Part 1: Love is like...

Love is like spaghetti.

You twirl it around your fork

Like a ballerina solo,
And when you lift it from your plate,
Red spots appear on your white polo.

Spaghetti is so disgustingly messy.
In one hand a fork, another a spoon,
Looking 'cross the table at your lover,
A slurping, sucking, idiotic baboon.

Spaghetti is the worst of all
It's frustrating like emotions.
Slipping and sliding and never cooperating
Causing all sorts of commotions.

But when you manage to cram a bite

Into your gaping gob

It's always so rich and soothing

And worth looking like a slob.

It's like conjouring old memories

When you need a quick fix

And people will always go back to it

No matter what's in the mix.

Love is so much like spaghetti

It frustrates you til you turn blue

But once you get to savour it

It'll always be there for you.

She left the door to her heart open

She left the door to her heart open,
welcoming visitors and guests to stay,
but an angry southern wind rushed in
dashing 'round the house
knocking over stacks of feelings
and buckets of tears.

She cowered in the corner
Waiting for the wind to finish rustling through her thoughts,
Flipping over wishes
Smashing dreams
Revealing an ugly, brutal
truth.

Just as the wind came in
away it blows,
leaving a massive, interwoven mess.
She peeped around the corner
checking for any slight rustle
from a friendly creature.

One candle stayed alight,
hoping to catch her wavering, watering gaze,
and guide her back to a small window
into the deepest part of herself,
where, stowed willy nilly,
small reminders of herself lay
shining and golden.

GREAT Expectations

"Sweep my off my feet!" says she,

"I dream of racing moonbeams,
of sailing along a silent sea,
of drinking from coconuts b'neath a palm tree;
with you, and only you,
holding my hand,
stroking my hair,
taking in the tropical air.

"I see us running
laughing,
playing,
making sweeter love than birds and bees;
I see us getting lost in cobbled streets
of our love in Paris.

"Why do you not reach beyond the stars,
Past the present to never ending bliss?
Why can't you care for me
more than a dove cares for its mate?
Why aren't you more passionate
than a wolf as he romances the moon?
O, why don't you love me
like Romeo loved Juliet?"

"I'm sorry, " says he,
his eyes sparkling in emerald green
"But I think your patriarchal notions of what should be
are ridiculously obscene."

Cliche down?

They always tell you to live life to the fullest

Like there's no tomorrow

Because you only live once

And you're young, and meant to make mistakes.

They say that you should take chances

That you should spread your wings and fly

That you should reach for the stars

Because life is fleeting and precious and you don't want to regret anything.

Maybe they're right

Maybe we take for granted our time here

Maybe we are too self-conscious, too thrifty, too blind

To the amazing world in front of us.

But maybe I like to fret over the small things sometimes.

Maybe I worry and scrimp and save and keep caution close

Because my life and the people in it matter

Maybe I play by my own rules.

I say it's okay to get tied up in knots

If you know how to loosen them now and again.

I say I will care for you and respect you and be honest and maybe even love you

Because you matter more to me than they do.

Thanks.

Chocolate Gold coins

Richness is

A handful of chocolate gold coins

Shared between two best friends 

Sitting on the floor 

Swapping stories of their secret crushes.

A whirlwind of ideas

Swirling, spinning, dancing

To the well tuned orchestra

That is your mind.

A love shared

In secret doorways or the plazas of Spain

Where sparks fly from eye to eye

Igniting the air with raw passion.

A firm hug

That aims, not to rid you of sorrow

But at least soak up your tears

Until you've no more.

A chocolate gold coin split in two

Because someone dropped their last on the floor

And you would rather share what you have

Than lose a precious future.

Shallows

Early in the afternoon,
When the tide glides out and the breeze is light,
A snail and a hermit crab linger
In a small pool amongst the baby sea grass.

Today they are knocking shell upon shell,
A battle to see whose will shatter first;
The victor looking on
As the homeless one is fried by the sun.

