Saturday, July 20, 2013


I'll wait for this to pass
I'll sit here with my rope
The words clogging in my throat.

It's 3am and we've been here before
Our hearts creak like the old floorboards
It's time to cut our cord(s).

This house doesn't feel the same
the new paint smell turned stale
I don't want to see you from the window pane.

Tears my skin, darkens my heart
I wrap this hurt around you
until you can't breathe.

Take off this blindfold
I don't want to make you dinner
the air is getting thinner.

Come closer so I can get one last look
at what I used to love and what used to love me.
A fairytale planned, it didn't come for free.

These new shoes won't fail,
take me where you won't follow
This house will end you with one swallow.

Monday, May 20, 2013


It's past midnight and you don't know where we're going,
I have an idea but it's better not knowing.

Lights sparkle on the windows as we pass through nightlife
The night that causes the not so rights
for some people.
But not us.

The digits on the meter spiral as the tires kiss the wet ground below
Our driver is a nice fellow
of few words
No words spoken between the two of us
or him.

You're not yourself tonight
It's easy to see through the blur and club lights
behind us.

The stale smell of this cab breeds into our clothes
taking over the smell of the club
before we saw each other across the dim lights
and cheap perfumes, cologne of same value
high heels and too much liquor
running mascara and smudged lipstick
bathroom stall tears, fears, whispered words
in a cloud of blur, not for me
I'm not a disaster, no need for a plaster
I'm no fix me upper.
I smile.
music killing the hearing
numbers on napkins, accompanied by slurred lines
I can see just fine.

I already knew your name, no need to play any games
feeding into the scent of the night
I'll keep you in my sight, won't put up a fight
escape into the right
Infection. Infectious.

A block away, who's to say how this will end.
If at all.
Stumble with keys, opening the door.
Fall to the floor, no need for anymore.

Come to a stop, meter switches off.
Pay the man, pay for the night, pay for what's to come
pay for what's left of the late hour
Open the car door
Now what?

I get my shoes wet.

Backpedal (flowers with no petals)

I'm not tired of the blades
or the facades
of people who don't know who they are
or who should be.

Standing still is all you can do
Don't be someone's fool
Foolish games, foolish names, foolish pains, foolish plans.
Your turn.

The flowers in my garden are no longer in bloom
colour drained from what they once was
could've been, will never be seen

The dust has settled on my welcome mat
shake it off, settled once again.
Rinse, repeat, retreat.

Go outside.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Happy (Not Enough)

Meet you at the spot where you first looked my way
Stay, or walk away, your choice.

A place for my head, out from these dark clouds
Let me escape into the crowds
Let me escape from what you remind me of
Of myself.

You say you don't understand
Your feet firmly on the ground
My feet on the ground
A million miles away.

From this place.

Awake to your beautiful face
Where I can be lost
And not guilty
Happy endings do/can/will happen for me
For you, with me.

I will take you to a better place
Give you some space
Away from the ledge
Capture what you want the most
not guilty, change the host.

I don't know if you love you, yet, but I will keep you safe.

Monday, April 15, 2013


Collecting hearts like butterflies in jars
that was the past.

A cool summer night complete with a breeze
your arms around me ease my fears.

Un-trapped by the claws of my emotions
goodbye to all the false notions.

I checked into tomorrow
no prediction of sorrow.

I see stars in the night dark
I see stars in your heart.

Monday, December 17, 2012


An work in progress short story:


The room is quiet. The foggy windows accept the light splatter of snowflakes
breeding outside. The warmth from the fireplace wonders through the house, yet it goes unnoticed by Alice. She remains fixated upon the scene outside the enticing warmth and comfort of that is plaguing the house. It's Christmas, but she doesn't care. Alice has taken refuge in her father’s study. Old books fill the shelves, his antique wooden desk, polished to a shine, remains unoccupied. This room is filled with memories of escaping with her mother and father to new adventures courtesy of the stories in these books. If only she was in this room to do just that. Perhaps she is- escaping, but from what?

Her straggly long brown hair clings to her face. Her once magnetic eyes, now black with empty, look like pieces of coal misplaced. What does she look for out there? Is she trying to catch her breath and enjoying the fact that it's Christmastime again? The time of the year when the block of quaint houses are decorated elaborately, each one different from the next. This is the place she grew up in and used to remember fondly. But not this time. It doesn't feel right. She knows it but can't quite place it.

