Let Me Feel Something

I have but one thing I wish to tell you
my darling,
Before you go off and see the world as it is:
Not everything has to be beautiful, my starling.
It is what it is what it is.

When she was six,
Her father warned her
about covering her lips
if she yawned.
Now she’s sixteen,
and she covers her lips
every time that
she smiles.
And it’s as
if she were

I have so much to say
But every time my pen meets the page
I feel like I’m stuttering,
Like something has dragged my words back
In to my lungs,
And kept me from breathing.
I have so much to say
But with blank pages
And full-pens
I feel like I have slowly
Become nothing.
Like i have
Lost everything that
I once thought was
and above the feelings of
Dissatisfaction and hopelessness
I only feel lonely.

When there is nothing left,
I’ll want to leave.
I’ll stuff socks into shoes and shoes into my suitcase,
And I’ll grab my handle and roll off.
I’ll take that moment that often happens in life,
The one where you stand amidst everything,
In the quiet,
Not knowing what to do next,
And I’ll bask in it for a while.
And when I finally decide to move my sneakers forwards,
I’ll notice that 2 bus tickets and a handful
Of Canadian change won’t get me very far.
So I’ll turn back around.
And eventually I’ll cover my eyes and
Blind on my bed.
Turn up my radio,
Deaf in my head.
Because the emptiness,
Is deafening,
And the vastness of these lonely white planes I see,
Are blinding.
And once again I’ll realize that
I am nothing.
And that nothing
Can not just get off her bed and leave

Together, we managed to split the earth in such away that each piece could fit behind each other’s lips.
We never ran out of conversation because we could feel the edges of the world against our jaws,
And when we kissed.
Everything found a place again,
And heaven became your eyes
And hell became the pit
That grew in the space between my hip bone slope.
We always had a reason to lie in each other’s arms
Because damn gravity wouldn’t let us do anything else.
My favourite part of us is that we grew things.
I never grew things before us.
We breathed from the amazon that had risen from the back of our throats,
And you tucked vines behind my ear while insisting that
We can’t always hide behind the beauty we create because being capable of creating beauty is proof that you
Are even the more beautiful.
We loved each other
Seems too simple to say,
Almost as if love wasn’t good enough because no one really knows how to define it anyways so we just called it
And said us was beautiful and that we’d grow things to keep it that way and tie branches that grew from our brain stem
Across the bridge of our noses,
So we’d never leave.
I remember the first time we kissed I was so afraid that
I was going to choke on the earth.
I never even conceived the idea
That the Big Bang would explode against our tonsils,
And knock our teeth in the wrong direction.
And now we know.
That the butterflies in our tummies
are really softly shining stars.
We know that they belong there,
That we shouldn’t think of removing them to rid ourselves
Of the shivers and shakes that they provide
Because when we kissed,
Everything found it’s place again.

I am.
I start a lot of poems with
I am.
I hear a lot of people cry while yelling
I am-
I feel a lot of sadness in the words
I am.
I used to run my fingers along the words
I am
I used to see the future in
I am.
I can still see the power from the letters
I am
I know now that power works in many different dialects.
I am.
I insert a verb and I come to life.
I am.
I slap on an adjective and lately it makes me feel nauseous.
I am.
I think they sound too certain, those words.
As if they didn’t believe in change’s existence.
I am.
I notice that the more I write it out the closer I am becomes to looking like the numbers on my clock.
I am.
Giving up on the fill in the blanks, mad-libbed game we are always forced to play.
I am
Tired of
I am.

There is enough pain in this world
and I know none of their names.
I can never say that I know pain.
I am not allowed to feel sadness.
I am not allowed to cry.
This is what I understand.
This is what I have been told.
This must be why so many people claim they feel numb.
If they do not feel happy,
and they can not feel sad,
they are forced to empty themselves.
To create echoes within themselves.
To freeze.
To burn.
To unknowingly,
cease to exist.

The tide waits for no one.
So why am I still standing here?
My fingers are clenched in the sand,
My nails are raking the shore, leaving streaks and trails.
I seem to always be here,
Waiting for you to dismiss me.
I am a part of the ocean.
I am powerful and beautiful,
And I want you to know that it has taken me awhile,
To speak that one sentence,
And yet, I wait for your command.
Moon my dear,
I have had enough of waiting for your
Gravity to pull me down.
I have had enough,
My limbs are turning soft, my fingers have eroded into buds.
Let me slip silently
Back into the sea,
And I will promise you,
That I will never wreck these shores again.

I dont know why
I refuse to shut my eyes,
I know that the dark
will always look the same.
and that darkness in the day,
and darkness in the night,
They are still equals.
I think I refuse to close them,
for fear that I am shutting
out the