Slow and steady the tiny
Click-clack of shell on shell
Is deafening in the shallow pool,
But lost in the noise beyond.

The snail stubbornly stands firm
Waiting for blow upon blow
Until it gathers it strength and
Slams the thin-legged crab.

Though it may topple under the weight of its shell,
The hermit crab has but one speed,
And would rather ruin its home
Than concede to the likes of a snail.

On and on the battle rages,
Even as thin cracks appear in both shells;
They crash and clash, gnashing and thrashing
When, at last, they are left bare.

Tiny pieces of shell are accepted by the sea
As the tide rushes into the rocks.
The snail and the hermit crab trudge off, homeless;
Though their hearts are one.

Baby Steps

Tiptoeing down the endless boardwalk
being careful not to trod on open spaces
is exhausting work.

The dirt road may be dusty and gritty
But there is a freedom
in being able to jump and run without fearing cracks in the road.

There is beauty in having both.
One foot on the boardwalk, one on the road
Seeing the path, but not knowing the end.

Perhaps it is a dance, a balance of both
And those who chose one or the other are fortunate
To be so sure in the needs of their feet.

Talking to yourself again?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who's that elegant beauty
That shimmers when she smiles
The belle of the urban ball?
That,with one glance of thanks,
Makes us feel a thousand feet tall?
That melts the ice on the ground
with a single footfall.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who's that annoying kid
That kicks over bricks
And laughs as they fall?
That makes us all cry
And makes other appalled?
That looks so innocent
But is a bully outside the halls?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who's that kind-hearted soul,
Picking out a bandaid for a crying child?
Who's that brat
Picking out someone's mistake?
Who's that siren
Silently sashay-ing across the floor?
Who's that dork
Investigating new planets and universes?
Who's that quirky brain
Constantly discovering; creating?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why won't you answer my call?

The Conch

(courtesy of http://rateeveryanimal.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/conch.jpg)

They say if you put your ear to a conch you can hear the ocean.
They say you hear waves ebbing and flowing,
Back and forth,
And you can imagine lazing in paradise,
with the sun beating down on your face.

But when I listen closely,
Beyond the waves,
Beyond picturing warm sand between my toes,
and the distant cry of strange birds,
I hear your voice.

I hear you say,
"Come with me.
Come with me on the strangest, darkest,
Most amazing adventure you've had in your life.
Come with me on a daring, dazzling
journey that will challenge you in ways you've never known.
Come with me on the calmest, gentlest
stroll you will ever know.
Come with me", I hear you say.

I wish I could call back into the conch.
I wish I could say,
"I will leap with you
Into the canyon, the abyss, knowing we are falling together.
I will run with you
Laughing even though there are wild dogs chasing after us.
I will carry you
When you are hurt and need my arms.
I will", I want to say.

So I whisper the three words I mean most into the conch,
And lay it down in a bed of cool sand,
So that when the next person listens,
Maybe they will hear the words they've always wanted to hear,
And maybe they will say the things they've always wanted to say.
And maybe they will love more than I have ever loved.
And their world will be brighter and lighter
and full of the things I wish I could give you.

Midnight Blues

Peer into a clear night sky,
and you may catch a star winking at you.

Maybe it's a hero;
Off on another quest to save our world
From a fearsome meteor,
threatening to blast us into millions
Upon billions
of dusty particles.
Maybe he catches your eye,
and gives you that silent signal that
Everything will be fine.

Maybe it's another form of life,
And they're sending message after message
Trying to find some form of communcation,
but to no avail.
Maybe they're just trying to reach our wavelength,
to find out why we're turning our planet
Black with the stain of oil.

Maybe it's just a star
Bored of all it's other star companions,
it reaches out to another world.
It spies us, billions of lightyears away
And wants to make a connection,
be our friend in this dark and lonely universe.
Maybe it doesn't want us to feel
alone.

