I wonder how different

all the versions of myself are

that live in the minds of other people, 

wonder how I measure

in the eyes of each acquaintance,

passing stranger,


almost friend,

I have ever known. 

I read somewhere 

that no matter what you do, 

you will always be plagued 

by those who hate you,

spite you,

resent you,

unconsequently suffocate you

with back-handed comments 

that leave your throat dry. 

What the article didn’t mention

was the amount of people 

who will appreciate your tenderness,

your raw and bleeding heart,

your stupid puns, 

your inability to dance 

with an insistence of doing it anyways;

they will see you as so much more

than your bedroom mirror. 

I wonder how different 

all the versions of myself are

that live in the minds of other people,

and I wonder if there’s any

 I would like. 

– remarks 


Relearning how to Breathe

The act of writing
has always calmed me:
I spit out poetry like wildfire
and sometimes
it’s all I need to douse the flames.
The art of curving letters,
manipulating the alphabet
to create new worlds
has always been
my favourite bandage.

So for me, being speechless
equates with numbness,
a reality where the words in my mind
and on my tongue
don’t reach my fingertips
and never grace pages;
it is my own personal ninth circle,
where the demons
are the dark, twisted stories
trying to snake their way
into poisoning my parchment.

I can’t breathe
without the right words
to describe how the sweet mountain air tastes
when paired with the bitterness of a fresh betrayal.
And I can’t speak
because for once
I have no words
to fix this.

being silent 


I fall for lies
when they are fed to me
on silver spoons from silver tongues,
even when they leave a metallic taste in my throat
that reminds me of coming rain
and storm clouds.
I fall for people
when they convince me to,
landing often beside closed arms and harsh words
and waking in a graveyard
of friendships and promises;
it’s my own fault
for assuming someone would catch me.

But the thing about being clumsy is
I don’t just fall,
I crash.

Ask Me Tomorrow

“You will find someone one day
who makes you feel worthwhile –
who convinces you
that you can move mountains,
pull tides,
ebb and flow through life
easily, with a grace you never knew you had.

“You will find something one day
that will remind you that you are a warrior,
a goddess,
a fucking hurricane with a purpose
and that purpose is to exist,
to bless everyone with your incredible self
and to care for them with a fierce passion
they never knew you could conjure.

“You will find some time one day
to forgive yourself of past mistakes and bad intentions
and to remind yourself
that you were never the problem
but rather, often self-love
was the solution
you never knew you were capable of.”

– excerpts from a pep talk