[untitled.]

she makes me want to pluck the sun out of the sky
have it gift wrapped
with a big frilly bow
and left on her doorstep
in honor
in hope that she'll love me back.

she makes me think
I should climb a mountain
and I could
and would
just to get her a drink
of the clearest water
she's ever had
touch her lips

yeah it's that bad.

it's because she makes me soar
on the days
[especially the days]
when my heart,
and head
can't take anymore.

it's because she can finish a sentence
I haven't even started yet.

it's because even when we
shudder and quake
shiver and break
when we've taken all we can take,
our hearts and minds
combined
rip up dictionaries,
throw the pieces to the floor,
and roll around
until the right words stick
and just as quickly as we shattered,
all the things that mattered in the first place
are back in their place
and we are whole
and holy.

and what do I do when a girl
who makes me this happy
falls into my lap and says
"see?"

and suddenly makes me see.

for the first time, I see.

I see the beauty of sun rays
pouring through my window, like a gift.
curtains there to block out the sun,
but still the light finds little places
to slip through
and I'm amazed
at how the patterns undo
me.

I see the
bluest blue sky
and it reminds me of the times
when she held me
with words
like security blankets
until I made it through
to the other side
where she was waiting
with her whole heart
held out
mine for the taking..

and I see that we can never be
except during all the hours, days, weeks,
when we are.
who knew arms could reach this far
because if you ask me,
I'll tell you
yes.

I feel her skin against mine
our heartbeats beating
not in time
but in harmony.
filling in the spots where the other gets weak
because it's a love that doesn't speak
but sings
and reminds you of your favourite song
when you were seven

the one that gets into
the empty parts of your soul
and makes you want to dance
how you dance
when no one is watching..

how it falls..

it's bathtime
and my best friend and roomie's
little girl's
2 & 3 years old
are looking up from their spot in the tub
and the way the water rolls down
their face is beauty

the way their faces light up
when we run a cup
of soap under the faucet
and bubbles pour out
accompanied by pearls of laughter

the way the smallest
grabs my hand in the hall
and says something
about ribbons
and I later learn that she was validating
all that I am
'it's ok to love women'

acceptance from the mouths of babes

and the way these words just fit
in my mind

she said the beauty of the rain is how it falls
but instead our teenage girls are concerned with shopping malls
and how the words of their peers
determine their 'true' beauty
so they starve themselves
of culture
and ideas
identity
and cry because they're not a size zero

I'm not a size zero

but I am mind
and spirit
I am curves
that don't quit
I am breasts and hips
I refuse
to give
into their shit

I refuse to let anyone tell me
that every inch of me isn't beautiful.
that I'm not a goddess in mortal form
that somehow a model's 80lb form
makes her superior

I will not declare myself inferior
because I will love my body
shoulders to hands
head to toes
breasts and belly
and the beautiful
places that only
few others get to know

I've got continents of beauty
that reside inside
and outside
of the skeleton that is me
but you won't see that skeleton pushing
through my skin

becoming
living
dead

so I'm sending a message
to the ear of every girl
who is or isn't a size zero

aren't you wondering
who's your little girl's hero?
strung out former child stars?
displaying the symptoms of withdrawal
on reality tv
because they have nothing left to lose
like the best poet you've ever read
losing her muse.

who is igniting a fire in their hearts?
is there a part of them that just wants to say stop?
but they just smile and nod and hide the tears
drying on their cheeks
with layers of liquid coverup
and sticking their fingers down their throat
behind a napkin to be polite

some how it's ok
to throw up
and throw out
every nutritional source
of what you are

I want to show them the beauty of the clouds that make shapes that send
preschoolers into frenzies of wonder:
'that one looks like a truck!'
'that one looks like a flower!'

the beauty of a dozen ladybugs
crawling up the side of a building
every last one of them good luck
if they choose you to land on.

ladybugs don't care about
the size of your thighs

when did we stop worrying about spilled milk, broken crayons, and
snacktime?

when did she forget that you're only supposed to stop being best friends
until after naptime?

when did loving become a crime?

when did guns replace hugs in the schoolyard?

when did hate become okay and have you made a difference in a child's
life today?

we've got to get back to the beauty. holding up a mirror to the world's
beat up face and saying 'you are beautiful'.

no matter the size, colour, shape. no matter the accent, homeland, or
name.

a stranger told me yesterday
that I was beautiful
and instead of bowing my head
and getting down on my knees
and acting as if
it was the only compliment
I'd ever received,
I held my head high
looked the stranger straight in the eyes
and said 'I know
and thank you
and you are beautiful, too'

I will not bow down
to societal norms
I will not cry
because I can't fit into the size
twos that you adorn
I will hold my head high
because it's the only way to be

and when you see me
you'll see
that beauty is me.

imitation

sometimes i think i've forgotten how to communicate.
or maybe i've never learned how to really do it before.

this realization feels like remembering how
to breathe without thought after so many
scheduled
labored
breaths.

Inhale.
Exhale.

First 'hello'.. Inhale.
Letting go.. Exhale.

[and how do you know anything
when everything you know isn't real?]

You're the ink & the pen
we're the words.
i'm the indents on the next page
left from your impression of us..
a ghost of the story
[a ghost of a girl]
wanting to form, but without
the necessary utensils..
i am an imitation of myself.