What does a wink mean anyways?

a letter from a woman you loved

Dear _______
Dear friend
Dear lover
Dear broken heart

Do you remember when we carved our names
into the bridge across the soft stream?
When we laughed and sighed
and skipped from beam to beam?
When I counted plucked petals
and watched you catch a drip rolling from your ice cream?
When you chased me in the park
and I let loose a childish, joyous scream?

Do you remember when I tripped and fell
And hated that you weren't there to catch me?
When I wandered onto my own way
Unknowingly into a forest of rusty debris?
When you called to ask if I was fine
And I only had the guts to say "Well it would be..."
When I let you go
And you felt like a body on a gurney

Do you remember how we held hands
Yesterday, on the dock facing the boats?
And we recounted the days past
Writing love note after love note?
When I could tell you how much I loved you
Making all your insides seem to float?
When our world was so real
And everything else was remote?




I do too.



Sincerely,

a woman you loved.

The Bull

The sun is hot.
It drives down onto my smooth, gleaming coat.
He steps onto the field.
He looks dashing,
His black suit beautifully embroidered
With slick lies and false diamonds.

The crowd roars in delight
As his feet are cushioned by the sand
With every flat-footed step.
They wave and cheer for him.
They spit and curse at me.
He holds his arms up in victory.

Silence falls.
He stands at the ready.
A distant quiver in the red cloth
I bolt from one edge of the stadium to the other,
The power in my legs urging me to fell him
Like a sapling to a great axe.

The red disappears and the crowd cheers.
I am a fallen jester
Being pelted with apple cores and gum wrappers.
He laughs and winks
Thinking his quiet smirk will distract me;
He is not safe.

I lock into his eyes,
No more do I see his flashy red cape,
I see into his faults
I aim my horns towards his heart
A rush of wind,
Nothing.

I walk proudly with my trophy.
I parade the circumference of my ring,
My triumph held high for patrons to ogle.
I am the victor today,
and he shall stay mounted on my horns,
Which shall remain painted red.

Being grateful

Something happened.
I'm missing the fire;
That piece that plays Town Crier
When you get in my face
Or out of place
Or annoy me to the point where I want to throw my shoes at you.

I'm fuzzy
And buzzy
And can't remember why I'm so angry.
Because all I can think about
Is when you let me spout
My problems like a 12 year old to her mother, too polite to say no.

Your kindness is overwhelming.
And it makes me horribly, sickeningly, unbelievably...


Grateful.

Speak Easy

Speak easy to me
Like a soft wind on the roses petals;
Like a gentle snowflake on my bare cheek;
Like a lover to the moon.

Speak easy to me
And ease my mind of doubts
Ease my body of cares
Ease my spirit of worries.

Speak easy to me
Like I am your only Muse;
Like you only see light in me;
Like you'll never see light again.

The Sand Woman

On the isle of Namow
When the breeze catches the delicate grains
Lying, lazing on the beach
She rises to meet the wave of the sea.

Carefully sculpted by a soft spray
She turns to face the water
Bidding the sun goodnight
And begin her inland journey.

The wolves sound with her first steps
Howling, teeth bared,
Desperate to take a piece of her
Back to their den for a midnight snack.

She strides forward, entering the brush,
The beasts squawking and barking in delight
Greedily greeting their visitor;
But her stride is steady.

She climbs the incline,
Bombarded by beaks and teeth and claws
Scraping, tearing, ripping
Leaving a sprinkling of sand on the forest floor.

The hounds break ranks and charge
Leaping viciously at her body
To devour what part of her they can;
But she continues, her face to the canopy.

Her arms are shredded
Her frame wobbles and wavers
Ready to collapse at any moment
As chunks of her coarse flesh are robbed from her.

She reaches a clearing, and the moon disappears
Paralyzing the animals in the bush.
The gentle wind embraces her broken figure
And, grain by grain, carries her back to the sea.

Scattered among the ripples in the water,
She will piece herself back together
And when the sun next passes through the sky,
She will begin her journey again, whole.