A car wonders down the street- Alice perks up with intrigue, but realizes it's not what she is anticipating. Suddenly, she scoops up a chair close to the window and watches more

intensely. Sharon walks past the study holding a serving platter full of cookies, some decorated as snowmen, the others decorated as Santa Clauses. Party guests laugh from the end of the hallway, cushioned by Christmas music in the background. Sharon stands, caught in the middle. She looks at her daughter, delicately, she projects.

"Will you not join us Alice? We're playing some of your favorite

Alice says nothing. It’s a clear question if she heard her mother at all. A few
seconds pass by and Sharon walks down the hallway, defeated.

The next morning, Sharon enters the house with grocery bags and peers into the study.
Alice is sat on the window pane, knees up and looking out at the quiet neighbourhood.

“Alice, can you give me a hand please?” No reply.
“I bought your favourite- I thought we could have mac and cheese today as a treat.”

Alice wipes the steam from the glass, oblivious to her mother. Sharon scoops the bags
up and continues on to the kitchen.

Alice’s father, Pete, is an older man, but he is one of those older men who never lost his child-like sense of fun. It may not be as present as it once was, but in the last couple of months, it has been on the back burner. Right now, it’s early morning and shards of sun dance throughout the kitchen. He wants to desperately pull down the blinds and shut it out, but he doesn’t. He stands in the family kitchen, looking around at the holiday decorations as he stirs a cup of coffee. A handmade plate sits on the counter filled with sugar cookies, mostly for another batch of guest arriving tonight. He looks closely at it, a little smile breaks his face. He scoops it up, along with the coffee cup and walks into the hallway.

Pete finds Alice in the study, back in the chair, elbows leaning uncomfortably against the window sill. He walks in and sits the cookie plate and coffee on the nearby table. He stands, waiting for something- movement, a glance, a thank you- anything. Pete tries to reach out to her, inches away to grab her and hug her, tell her everything will be ok, but he’s not close enough. He turns and leaves the room.

Alice ignores the house guests and keeps to herself in the study. She is dressed in the same sweater from a few days ago, with a change of sweatpants. Staring hopefully out the window, she witnesses another pretty seasonal night scene; the snow has started again, lighting up the dark sky and adding a fresh layer of white to everything. Her eyes follow almost every snowflake as it hits the ground softly- her nose pinned against the cold glass in wonder.

Little does she know she has an audience. Millie, her five year old cousin, has joined her away from the adults.

“Are you crazy?” Millie innocently asks. Alice doesn’t reply.

Millie climbs her way through to Alice. She sits on her lap, wrapping her legs around
hers, coming face to face.

“Will you read me a story?” Millie’s eyes dance with encouragement that isn’t met.

“Don’t be sad. Mom says you’ll get better.”

Millie waits for Alice to open her mouth and speak, but she doesn’t.

“I don’t think so though.”

Millie climbs down and stops at the cookie dish, still on the table, untouched. Mille scoops up a couple of cookies and tiptoes out of the study.
For a split second, Alice looks away from the window, contemplates moving, then looks
back out the window.

Pete works the shovel against the pathway to the house. The fresh snow laid form the
night before is easily moved much to his surprise. Alice stares blankly at him. He waves but Alice pays no attention.

Sharon walks out of her bathroom, adjusting an earring. Pete walks into their bedroom
and slowly sits on their freshly made bed.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. Perhaps we should
invite Gary to our next games night. I know he’s usually a stick in the mud, but he’s
made more of an effort just to say hello these past few weeks.”

Pete does not reply. Their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror.

“How can we keep going?”

He hangs his head with shame. Sharon’s heart breaks for her husband. He’s a strong
man, but not right now, behind this closed door.

“It’ll get better. It has too.”

“I’m not one for gossip, but all I know is their girl hasn’t left the house in three months. You want to know why? Because she’s insane, that’s why.”

Janeane brags as she wraps a bouquet of flowers in pretty red festive wrap. Decked out in full festive attire, Janeane is a matter-of-fact-woman that is all eyes and all ears.

