WordCare

Isn’t it ironic
You can be in one of the most beautiful places in the world
But feel so defeated
Like I’m seated
Chained down
In the chair of my own self hate
And my dark mind becomes an open gate
It’s too late
It’s not safe
What I’m feeling isn’t great
And one thought
Leads to two thoughts
Flooding in every thought
Of all my mistakes
My strength disappears
The weakness nears
And all my fears
Are here.

To be forgotten
To be left behind
To be replaced
Not good enough
Not pretty enough
Not smart enough
Too young
Too rigid
Too controlling
No direction
No intention
No affection
Get fitter
Get thinner
Get more beautiful
Be stronger
Be everyone’s foundation
Just be better. 

Sometimes the boiling contained
leads to water spilling over… 

Written November 15th 2014

You could watch me walk
Across this world
Escape this place
My mind, unfurled
A million miles
Take every plane
Show a thousand smiles
Take a hundred trains
To free myself
From one little thought
That its you I couldn’t help
It’s you, and it rots
In my mind
In my heart
It stays and it sways
I’ll be fine for weeks
Months
Years even
Then one day
It comes back to me
In a split second
And I can’t control
What my deep mind beckons
That I wasn’t enough
To put the pipe down
Put the needle away
You don’t need to drown
Cause I was there
When your memory was not
I remember everything
And I wish I could not
See you turn into everything
I didn’t want you to be
See you turn into everything
You knew you would be
So in the end
I was the fool
The misguided girl
With one broken rule

That love is not enough to save us. 

Written November 18th 2014

This view-
water so blue
sparkling as waves crash gently on this white sandy shore
I’m surrounded by lush trees
mountains, steep cliffs
islands off in the distance
most people’s definition of utter happiness
but all I can think about is you
ironic isn’t it?
A Sunny perfect day
but you’re on my mind
and how all this time
everything on the line
my whole life
seems irrelevant to what you’ve
been through
Dad always said
“life wasn’t meant to be fair”
but in my head
right now, I’m rattled
it isn’t fair
Why do only some get to enjoy this view?
get the good life
the money, the chance,
the opportunity to make a stand,
to make a stable foundation
to be their own creation
not just another body on this earth
that society deems to have no worth
if only this life was blind
then maybe, we could truly find
the real mankind
and have a true vision
no judgement, just listen
it’s not where we’re from,
our history, our families,
our skin, our beliefs
it’s only in our souls
that should define us
and you deserve to see this view I see,
have you’re own life the way you want it to be-
Man, fuck this, I’m taking a walk with Kendrick to get this off my mind…

Written November 30th 2014

It’s so sad to see
woman back home
so obsessed to be
the perfect clone
of what one company tells you you should look like…

Got to be taller
got to be thinner
make this larger
make this smaller
and only this one way
is the way to stay
“young, sexy, beautiful”
It’s what the machine spits out
and these thirsty people take in
and it’s one pathetic cycle
as it spins and they win

But the real beauty? 

It lies in the faces
the hidden spaces
that barely anyone seeks,
Of the young girls, riding bikes, three all stacked on one, heading down the muddy, dirty paths. In their smiles, so bare and honest as they sit beside the gutters and all share one small plate of food.
It’s hiding under the women’s down turned heads, in their thankful, grateful eyes as they watch their babies sleep so peacefully in their arms as rain pours down, flooding their streets and tiny shack homes.
It’s in the balance of the old women, carrying massive pots, heavy and round, so gracefully poised and at ease, on top of their heads and walking miles and miles to bring food to their families.

That’s where the beauty lies
not in these petty cries
of dieting, body image obsessed
girls who are so mislead

I would rather watch that old woman walk down the “oh so praised” runway, anyway… 

Written December 10th 2014

May 10th at 3:04 PM, you finally left us. 
Finally. 
Please understand that I never wanted you to go
But you were not you the last couple of years. 
The dementia got to you a long time ago. 

I remember you changing. 
When you couldn't drive anymore so we took away your license
And you screamed at us to shoot you out in the pasture
Like an old sheep dog that could no longer herd the flock. 
You had never yelled before, but
I get it now. 
We were the flock and you just wanted to keep us together. 
You wanted to provide, to lead, and to shelter us
And you did for 60 years.
But even in those last couple months
Of bed ridden, drowsy mumbles and sleep, 
You were the reason we all came together. 
It has always been you. 

I walk into your bedroom and your body is there
But it is clear that you are not. 
I set next to it and it finally hits me how white your skin has become 
So aged, so wrinkled with time. 
I grab your hand and it is the first time I touch you and feel cold. 
Nothingness. 
And to be honest, 
It brings me peace. 

You are everywhere to me. 
You are in these Edmonton streets, 
Commerce place, catching me skipping school but promising not to tell Mom.
You are in Waterton Lakes, Jasper and Banff
Charging ahead on every hiking trail while the rest of us struggle for breath behind you.
You are in the first snowfall, 
Unpacking the toboggans from the garage and getting all of us grandkids riled up and wild. 
You are in the still night air, 
Awake in your office at 3 AM, reading old law books and flipping through photo albums.

