness.

I think of the little children I read about as children that couldn’t go outside because they were delicate flowers, a push of wind would knock them over. A child that needs clean air and a germ free house, an environmentally reactive person who can’t touch newspaper and oil of olay.

There are people that need to live emotionally clean lives as well. It’s sad that we haven’t gotten to that point of making it a scientific explosion, where TIME magazine publishes a earth shattering article and people realize some people hurt differently than others. Some people get eaten up inside my the city, by the film industry, by the wrong job.

I’m think I’m an extravert, with depression. I love being with great people, but I still have to spend hours making sure I don’t get emotionally ill. I have to spend extra hours sleeping when things get too much. I have to check in with myself especially at stressful times. I find the purring and love of my Kitties relaxing. I’ve learned how to combat a grocery store or a shopping mall in small bouts.

Like someone with allergies takes a Benadryl or Auntie Jones carries a pack of wipes and hand sanitizers; I write in my journal and take a little cocktail of antidepressants to take on the emotional strain.

Someone who is emotionally ill is going to be affected by your tv shows, by your nasty remarks, and your violent outbreaks. I heard some one say “I soon won’t be able to say anything.” I say if it’s going to hurt someone you shouldn’t say it anyway.

It’s now not socially unacceptable to sneeze or cough on a “friend”. We have to realize now that like cancer, mental illness needs to be treated like a deadly virus, and that almost everything affects certain people. The "OutBreak" we are facing is not a viral one, it's an emotional one, a verbal one.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Red Flag

It’s been a year

A year ago I had a boyfriend
For two weeks
And found it highly over rated
I didn’t have time for that shit
I didn’t have time to be raped
Or abused or manipulated
Lied to or used
I walked away from it
And didn’t get hurt

I listened to all those people
That came into high school
And talked about rape
And putting yourself
In bad places
Oprah always Oprah
And If I didn’t trust him
I stayed away
I stayed away a lot
Life is a red flag

There was no one
Who would have an
Honest relationship
With themselves
It’s too late now
I’m on too much Prozac to feel

I’ve had too much time to love
Myself to waste my time
Trying to make someone
Else Happy
That’s what rape culture
Has taught me:

To be alone
To wrap blankets around me
When I want a hug
Just saying hi
Is a red flag
Just the wordscoming out
Of that mouth
Is a form of rape
That look in his eyes
That look down on me
Like I’m just a child
That I’m not worth the fight

Again I’m different
Than all the other girls

I’m not one who can say

Me to

New Job...

There’s a little path I’m taking
Lit by the peaking morning
Sunrise, colours of red and orange.
Behind me is the darkness
Of the last starless night
Ahead of me lies the day.
The radio sings of love
And the day will have adventure and dancing

I’m right in the middle
Day and night. Night and day.
A year of strength and growth
I knew I had to go somewhere else
I knew I had to keep moving
I couldn’t keep hating the light
Couldn’t keep sleeping through the

Sunshine and turning on the rainbows.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Tears in Heaven

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven

Eric Clapton and Will Jennings gave us this question
When a little boy fell from a balcony window

Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

No not at all there are so many worries
So many confusions when we are born as humans

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?

As death found souls, we recognize everyone in heaven
Wrap our energy around each other

Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?

We are energy when we die like butterflies
We change our core and fly

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please
Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven

We have to change we have to evolve
Which is maybe why we morn when someone dies young
Because like a caterpillar they never had a chance to live to be a butterfly

Perhaps as humans no matter what stage of age we are in
We fly into the universe and love all we were supposed to
On earth. With tears in heaven.

I'll find my way through night and day
'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven

And after heaven there is another step I’m sure

We just have no idea 

Thursday, September 7, 2017


I’m glad I had
The time to invest
In me
I’m glad I had
The heart to touch
What no one else
I’m here to say
I didn’t fall
Rose up the vine
Magic beans into the sky
What I found was giants
And I kept growing
I see the movies
Where the bad keeps
And I wonder
How someone
Survives the Diehards
And the Armageddon’s
And I realize that’s how it feels sometimes
People fall behind
I fall behind
But the guns and the bombs
Are still blasting
All around me
I keep running through the fire
Walking barefoot
In the broken glass
I find the bad guys
And walk away

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Not a Genius

I was watching criminal minds this morning and the team turned to Dr Reid and said “You’re a genius, you figure it out."  I thought how nice to be appreciated for your smartness, rather than have it laughed it and belittled. It made me instantly think of my grade one life, where I was scolded for knowing cursive writing and using it before everyone else had a chance to learn.

