Way out

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There’s a way out

but no one wants

to take that door,

it remains open

for a while

you shut it with memories

reopen it after day drunk sex

afternoon delights came early that year

and same sex marriages finally exist.

There’s a way out

but he wants to perform on stage

hold the microphone like it’s me

sing to the women

about my heart

how it aches at worldly matters

that most girls barely glance at,

he whispered “there’s the exit”

and we took that door

it was raining hard on St. Paul street

and he grabbed my arm

led me to this new club

we smoked everything back then

we kissed in dark shady corners

smelling like booze and smokes

red lipstick on his mouth

duMaurier packs in my bra

ripped stockings from his fingers

bathroom make up sex

we had rustic love

raw appeal.

There’s a way out

of everything

you tell me,

and I feel like

you are as far

as the moon

and as close

as it feels

when I look upon it.




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It could be a musical

it could be our next weekend getaway,

but right now

the morality of this you tube video

is up in flames with rage,

as more police officers

prove that hatred and racism

and sixteen gun shoot wounds

kill another young man

for no reason

(oh, he might have had a knife)

(or it could have been planted)

or is there really a valid

reason? Seriously, this

video that is unsuitable for

young viewers

is what young viewers

are subjected to.

Friends of mine are struggling

with this hatred every day

in Chicago,

in all the cities of the free world.

Yet, when I see how humanity

proves its evil hatred ways

I want to cry

for a young innocent life


Parents and cities up in arms

the war never ends

the internal race war

that started to infiltrate

before Rodney King

during a time

when buffaloes roamed

and land created this slaugher

of souls.


illusions of handholding

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I get up

every mourning

to breaths of fresh air,

ran with my dog

in bottine avec talon

neighbours envious of

tight jeans and spunk

and no matter how many times

I leave, i always come back

to handwritten love notes.

Come back to

his grip,

he knows how to woo me

how to kill me with words

when he holds me

I close my eyes

remember the first time

our eyes and souls met

our bodies never lying.

Yet he disappears

when my voice carries 


he pretends i’m like the others

when my pain carries

splashes of colour

he never knew could mix together.

he knows it all

thinks i’m easy to manipulate

into sewn fabric

but i rip too easily

shrink when touched

melt in your mouth

and i can’t hold on

for much longer.

you’re stronger



and thus

i’m weaker

under the lies

 i do not trust

the truth.

It shifts

into reality.


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crucify ourselves

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I don’t know how some people meet once and never again

delete love like typos

it is a constant pain to love

the person who loves you back

who is somewhere in the sea.

i almost died and every time

i’m scared, i shatter inside.

certain songs make me cry

like a fucking baby, like the ones

you sent me.i never give up

but you

you never give up on me

i’m not 33, those years came and went

i have some numbness in my hand now

spent the day in the hospital

watching a loved one slowly die

and now going back for more

show the kids how death decides us

show my heart what love is inside of us.

you make it all better when they come

after me,

with lies and jealousies,

with hate and envy

you see me for more than a shade of plum

beauty that ultimately becomes ashes

and a thousand year old soul.

take me to that place

you begged me to go to

even if it does not exist.

somewhere in the photo

in the deep parts of my ocean

you float with me

and shut the door

to crucify me

against the wall

to kiss my tears

and bury your head

in the curve of my collarbone.


photo : Ryan Muirheadimage

Bullets in roses

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Some people come at you with roses

and hidden treasures

of dynamite,

wait for you to step back

and give them your love

because they’ve given you

so many roses

so many hearts

so much bullshit

and you give them back

so sweet are you,

so innocent.

Some people come at you with bullets

knock you down

before you can punch,

because you’ve given them the right

by accepting

so many x’s and o’s

they call you beautiful


and plant seeds behind your back

create obscure hurtful


and pray for your loved ones.

I’ve always been the way I am

one face, one account, one name

and this makes me

an easy target

I know.

but I can’t let it go

I can’t be sweet anymore

so people that intentionally

hurt me with their roses

I kick out of my life

with my own Bullets: words.