I know not how this earth will end
For that decision’s not mine to make,
I know not how our death shall spread
Nor the number of souls it shall take.

So I ask myself these questions
To ease the strain in me,
Will it end in cataclysmic stars
Shimmering, falling to the sea?

Some say it will end in water,
Others say in ice,
Some say it will end in fire,
But I know it won’t end thrice.

If God above hath damned us all
Will our world end with hell?
Will our Armageddon seize us
Amidst a fiery swell?

But if God has chosen forgiveness
Will our earth end with peace?
Will we be spared our fate
If He hath writ favourable destiny?

And if our world ends tomorrow,
What will we have to show?
Do we hold our pride in pieces
For our youth to have and hold?

Nay, if our world were to end tonight
Then I can truthful say
That our world’s been properly poisoned
By it’s curse: humanity.

Some say it will end in water,
Others say in ice,
But I cannot help but wonder
If our world will end in vice.



When I was fifteen, I took a mandatory civics course that changed my life forever.

My teacher was a middle-aged black fellow with a strong accent who let us watch famous political films in class like Hotel Rwanda. He was one of my favourite teachers, and he often stopped to talk with me after class.

Why? Because I was the only person who identified myself as Liberal in a class full of Conservatives.

Many of those who were in my class won’t remember this day, but it is engrained in my skull forever. It was the day my teacher first gave us the characteristics and values of each party and asked us which we identified ourselves with. I had grown up in a household with two very Conservative parents, so I thought the answer would be obvious for me.

But it wasn’t.

The more I read about each Canadian party, the more I found myself siding with the Liberals. I was confused at first, thinking I had somehow gotten it wrong. But no, there it was. I was left-winged, if you pardon the phrase.

My teacher then had us each stand and go to different corners of the classroom depending on which political side you were on. Liberals in one corner, Green Party in another, etc.

Imagine my surprise when I faced off alone in one corner against 23 Conservative classmates in the other.

“Now,” my teacher said. “We’re going to have a debate to see how much you retained from the papers you read just now on different issues.”

This was my worst nightmare. I have social anxiety, and to have to stand and argue (“debate”) against my entire class felt like torture. But somehow, I managed to do it. I stood there and passionately was able to argue why I was at a different political side than they were.

And about halfway through the debate, one of my classmates changed corners.

By the end of it, five or six others had joined him, and I was no longer arguing my points alone.

So why am I telling you this? Is it because I want everyone to go out and vote Liberal in this election today? No, it’s not. I’m trying to emphasize the importance of having an opinion in this election, regardless of what it is, and the importance of understanding the issues. The classmates whom I managed to convince to switch corners didn’t switch because I offered them up any made-up information; I was just restating facts that they had overlooked on the sheets of paper my teacher had handed out.

So today, don’t overlook any facts. Don’t side with someone because that’s what they tell you to do. Read up on each political party carefully and vote accordingly. It doesn’t take long and it doesn’t hurt. Please vote today, regardless of who you vote for and why.

Only if you vote do you have a right to complain.

Four Years Later

Four years later,
your name still plays in my head
like an epilogue
I never had the chance to read.

Four years later,
I still tell my friends,
“He was the best I ever had”
and the truth rolls from my tongue;
it tastes like you.

Four years later,
and I still can’t eat sushi
or listen to Bruno Mars
or drive by certain bridges
without remembering the way you kissed me
the first time you told me you loved me
and meant it.

Four years later,
and I still see your face
etched in each October Sunday
because that was when we met
and by Thanksgiving, I was spellbound;
by Halloween, I didn’t want to bother dressing up
because I was finally
who I wanted to be.

Four years later,
and it still hurts when I hear mutual friends
say your name paired with hers
as if the two of you are linked together
the way we were once
as we got lost in haunted houses
and winter wonderlands.

Four years later,
and every Valentines Day I think of that day,
February second,
when you kissed my cheek
and said, “Goodbye”
instead of,
“See you later.”

Four years later,
and I still remember Arabic phrases you taught me,
occasionally whisper them to myself
in my moments of weakness.

Four years later,
and I’ve yet to find another soul
who tries to kiss me as much as possible each night
the way you did
every night,
trying to beat every record
we had just set.

Four years later,
and no, I don’t still love you,
but yes, I do still miss you.

Trust Issues

The featured image for this article says it all: I’m not sorry I have issues with trusting, well, everybody. The world is a shitty place, and if you’re one of those lucky (unlucky) few who had to find out about that the hard way, like me, then power to ya. It’s not cynical if it’s being realistic, right?

So why do people have trust issues in the first place?