There were no temper tantrums no fights no big noticeable depression for days, I remember some sadness and confusion, that I wasn’t allowed to use this new trick, but I accepted it. Teachers were adults and made the rules.

But I wonder, just a little bit, if it didn’t close me up a bit, make me feel like everyone had to excel at the same time and same pace, if somehow I was, even mildly, stunted by this information. If my need to excel scholastically was held back to make sure I didn’t learn too much without teachers advice. I wonder if I was afraid to jump ahead and learn.

Hmmm Worth thinking about and healing.

No Alibis

Today, is Sunday; laundry day. I don’t have a washer or dryer in my house or a car to get to the laundry mat. I packed up my little wheelie cart full of dirty laundry and headed a out the door. Today I got a drive to the laundry matt, usually I crawl up the hill with my cart behind me and dread the TV shows that play there.

Today the show is Criminal Minds. I sit at the counter after the washer is loaded and try to write morning pages. The show engages and scares me at the same time.  There was an episode in the second season where Frank sends Jane  wind chimes made out of human rib bones and it freaked me the fuck out, the power of the story telling, the acting, the music. I studied storytelling in many forms and this was powerful enough to break through the “I know what they’re doing there text book 1-2-3 cut and paste,” it made me terrified of windchimes for a long time and I still hate hearing them, wondering if a serial killer is around the corner watching me.

I’m the kind of girl who can watch Zero Dark Thirty and Good Fellas and not blink an eye. But I’ve been known to stand in front  of my dryer for 30 minutes watching the cloths go around to avoid the mass killing that happens on AE early Sunday morning.

Today on the marathon they had two shows that I watched one from 10-11 at the laundry mat and later, 12-1 in my house after I got home. Both were done in a way that although the violence implied was rough, what we saw and how they presented it was not too emotionally damaging and I watched both full episodes.

In my journal this morning I wrote what manipulation they used to get me to watch, every second demands I watch and feel for these characters; the FBI, the victims, and the killers.  Like a good drug you have to come back to see these people play with sex offenders and drug using murderers.

I was thinking about the piece I posted yesterday and how it said that a good poet knows not only how to manipulate words and rhythms and story, but knows how to dig into your mind leaves you coming back again to read the poem and ask new questions , see images, feel feelings.

Writing is becoming more than just freefalling once or twice and getting a few good lines. Which I have been satisfied doing, but now there’s more. It’s calculated and manipulative in good ways and bad ways. It’s more than just reading it out loud after a few drafts and hope it sounds good and makes sense.

SO now, I’m obsessed with a show that is brilliantly made, and made to make me physically ill. But I want to understand how they do what they do.

I guess it’s hangovers and Criminal Minds for my Sunday mornings in the Future.  

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Name, a Free Fall

Gave myself my own name
Frosty was enough
I never aligned with a group
That I didn’t want to leave
My badges are scars
That I gave my self
Hand through the glass
Stairs through the lip
Stars through the heart

Made myself my own friends
Sons and daughters who thought
Just like me
Loved me until they turned 16
And then turned against me
Best 16 years of my life
When I heard you yell
“Mama” In the distance

Walked through the world alone
Keep it that way at the end
Of every dinner date
I look away and look past
I held your hand
Only to let it go
Palms to the ground
Circles in the sun
Like a child

Listen to your voice
Do you have to drink
Until it can’t speak anymore
Listen to your song
Is it typed or recited
In the deepness of our sleep
Dreams tell me I can do
Not anything
But what my heart desires
I gave myself that name

Saturday, August 12, 2017

See Through Our Hearts

There’s a little story I could tell you
About the ghosts who still live
In the basements of this town

There’s a little story about
All the rotted hearts
Displayed on the sidewalk

Walking proud and strong
With outdated ideas
That kill us All

Everywhere it’s everywhere
This darkness the fail in logic
Fail in love fail in time fail in space

So whisper like a child
Who sees the wrong in tradition
Scream as your hate is dying

There's a little story I could tell you
About healing and about seeing the truth
And the ghosts that live in this basement

Years of darkness undercover
A person a country a universe
And there's a handful who don't believe in love

Tears and tears rips and shreds 
In souls and bodies
Rest in peace 

I opened my jewelry box this morning
Found a safety pin 
I have no idea how it got there

Someone magic knew it was my time
To say to the world "I'm safe."
I believe in you I hear your scream your whisper

I know a path into the light
I believe this earth is for all peoples
All animals all life

I know a story but we must listen
We must hear close our eyes
And see through our hearts