“You know that’s not fair, Janeane. Do you even know what happened? You
know, the truth, not just some rumour?”, Lizzy asks, not buying into the chat at all.
She’s pulling out money from her wallet as Janeane fixes a red ribbon around her

“What flew up your nose? I’ve been in this town for years and I’m telling you,
Sharon and Pete haven’t got a clue what they’re doing. Their daughter has checked out. They need to check her back in.”

Janeane attaches a pretty bow. Sharon presents herself from behind a rack, holding a

“You clearly haven’t been around for as long as I have to know Pete are I
doing the best we can. We love Alice. What would you know about raising a child? You
don’t know what it takes to be a good parent.”

Sharon throws the plant on the rack and storms out. Lizzy is shocked, looking Janeane
up and down.

“You deserved that.”

Pete pulls a load of dry clothes from the dryer and starts to slowly fold them. He’s
caught in a fond memory of himself and Alice when she was 5. Carefully, he teaches her how to precisely fold a t-shirt, while she sits eagerly on top of the built in counter top. Pete begins with laying the shirt flat on the dryer, face down, folding the sleeves to an angle, neatly folding half an inch on either side, then flipping the bottom of the t-shirt in half. He turns the shirt over as Alice inspects the final product.

“The collar’s bent,” Alice chirps.

Pete takes a step back and allows Alice to fix Sharon’s tennis shirt.

“You’re a natural,” Pete beams. “Is there more?”

Alice face is lit up like a sky filled with fireworks.
Pete picks up the laundry basket, sitting it atop the dryer.

“Looks like we’re on sock duty.” “My favourite.”

Alice dives in and carefully picks out socks, finding their match.
Pete lingers on the past, warmth from the current present.

“Are you down here Pete?”

Sharon calls down to her husband.

“Up in a minute.”

Alice sits cross legged on the floor of the study. She looks down and her skinny tiny
hands. Her fingernails bitten down to a stub. Her pale skin needs sunlight. Slowly, she stands up and looks out the window. This time she doesn’t walk towards the window, she just stands. Sharon and Pete walk past with lunch.

“Alice?” Sharon projects.

For the first time in weeks, Alice recognizes her voice.

“He’s not coming, is he?”

Sharon and Pete exchange looks. Is she coming around?

“No, honey, I’m sorry, but he’s not.”

Alice looks down at the floor beneath her.

“I’ll wait a little longer.” she nestles herself into the arm chair.

Sunday, June 3, 2012


I am the pretty girl in the room
I crack inside
I am everything I am supposed to be
or what people think I am supposed to be.

When can I stop the smile and drift aside?
I am trying to see the bright side but there's no light.
I lie in this silence, sadness - no release.
One day, none of this will matter and will cease.

I am the ugly girl in the room
I am undesirable on the outside, inside my beauty soars.
The names fade but not the bruise.

I'll see the bright side, but not now.
I want to smile but will be beat down
I'll never wear the prom queen crown
people see me as a plague, I am destined to drown.

I see the ugly girl in the room
I know she wishes she was me but I wouldn't want that for anyone.

I see the pretty girl in the room
I'd wish I was her but I know she feels exactly how I do.


Friday, May 4, 2012


I don't like your face
I'm over finding your trace(s)
you stick to me like glue.

I'd wish you'd stop being my shadow,
little lost puppy dog
I don't want to be mean to you, but I've asked you to go
plain and simple.

You bore me, you bore us.
Please don't make a fuss
I never liked your t-shirts anyway
No, you can't keep a toothbrush here
I'm making that clear.
You always make a mess in the bathroom.
I can never find my lip gloss.

Your scraped up knees are ugly
They don't do anything for me.
Your car smells of old food
and the window doesn't roll down easy.
You're a lousy tipper
car stripper

I've got my own keys and I can buy my own dinner.

Friday, April 13, 2012

The Quiet

No words to say other than the right ones
How to begin
How to end.

A moment alive, a moment to revive

Empty pages ready for a breath
of something long overdue.
I'm not sure how to pursue
the beginning of what should last a lifetime
or perhaps just the right time.