You are free now, 
Gramps, but
You will never be gone. 

Written fall of 2016

Saturday morning in the city and sidewalks are busy. The last few clouds dissolve into wisps and puffs, and then disintegrate until they are no more. The sky is blue – bright and boundless.

Crowds flood towards the market from all directions. A thousand scurried ants, following the path lead by the ones before it, eager to reach the center. The sounds of harmonious voices, guitar strums and deep up-right bass hover by the entrance, greeting every guest as they pass through the doors into liveliness.

Then the sounds change. The music grows faint while hundreds of voices echo inside the huge warehouse – an exchange of buyer’s wishes and seller’s offers. Isle after isle, booth after booth, there are goods to be sold.

There are baskets of apples, pears and plums, ripe and ready to be eaten. Passers by take samples, popping them into their mouths and savoring the juicy flavors. Men walk around, biting and fidgeting with toothpicks as they eye up which fruits will be this weeks breakfast.

There are piles of carrots, potatoes and lettuce, with dustings of dirt hiding the vibrant colors beneath. Onion peels scatter the floor and crunch as old ladies hover, deciphering through the pile, choosing which produce will be good enough to feature in her famous beef stew tonight.

There is freshly baked bread wrapped in brown paper bags and pastries filled with “Grandma’s Homemade Jelly” that makes the little ones eyes get wide. She gently hands them their oversized Danish’s, larger than their faces, and powdered sugar erupts onto their chubby cheeks as they stuff the sweetness into their hungry mouths.

There are bison steaks, whole turkeys and chicken sausage links dangling down carefully crafted wooden frames. There are quilted blankets, fur throws, and hand-stitched purses, all bearing the hours and hours of careful, detailed labor. There are stone necklaces and gem earrings, glittering in the eyes of the little girls who slow down, reaching out to touch them but are quickly pulled away by their hurried mothers with things to do.

Morning turns to afternoon and the carts of goods dwindle. The crowd thins and the farmers and shopkeepers start packing away their belongings. The clock strikes 3:00 and the busy hub is busy no more. It it time for a late afternoon nap.

Written fall of 2016

When despair for the world grows in me
I breathe. 

What else can I do
When the weight
              Pounds
Feet stuck
              To the ground
And I buckle to my knees?

I'm covered in mud
               Thick
Sticking to my skin
And my limbs grow heavy.

I want to hold them up
Signaling, "Stop, World.
Stop this despair."
But, they
                 Drop.

Lack of control
Lack of calm
Lack of clarity
And the panic pinches
and proceeds. 

So I breathe. 
                 Breath, lead me back home. 

written fall of 2016

I can’t keep up
 when the money comes in 
only a second
 then it’s gone again. 

 work
             bills 
 work
             bills 

 Looks like Ichiban for dinner tonight 
but that’s the student-by-day, 
server-by-night, life
 “Here’s your thirty dollar steak. 
Would you like another beer?” 
 when what I really want to ask is 
“How did you get here?!”
 to where you can afford
 to eat out every night 
 and spend my whole months rent 
on food that’s over-priced.
 It’s ironic, can’t you see
 that you leave me a “tip” 
 but please, keep your money
 and instead, write a list
 give me step by step instructions 
a timeline or a plan 
 anything to get me out
 of this debt and quicksand 

 But that’s not the way this world 
works so,
 thanks for the tip. 

 work
             bills 
 work
             bills 

written fall of 2016

Fields full of sunflowers
 and I am running.
 pushing past green stems r e a c h i n g up 
presenting heaven with their
 bursting 
             yellow
                         petals 

 My legs keep pushing
 eager as earth touches my skin
 and remedies my confusion
 I can hear them in the back of my mind “What will you do with your life, What will you DO?”
 but it fades here, in this field
 for I 
            have found
                                      the way
 
 Fresh consumes my lungs 
and clears my mind.
 I move  f o  r   w    a     r      d 
for the trails taking form
 as dirt 
             beneath
                               my feet
 
 Sunlight streams down on me
 dry waterfalls from the sky.
 my body drinks
 for it has been parched for too long, 
working too hard 
 to find the answer 
to their question, 
but now 
              my thirst
                                 is quenched
 
 Fields full of sunflowers
 and I stop.
 this view,
 this sea of gold and green devours me whole 
I may not have the answer 
 no destination, no end 
but I 
           am not
                                lost. 

Written Fall of 2016

So what happened?
Tell me that
for this to be our end
Where did this relationship bend
cause before it all 
we were supposed to be friends...
Remember?
Those summer days in the truck 
blasting beats, windows down 
Jays lit, driving around 
And you laughed with me
you sang with me
you smiled with me 
and talked with me 
Remember? When we were friends?
Those nights at your place
everyone together, stress out, 
enjoyment in, drinks up, 
worries down, and I was by your side
and you said you'd always be my ride.
Remember?
Friends first. So how could you do this?
Cause before it all, 
we were supposed to be friends.
Yes, before it all,
we were supposed to be friends...