Sea of Liesi.My father never read me the story of Icarus. I found it for myself. I suppose he did not want me to know what it was like to almost touch the stars. But it was only after I had read the story did I even try to reach so far. It is a little like falling in love...and then drowning in the sea.(I would be lying if I said the fall didn't break everything I had once believed was solid.)ii.My science teacher knew well that I was a dreamer. When I told her I believed fairytales were as real as love is, I could see the disapproval and disappointment in her eyes. I suppose thats why in her classroom, when I was asked what the greatest force in the universe was, I answered love. I suppose thats why she laughed and reminded me that love was as much a fairytale as the fairytales I believed in.(She was wrong. Love exists...its just been broken into a million little pieces, set afloat in a sea of heartbreak.)iii.My mother didn't want to speak about t
My Name is Hollow.Hello.My name is Hollow.I live inside your soul.Under the layers and layers of skin,and tissue and muscle...all the way down where nothingand everything survives.(I wish I knew before I trusted youThat lying is second nature to onewith as many regrets as you.)My name is Hollow.I live inside you now,because you gave me the powerin all your virtuous beliefthat the world was goodto survive your strength...(I hoped to God you wouldn'tlie or steal or break what is alreadya thousand pieces of a broken soul.)My name is Hollow.You let me in when sexbegan to feel like an ache.But the pain felt better thandealing with the hurtinside your head, your heart...(This was always a world for thosethat were harder than meStrength is sometimes a very relative thing.)My name is Hollow.I am the jagged lines you drawall along your skin,your muscles, your bones...The sharp edge of a knife,the scarlet drops of remorse.(Here's a question now for your
One Like WaterWe speak.We breathe.We eat.We pray.We stand.We sit.We sing.We dance.We bleed.We hurt.We cry.We laugh.We smileWe write.We read.We colour.We draw.We love.We grieve.We fight.We argue.We play.We work.We all live.We all die.So tell me again.How doesrace,sexuality,religion,gender,make us so differentfrom each other?
Lost NovemberI am lost November,with the breath of winterat the hairline of its neck.I am the blood orange thatsours a little too soon.A thirty day intuitionto a season of good will.A blip on the side ofthe road that melts easilyout of sight, out of mind.An unremembered instanceon a torn index pageof a forgotten, spineless book.I am lost November.Remember me the instancewhen you feel unremembered too.