Maybe tomorrow I won't be quiet.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

New Chapter(s)

I am finally getting back into the writing groove. I honestly haven’t felt it in a while, so this marks the first weekend in a while that I’ve set up camp in a coffee shop at 8:30am and cranked out a few pages. I am also looking forward to attending a young adult novel writing class later this month- hopefully the college doesn’t cancel it like last term. those buggers.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Playground Love

I’ve been thinking alot about my book series I’m trying to write. Digging through my memories of what my high school years consisted of. No school uniforms was a blessing attending school in Canada and despite what you may see in the movies, not all high schools were filled with the clearly defined stereotypical groups. Mine sure wasn’t anyway. I found that mostly talking to the less popular kids was more my thing than trying to fit into the popular crowd. Having your first high school crush and whether or not to ask that guy out, trying to pass chemistry class and failing with enthusiasm no matter how hard you tried to compromise with the teacher or just trying not to forget your locker combination. My years of high school consisted of Dawson’s Creek, Buffy The Vampire Slayer on YTV on Saturday nights, The Spice Girls on repeat, Leonardo DiCaprio became a full fledged heartthrob and occupied my bedroom wall, calling mean boys at school wankers, American Pie & the teen horror genre revisited the cinema, wearing platform sneakers, flared Tommy Hilfiger jeans and cutting my own hair short following Cameron Diaz’ in There’s Something about Mary. Yes.. that made a great yearbook photo… One thing I am utterly proud of in my high school career is that I passed drama class with flying colours and always wrote my own material, except for my directing final which i got top marks. I’m also proud that i didn't trip on stage at the graduation ceremony. I think I survived pretty good.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Empty Chair

For your convenience.

One Day

One day I'll be with my own
that day I will have outgrown

One day will be worth the wait
finally setting my sails for something great
not you.

Wake up somewhere new with someone about due
change the smile on my face
you are without a trace.

One day soon,
sooner than I think.

White Picket Fences

A friend of mine got me thinking about this, and maybe it's my age that I'm approaching (30 next week), or maybe it's the conversations I've had with my sister, and other folks along the way, but the idea of getting married, having children and settling into perfect suburbia just makes me cringe.

Marriage can be a great thing, but just because you have that shiny band on your finger doesn't solve anything. It may solve that it would be harder for one of you to walk away so easily and the lingering price tag of the wedding may be running through your head, but being married doesn't mean a lifelong fairytale. I suppose this is where I would be a little jaded by the idea of getting married. If I ever met someone who felt the same towards marriage as I do, then I'd do it. Most people I come across just want to get married for the wedding, which seems absolutely wild considering how much money weddings cost. If I got married, I would grab my guy, hop on a plane and get married somewhere. No fuss, no 200 guest list, just me and him and then have a huge party when we returned.

Most people I talk to can't wrap their head around the fact I don't want children. "oh, but don't you want a family of your own?' is the most popular response I get. Of course I want a family, but I feel like I already have it in the form of my friends and family already in place. I don't want children and the thought of being a mother has never crossed my mind and at this point, I don't think it ever will. If I did get to the point of wanting children, I would adopt. There are plenty of children without a home that I would rather invest in than going through nine months of stretch marks, uncontrollable bladder, swelling and mood swings. I can do that on a Tuesday. I don't go gaga for babies and it's really hard for me to pretend. This proved at an event recently, that I don't mind children, I just have a hard time trying to go nuts over them. A puppy, however, is a different story.

A relative of mine once said that I was a different example of people my age. I knew exactly what she meant by that - I don't have a fiancee, mortgage, car, career of my choice (although I do work for an Academy Award winning, billion dollar company, and shit- that's the icing on my cake for now), I don't have babies on the brain and I do my own thing. I knew she was fishing for further details - whether she thinks I am OK or not is besides me- but she was concerned that maybe I was unhappy. I am not unhappy, I am just unattached in the conventional way. I'm not alone, I'm just by myself. Is that such a crime? I don't think so, but it would be nice to go to a company event, party, friend gathering with a special someone to show off.

Until then, I'll keep banging out the best heels and the best British sarcasm I can.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Dear Love(r)

I came to tell you I shall keep your memory
locked in another place.
I heard you found happiness in a form that I cannot invent.
I will be around without any trace.

I would walk through fire
for one chance of desire,
that feeling has passed
and I have found something that will last.