Flip

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blog, fiction, montreal, poem, poetry, prose, words, write, writing

I rubbed my eyes

didn’t bother calling out his name

bare feet hit the floor

despite the heat

I should have known by the flip of his hair

he would walk all over me.

Editing

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blog, fiction, imagery, images, inspiration, metaphors, montreal, novel, poems, poetry, prose, soul mates, vampire story, writing

I want to see you beating

down the door

to come and sit here 

in the darkness

and listen to the sound of my breathing.

I like the dark and all its possibilities

its mystery

I am editing again

reading urban dictionaries

farktard is a real good one

as is memes. 

Compromise

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blog, fiction, metaphor, poem, poems, poet, poetry, words, writing

No matter what expression I hide
you read my mind
like a best-selling novel
and highlight the parts of me
that fall through your grasp.
I am a Nicholas Sparks book
you flip me on my stomach
and leave me transient
frozen on the word “but”
you decide the weather
is just perfect to plant tomatoes
the ozone means pebbles to you.
I concentrate on typing
suddenly the loud French broadcaster
argues about hockey players
this echoes into my sentences
I slam the door shut
and shout
lower the damn thing
I wonder what is worse
tomatoes that do not sprout
or my life open on the kitchen table
for everyone to read.

Beyond

Tags

imagery, metaphor, poem, poetry, writing

Enter me and you will hear symphonies
a city of dynamic lights
childhood memories
the common term fireworks
will evade you
as my blood becomes yours
my skin crushes
Red Hot Chili Peppers
sing The Otherside
yet my mystery is invisible
I suddenly leave
breathless
wandering
solos ripping me up
cuts frothing with bacteria
then I dip my bare foot
into the tip of the ocean
and I see beyond
the endless possibilities
to your closed eyes.

Waiiting

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blog, fiction, imagery, images, love, paranormal romance, philosophy, prose, thoughts, vampire story, waiting, writers, writing

Sun is burning through the thick layers of my skin, into my very core. The air is thick with averting eyes and hardhats. Trucks, cars, vans all waiting to fit their purchases into trunks that are made too small. Here I am, in front of Ikea, sitting on planks of wood that will be assembled to make my clothes feel comfortable, pretty to look at. Sweep the clutter away. Organize my mind, refresh my life with order and iambic pentameter.
I am waiting for you to put air in your tires and the strangers around me are smoking, talking, eating, working and my bum is sore. The worst part is I forgot my sunglasses and as usual my phone is dying, which means I have to stop writing, and after the battery dies and the words are not stopping, I will regret that I forgot my notebook on the kitchen table.
No one will read it, nor open it out of curiosity. No one seems to notice, but when I type it orderly and edit the sentences before I publish everyone notices. Waiting is good for the soul, it gives me time to think about not having to be somewhere. It gives me time, point finale.

I know her

Tags

blog, fiction, gitls, metaphor, poem, poetry, poetry month, prose, writing

What is it like to be that girl
that no one ran in the rain for
never got that call in the middle of the night
of wanting, desire filling the air thick
groins aching
she looks at me from across the room
and I feel the daggers slicing me up
green monsters sliding up and down
the contours of my body
I feel ugly for being pretty
she talks of solitude days and nights
her four walls of loneliness
as if it were a disease
while my envy of solitude
seeps out of my pores
as I imagine 
myself typing on my first typewriter
uninterrupted by cooking duties
suddenly her eyes well up with
more than mere sadness
I cannot empathize
I slap myself out of my revelry
and my own tears envelope me
the scenario makes
me wonder as I hastily
unexpectedly
leave the room
am I shedding tears for
her
or
me?

Vision, 2013

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blog, dreams, fiction, imagery, images, love, metaphor, poem, poet, poetry, romance, writing

Uncommon

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blog, expectations, fiction, poem, poetry, writing

Do not tempt me with flowers

or poetry lines

do the uncommon

surprise me

with anything but that

it is too familiar

too contrived

I expect so much more from you.

 

No blinds

Tags

m

Sleep while the sun hits
Your eyes so strongly
You get up to read Gatsby
What else is there to do
At sunrise?
The sun is blinding me
I write a story about a girl
With too many siblings
She becomes lost in the tree
Sun makes us think
Do things we would not do in the dark
At dusk.
Sun has a power over us
It makes me my cafe au lait
merci, mon amour

Music in me

Tags

analogy, April month, blogs, fiction, first novel, inspiration, love, metaphor, montreal, muse, music, poem, poetry, poetry month, prose, romance, soul mates, vampire story, writers, writing

When you came straight for me
and took my hand
to lead me on the dance floor
I thought what took you so long?
When you whispered in my ear
nothing special
yet heart warming
I thought what cologne are you wearing?
When you feel as I do
identical, like twins
I want to wrap my arms tightly
around your waist
Two hearts beat as one
my heart strings will tell you a story
of how my pitch and tone
accompanied with yours
would make a critical duet.

Music is the line that draws me near
creates swirls of color to my canvas
caresses you with sound
and rips you into tiny scraps of paper
floating on the St. Lawrence river.

It is the note that binds us like glue
and the sound that shreds us into pieces.