Poor Me

Feel sorry for us Albertans.

While we’re dealing with piles of snow

Complaining about how it just won’t go,

You sit there with sandals on your feet

Begging for change on the side of the road.

And while we battle the cold and the sleet,

Freezing off our baby toes,

You beat the heat

Barbequing scraps of meat

In a cardboard house.

“Poor me!” We cry

Towards the sky

As fluffy stuff flies by

Not thinking of you,

Who can’t choose

Between red or blue shoes,

And can’t get in to see an MD

For an useless knee

Infected with gangrene.

Because brushing off our cars is so hard.

Lorax

Congratulations on your latest Destruction!
Welcome to the new ELW:
Extremely Ludicrous Waste

Untitled

I see you when the trees change,
As the leaves float like fairies around me
And invite me to dance in the streets.

I see you on a bitter winter day,
As the harsh wind whips my cheeks
And home seems far away.

I see you when the flowers bloom,
When everything is fresh and new,
Budding again after a long hibernation.

I see you in the scorching heat,
When it's all you can do not to run through a sprinkler,
Naked. Ecstatic.

I see you in the palm of my hand,
As our fingers lace together,
And our love lasts through passing seasons.

Where am i?

I'm sorry.
I know those words don't mean much now,
But I've had them inside for so long
They have to come out.
And I don't care if you throw them away
Or save them and keep them close to you for a rainy day,
I don't care if they mean nothing to you
Because they mean something to me.

I'm dumb.
I had a chance to learn
to grow and understand the tears and burns
in my now thicker skin.
But instead I turned around
And found
that it was more fun at the time to rechurn
all the shit that passed before.

I'm lost.
I don't know what to do
Feeling so confused
and used
and untrue
to myself and everybody else
thinking we were cool
when I should have had the courage to admit we were fools.

I'm ______.
I can tell you about my mistakes
And the time I've taken
to put on the brakes
to heal from them (next to none).
But I'd rather tell you nothing.
I'd rather say "Hey" passing down Gateway
than ever sink back into the hole.

I'm here.
I don't know what's next
Or what will be your last text,
Or if what we had was the best
and we'll never get it back.
I know the past, I feel the present
I know I'm piecing together fragments
just to be here. Now.

Staples

Pens.
Paper.
Binders.
Office lamps.
Labellers.
Calculators.
Daytimers.
Highlighters.
Elastic bands.
Post-it notes.
Tape.
Glue.
Scissors.
Colouring pencils.
More pens.
Whiteboards.
Corkboards.
Staplers.
Printers.
Scanners.
Shredders.
Laptops.
Tablets.
Furniture.
Storage bins.
Even more pens!

Staples, you are a magical place.
But I don't like the patronizing jerk that works for you.
I hope we can still be friends.

In honour of Angry Arts Week 2013.

For Coy

I'm fuming,
like a volcano, stewing;
these stories stir the pot
and the hot broth splashes
on to our mouldy kitchen floor.

Why can't you let us be us
And collectively
we can come to understand
it's not 'her' and 'he'
it's 'us' and 'me'.

A fluffy skirt doesn't mark a fairy,
Or a fruit,
Or a fag.
It marks an individual
so original
I hope they scare you right out of your pants.

And into a dress.

Expedition

Call into the deep cave
And you will receive no answer.

Voices that reach into the dark
do not spark,
do not light the path to the iridescent pool.

Shining, shimmering, rainbow water
Will attempt to make you falter
Drowning you in bliss.

But on the unlit road
you lead a heavy load
of offerings, deposited along the way.

Silently slinking a-ways behind
Picking at your peace of mind,
A thief plays your heartstrings.

And with a glance back
Your precious cargo has been attacked
And you find you are empty and alone.

Call into the deep cave
And you will receive no answer.


But go with light, and go with chains,
And make the thief know your pains,
And listen to the echo of your breath.

Happy International Women's Day!!!!