Because people suck, that’s why. And I’m going to play the gender card here and say a lot of the reasons I have trust issues come out of my sex. Being a girl sucks sometimes, like really fucking sucks. I’d like to say it’s mostly because of this fact and this fact alone that I now carry a knife with me at all times. To be honest, I was sick of walking home alone after midnight and having strange men pull over and ask me straight up if I wanted to go off and have sex with them for money. And I was sick of having men grope me in bars and clubs, even after I screamed at them to stop (side note: on many of these occasions, I was literally dressed in camping clothes because I was away for the summer and didn’t bring anything nice for going out in. So the whole “I was dressed for it and obviously asking for it” thing has just been proven to be bullshit).

So yeah, now I don’t trust strange men, like many 20 year-old girls.

Now that’s totally normal; people are sketchy, and mother’s have always told their kids not to talk to strangers. But having trust issues goes a little bit further than that.


See, it’s not just strangers I don’t trust. I also have zero trust for any of the people in my friend group. Don’t get me wrong! They’re good people as far as I can tell, but I’ve had several of my close friends screw me over majorly in the past couple of years. Examples:

  • My best friend who lied to my boss over something I never did and almost got me fired
  • My close friend who my boyfriend was two-timing me with
  • My best friend of six years who started spreading rumours about me behind my back and blocked me on all social media when I confronted her about it
  • My best guy friend who never spoke to me again after I “friend-zoned him” (is it even friend-zoning him when he never asked me out?)

Whether I like it or not, I don’t trust my friends now, and even my best friend who I’ve known and loved for seventeen years now has had me keep things from her. It’s not that I don’t love her, I do, it’s that I’m paranoid as hell because I’ve seen good people do terrible things, and I’m still trying to figure out why.

Okay, okay. So I don’t trust my friends and I don’t trust strangers… who else?


I don’t trust people in law enforcement either. I don’t want to talk about the situation that led me to this, but I will say that I was having trouble and I went to the police in my area and they were of no help. I’m 100% sure they could have done something – anything – to make me feel better, but they didn’t and now I’m still paying the price.

I also don’t trust teachers. If I’m having problems outside the classroom, there’s no way in hell I’d ever let them know that. Why? Because once I thought I could trust a teacher with something personal, thinking there was disclosure between us similar to that of a doctor/ patient relationship. Oops, I was wrong, and my private life was spread pretty quickly.

These have all been personal examples of things that have happened to me that have led me to mistrust the entire world, but the reality is that I’ve never been a trusting person. Why is that do you ask? The answer is the one thing most people have trust issues over: relationships.


How have my relationships gone? You can probably guess…

  • Cheater
  • Abuser
  • Liar
  • Cheater
  • Cheater
  • Two-timer
  • Racist/ sexist/ homophobe
  • Cheater/ liar/ two-timer all in one

Annnnnnd that’s why I hate the idea of being in a serious relationship. I haven’t actually been anyone’s “girlfriend” for a year now, and that’s fine with me. Honestly, If I had to deal with another broken heart I’d probably shoot something.

What does it really mean to have trust issues?

If you ask me, which no one ever does but whatever, I’d say the reason I have trust issues is mostly because I don’t trust myself, and I think if you looked deep down you’d discover that you feel the same way if you have trust issues. I don’t trust my own judge of character because it’s always turned out to be so wrong. The result? I don’t trust myself, so I can’t trust anyone else either.

Last Kisses and Wistful Wishes

Every knock and doorbell ring
causes your heart to skip
like a worn out CD
because even at the end of all hope
you still wonder
whether or not it will be his shadow
you see when you open the door.
And you still kiss
each letter before you open it
because you know impossibilities
can still sometimes happen
or at least
you still pray they do.
And you remember all the words
to his favourite songs
just incase you hear them on the radio
so that you can sing along
in the hopes that somewhere,
he is hearing them play
and singing along too.
Time passes
and you’re still suspended
in the snow globe he bought you from the airport
because he forgot to get you anything else when he went away
so you wonder
if he’ll bring you another one
when he comes knocking on your door
at two in the morning
and saying sorry with his eyes.
It’s been three months,
you’ve lost count,
and even though you no longer remember the mole on his cheek
you still feel like
he will be back,
he needs to be back.

you can wait for weeks,
three years to the day,
and you will never get that final validation.
He will never say he’s sorry
because he’s not;
he’s found another girl
who has hair the colour of sunshine
and whose lips taste like raspberries
and he doesn’t even think of you
except once, late at night,
when the movie you two started together was playing on late-night cable,
and he wondered whatever happened to you.
And you’ll be sitting on your window sill,
waiting for your Prince Charming to arrive
all the while secretly aware
he was enjoying his
happily ever after
without you.

It’s time you learned, darling,
that the person who broke you
won’t be the person who fixes you.

Why are Women Obsessed with Weight?

Oops, I used the term “women” when I should have said “people”. I get it guys, you worry about your weight too. But most of the time, it’s women, and that’s what I’m going to be talking (writing?) about today. Sorry double standards!