Welcome to International Women's Day!

Here's a recent conversation I had with a very good friend of mine

A: Oh! Today is International Women's Day!
M: Oh cool. When is International Men's Day?
A: It's been International Men's Day for the past... I don't know how many years. Let us have our one freakin' day!

True, it seems a little strange to be celebrating International Women's Day when we don't have an International Men's Day. It makes me think that there really is no push for equality. Why don't we have an International Men's Day following IWD? Besides, I have a hard time believing that the countries, the people that should be celebrating IWD actually do. I doubt that women who are oppressed have a completed day of freedom today and will go back to their regular lives tomorrow. Maybe they do. But what is the goal of today? Is it to celebrate being a women here and all over the world? Is it to educate ourselves and other women of all races, ages, and religions about the hardships that are endured? Is it to look to the future and hope that the suffragettes haven't sacrificed in vain?

To me, today is a day to be thankful for what I have because of what women before me have gained and taught me. I have the right to get on a plane and go to a different country unescorted. I have the right to wear  shorts and not be penalized for it. I have the right to paint my fingernails. I have the right to talk to men in public, un-chaperoned. I have been taught to stand up for myself and what I believe in. I have been taught that I am a strong and independent person. I have been taught to love and care for people, not matter what their gender or sexual preference is. I have been taught that everyone has a value, and it is a shame to diminish that value.

In lieu of all of this...

Thanks Mom!

The Girl Who Turned Into A Lemon

She bites hard on the peel
And the bitter juices flood her mouth.
Tastes of anguish and disgust
Tap-dance on her palate
Twisting her face like a towel
that needs to be wrung dry.

The bitterness blocks her brain,
entertaining ideas of malice.
It turns yellow and curdles
like sour milk in the Sahara heat.
It oozes down to her heart
To consume the essence freely flowing.

It clamps on, and bleeds the heart,
Injecting its own poison in the core.
Her body shrinks
Her love is sucked dry,
Until she is the colour of a buttercup,
Waiting to be squeezed onto the rotting fish she calls her own.


An original poem by Amy Chow.

WW

Underneath the epidermis,
Behind the naïve black depths,
The blood of my body crawls,
Like 10 billion cockroaches,
At the sound of your screams.

The emotions that fire
Back and forth between
My heart and brain- heart and brain-
Are like war heroes
On either side of the line.

They exchange bullets of tears
For bombs of anger
And the shrapnel of frustration
Cuts deep, spilling
Desperate moth-like pleas into the flames.

Blood slinks up to my cheeks
Leaving rational thoughts to rot.
I freeze.
My bugged out system
Is counting down to the explosion.

I reach out,
Half hoping you cut off my hand
Loosing a sea of stingers on you,
But you touch me,
And I know love again.

Ugh.

You know those times when you're told to jump in and swim 1000 leagues in 85 minutes after you've had a lovely 23k jog? That's what I feel like. I feel like a giant tornado ripped off the roof of my house, ripped me out of my cozy bed and threw me across the milky way and it's televised.

But all this being uncomfortable got me to thinking (and the advice of one of my drama professors): Maybe I got too comfortable doing the same thing for the last little while. Maybe it's time for a change. Maybe I need to start asking the right questions.

Isn't it strange how we gravitate to how hard our day is rather than embracing the challenges? I guess all of that acceptance stuff is difficult when you feel bad. Or stupid. Or under pressure.

read the comments ppl!

I came across this article on my Facebook today:

http://everydayfeminism.com/2013/01/i-lost-a-job-for-calling-out-the-companys-rape-apology/

Dan Solomon writes an interesting article. He explains how he was fired for expressing his personal views on his blog. Claire St. Amant, who writes for CultureMap questioned the accountability of a rape victim because she was underage, and sometimes young people lie about what happens in their lives. In her article, she says that a medical exam was done and the girl showed signs of trauma, which indicates rape, but she questions the credibility of the situation. There were two people in the truck, and only those two people know what really happened.