Two out of three young girls (10-17) think they’re overweight. Somewhere between 50% and 70% of all NORMAL-WEIGHING WOMEN THINK THEY ARE OVERWEIGHT. What the fuck?

This is the part of the blog post where I bravely say, “Oh but thank God I’ve never felt that way because of my stellar confidence and wonderfully strong mind”… Just kidding. I’ve anything, I’ve struggled with my weight just the same, unhealthy amount as most other women.

So here it is: i went upstairs to weigh myself for the first time in probably a few years for the purpose of this blog post.

I’m 6’1” and I weigh 176 lbs as of today. Fucking ouch, that was hard to type.

Is that overweight? No, my BMI is still within the realms of average weight (but don’t even get me started on how shitty I think BMI is considering it doesn’t take into account your muscle to fat ratio etc.) and yet I’m still pretty freaking disgusted with myself. Why? Because I’ve grown up in a society filled with short girls who consider average weight to be at about 40 lbs south of where I am.

Why has it been a few years since I last weighed myself? Let me tell you a story:

It began when I was about ten years old, over a decade ago. I discovered through bullying and teasing that, sadly, I’m not built the same way as other girls. I am about as tall as it gets for most girls, and I considered this to be a bad thing for a long, long time. One of the reasons why is because I remember being seven years old and seeing the scale hit that triple digit section that none of my friends were close to hitting yet. I remember my grandma setting up a slide in her backyard that had a weight limit so, no, I couldn’t go on it, even though I was a fucking nine year old. I remember being twelve and going to the Ontario Place for my friend’s birthday party and not being able to go on half the rides because of my weight.

The best part is that I’m actually pretty slim.

weight dont matter

I went on to model for a few years when I was a teen, and my weight was harshly brought up time and time again during those years. People would tell me I’d look great if I lost my “baby fat”. Baby fat?! I was fifteen, of course I had baby fat. I also happened to be developing my body at that age, so let me apologize in hindsight for growing a rack and an ass that added a few pounds to the scale.

I felt like, and still feel like, I’m inadequate because of a number I see on a scale.

Fuck you mass media.

Jennifer Lawrence

I don’t understand the logic behind this obsession women and girls have over their weight. I work out five days a week and I have approximately zero cellulite. I have biceps (yay!) for the first time in my life, and I’m able to climb mountains and go kayaking for hours on end without getting breathless. This morning when I woke, I thought I was in excellent physical condition (and fuck yes, I look like I am too).

So why did a stupid number change all of this?

I don’t know. I fully intended to write this post as a debunking “All women are beautiful, don’t be ashamed of your weight!!!!!” but then hypocrisy set in and now, well, I’m not sure I can give others advice I don’t 100% believe myself.

christina gif

So let’s try to convince me, and hopefully you as well.

Did you know that muscle is 18% more dense than fat is? That means it takes up less space/ volume in your body when that fat has been converted. In other words, if you got a 1m x 1m block of fat and a 1m x 1m block of muscle (ew) then the muscle will weigh significantly more than the fat would. So while you’re working out, it’s natural for you to gain muscle at the same time as you are losing fat, so it makes sense that the numbers on the scale stay the same, or maybe even increase.

But hey, not all of us are gym rats (oops, guilty). Maybe you’re thinking to yourself, “That’s just great, but there’s no reason why my weight should go up and up if I’m not even working out! I must be getting FAAAAAT!”

Wrong. Did you know that there are about a hundred factors that influence and fluctuate your weight at any given time? I didn’t until I started writing this, but I’m starting to be a bit more convinced that my weight is actually JUST A NUMBER. If you’re on your period, retaining water or even stressed out, your body weight can go up.

That’s pretty spooky. (It also introduces a paradox where I can stress about gaining weight which makes me gain weight and then stress even more because I’m gaining weight and then…)

The bottom line is this: no one is ever going to know how much you weigh unless you tell them. I had a friend guess my weight recently and this bluntly honest person guessed 140 lbs.

If you’re working towards a healthier and happier you, I suggest you STAY OFF THE SCALE because WEIGHT DOESN’T MATTER! If you start working out, work toward a goal of feeling confident when you look in the mirror, not when you look at the numbers.


Okay, I think I’ve convinced myself that I’m not a whale now, but just incase you aren’t convinced quite just yet, try to remember the following:

  • your family and friends don’t give a rat’s ass about your weight
  • your SO doesn’t either (and if he or she does, dump their dumb selves ASAP)
  • dogs also don’t care about your weight
  • you should take a sledge hammer to your scale if it makes you feel any better
  • buy yourself some ice cream
  • you’re a goddess
  • I still like you even if you weigh more than you’d like to
  • you’re the perfect weight for being you
  • dogs will always be there for you
  • did I mention dogs?