Dan gets upset, responds in his own way, and is told his employers are very unhappy and they cannot work with him anymore. Dan argues that treating the victim like a liar is not acceptable.

BUT!!!!!!
I love reading the comments on blogs and online articles. Most of the time I skim the article and go straight to the comments. The best part about the comments section, is the immediacy that you get from hundreds of people across the globe. I had to trace back to the original article that started this whole thing.

http://dallas.culturemap.com/newsdetail/life-crime-highland-park-baseball-star-charged-with-sexual-assault-rape/


I quickly read the article and went down to the comments section. From Solomon's article, I was expecting a lot of "she's a liar", "i bet she just doesn't want to be called a slut so she made it up", "poor Ryan, he doesn't deserve this", comments that I'm not used to, that I would not be able to understand or agree with readily. The best thing about comments is the fire they ignite when you know you're protected by a screen. What else could be in the comments section that would make me more fired up than I was when I read the article?

Many of the commenters were outraged at the article. Some people referred to Solomon's article about how he was fired. Some people claimed it was a publicity stunt by Amant. All sorts of people were digging into Amant for her horrible journalism in this matter. One comment agreed that there is no way to know exactly what happened in the truck, but that her questioning of the victim's validity was wrong. Another comment was from a prosecutor of sex crimes. They explained that the medical exam for rape does not provide hard evidence against the aggressor. It gives us clues as to what happened, but it is not a "smoking gun".

But then I stumbled upon my gold mine.

Mary • 2 months ago

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the girl's a complete liar. what a cop-out statement. her mother was probably livid at her for coming in so late at night and she claimed rape to get out of trouble? she is literally ruining this kid's life. what 16 year old girl wouldn't be upset after having sex? its a big deal, especially to a young girl, but that's NO reason to claim he forced sexual intercourse on her.

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  Oh No You Didn't  Mary • 2 months ago

  
  

  Oh, you are so right, Mary! Girls after they have sex for the first time are so often distraught and crazy they can't wait to concoct a story accusing an innocent boy of rape. They are probably giggling the whole time they're undergoing their rapes tests and police interviews. All the public outcry and scrutiny is oh so much better than being grounded or getting crusty looks from your parents for coming home late.

And this:

Stay out harms way • 2 months ago

Perplexed that a girl can cry rape after she already in the middle of the act before she panics and decides to 86

And this:

Caring Mom • 2 months ago

• −

Great article!!! Finally someone is voicing what my heart has been saying all along. I am a mom of boys and girls by the way.

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  Mary  Caring Mom • 2 months ago

  
  

  I am sorry for your daughters.

  
  

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  Roger Canaff  Caring Mom • 2 months ago

  
  

  And you call yourself a 'caring mom?' Ma'am, I prosecuted these cases for years and now train others to do so. What exactly is your point?

I. Love. Comments.
There's something in the moment after you read something online, and the power you have behind the computer that creates this need to respond so strongly. It's incredible!

My personal views are more in line with "Mary" in the 3rd section of comments above. I don't believe doubting victims is the best way to encourage fairness in sexual assault cases, even if they aren't being honest. I was appalled by what I read on Solomon's article, but what made me want to go to the original article was "why". Why does Amant feel the way she does? Why are people supporting her statements? Maybe they feels sorry for this young man, who could have had a fantastic future, but now, being accused of rape, will struggle against it forever. Maybe they knows people who claimed to be victims, but weren't in the end. Maybe they knows someone who is in jail for something they did not do.

In the end, I wound up thinking about how much I love the comments section. Where else can you find such open dialogue? You can't exactly go into a coffee shop and start screaming at an article in a newspaper for being such horrible news. Sometimes I feel like the comments section shows me a bit of that person. In a moment, they are provoked to speak without having to adhere to decorum. They can curse, they can be rude, they can let free their assumptions without being reprimanded.

Have I mentioned how much I like reading the comments?