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Wednesday, October 26th, 2016
12:02 pm - bloor and dovercourt
something remarkable happened on this very cold october day. i had just an awful sleep. woke up at 4am. tossed and turned. my alarm went off at 8am. my crusty eyelids peeled apart unwillingly, i snoozed, the alarm went off 10 minutes later, i turned it off, slept in til 9:30am. i was going to be late for work. but my job is insignificant so it didn't really matter.

i schlepped out of bed in the crankiest of moods, got ready, headed out the door. on my walk to the subway i was passing the women's centre for low income, homeless and unemployed women. as i was listening to rihanna on my ipod (yes, iPOD) a woman standing outside the women's centre interrupted me. i couldn't understand what she was asking, but she needed help. then her friend, who was sitting outside behind her, said she needed help walking to the bank at the corner. her leg is bad and she just needs someone to walk with her.

so i said okay, though i was perplexed. why me? is she going to take my bag? inject me with something? some really awful urban thoughts sprawled through my head. irrational thoughts of distrust. scared childhood rooted feelings of strangers taking advantage of other strangers. instinctively i knew these things were not true. she is a woman with a cane, a bad leg, she is helpless. she hooked my arm with hers and we slowly walked past the subway entrance i normally use. whatever. we made some small talk as i tried to understand her through her thick portuguese accent. i asked her if she found it cold, if she had gloves. two days ago it was really bad, she said. she showed me her exposed fingers, cracked dry.

i dropped her off at the bank, asked if she was going to be okay, if she needed anything else. she said it was fine and she would get back on her own (or perhaps ask another passerby for assistance). she told me to have a very nice day. i walked to the alternate subway entrance, heart glowing with warmth. when i arrived at work, i was maybe 5 minutes later than my anticipated time. that's all. nobody said anything, no one judged, cared, or even noticed.

this is why the universe made me late this morning. and i am so grateful.


Monday, October 24th, 2016
5:09 pm - online compilation
which parts of myself
do i want to reveal?
we live in a world where most
everything must be controlled
where your image matters more
than the beating of your heart
where copywriters make more
money than poets

which parts of myself
do i want to show you?
do i appear vulnerable
or do i appear strong
do i grasp onto my
or do i

the phone buzzes and creates an earthquake in our stomachs
the universal sound of being needed by someone else

fifteen minutes of
growing up in the wrong generation
publicly celebrating your accomplishments
wooed by your good looks and confidence
as i scroll through, head down
i silently hold my cup to my chest
seething with rage and then i close the page and i throw the glow
out the window
and hide under the sheets
what i'd give to live
a life free of computers
an invention too heavy for fragile people

but then i see you
we haven’t spoken in twelve years
and on my photo
all i get is a like
not even a “hello”

everyone’s always watching but no one ever talks
online presence, what a present!
meanwhile, unacknowledged tweets
hungry to be liked
an online persona, so personal!
i feel compelled to give you answers
propelled by insecurity, i forgot what gratitude feels like
for my own inner moments
a trivial world, vastly unforgiving

- image is everything to you


3:48 pm - sleep
melatonin under my tongue tastes like dentists.

my saliva is thick with it, salty and dissolving, these little crystals that i pray will put me to sleep.

so i can have a good night's rest.

every now and then the dissolving pill secretes down my throat, my saliva thick with its sandy, wet texture.

i can't sleep and i feel clinically insane. so i'm relying on you.

finally, you've disappeared under my tongue, and into my brain. i beg you to let me dream, sleep, and wake feeling rested.

i'd rather have nightmares and be awoken by a horrific dream as my alarm goes off than suffer from an entire night's worth of light sleep and a useless, constant barrage of thoughts that poke and pull at me.

i am tired of being tired. eyeballs feeling like paper. wanting to drink coffee, acidic to my stomach, and instead going with tea to soothe my anxieties.

i pray for a deep, deep sleep where i'm not awakened by anything, no lights thru the blinds, no minute or miniature noises.

i want to know the feeling of sleeping like a tank.


3:43 pm
lonely poet

sitting by the crisp cranberry bushes

amongst silver and gold branches

prancing upon mushrooms and dewy grasses

mold escalating, heat depreciating

sudden subtle mustards rusting in the distance

heavy brush strokes of thin air

paper blue enveloped sky holding black decaying trees

firm, formed and fragile

sunshine grey rays growing with the winding wind, ever so graceful

grateful for textures in meadows and plaid throws

flaxen reflections

sunny when grey

delightful when bright

dressed to a winter's tee

cross bows and arrows, crossed lovers on royal armchairs, regally drifting by on a golden coat of arms

warm when shimmering

folded and hoping

under a scented thyme and rosemary breeze


3:03 pm - Spring 2014 photo shoot idea
Imagine if all the people in the world holding their smart phones, looking down, were instead knitting.

Everyone would still be looking down, but instead they'd be creating something.

Backs still hunched down, necked craning towards the ground, thumbs actively twiddling. But with a ball of woolen yarn and some decent sized sticks.


2:58 pm - Alhambra, Entitled
As a human, you think you've discovered everything
You've colonized land
culled populations of species
taken palaces

One day you realized you had missed something
for many, many centuries

In 1965, you exposed the Guilded Room to the world
which was hiding behind a Morisco archway
since the fifteenth century
Built to shield and protect the people

It took you this long to find this space
Joke's on you
They were smarter in the end
They always have been


2:43 pm - on poetry (a compilation)
we talked about all the negative stereotypes
related to being a poet
there is something pure, delicate and romantic
about writing incomplete stories based on feelings
and senses and
how could anyone possibly hate something so filled
with love?

forget about the pixels
i am horizontal, gripped by each line on the page
& reading in between them
& words seep out of my veins
& suddenly it becomes easy to create

& so i
sink my teeth into a piece
digest it
and live with its imprint
a poem so delicious
you long to read it every day
as if it were some glorious affirmation
that gave you all the power in the world
to light yourself on fire
and write


Friday, October 21st, 2016
6:09 pm - subway ride 1
if you tie your hair back
tight enough
you'll give yourself a mini face lift
eyebrows all extroverted

how does a city exhale
properly with only two
subway lines? the constant
intake of people on its cars
calls for a case of constipation

the cooling effects of cotton
are no match for this heat
cranked up, as if the
warmth of other people's
bodies don't do it

even the chairs are aflame
look at that red
doesn't it make you feel feverish?

and just like that, she swallowed her yawn
and it became trapped inside
for a very long time

so i tie my hair back
remove my clothes
and think

when i go home i'll google
midheaven in virgo
as if reading its description
over & over
is supposed to give me the answer
i keep searching for


6:02 pm
my story is a tweet
140 characters or whatever
i don't know how to write
something greater

i grew up in the wrong generation
what i'd give to live
a life free of computers

- or just become a luddite?


5:35 pm - write
write this poem
to take the pressure off
writing full sentences

feelings are more like
a waltz, a hybrid dance
rather than a coherent thing

a comma coma, my period stops
parenthesis not included
no, you can't quote this

it's easier to slip into a pen
ease off the pixels a little
flow only in segments
never full, in the hands of a novice
always hungry, in the eyes of a stranger

a pleasureful poem is maybe
deeper and more satisfying
than a full-read, underlined hardcover


fasten your black beret tightly onto your head
we are going to write poetry!
first we will light the rose scented candle
forget about the pixels
focus on the quill and ink
don't forget your favourite turtleneck sweater

in poetry class we talked about all the negative stereotypes
related to being a poet
there is something pure, delicate and romantic
about writing incomplete stories based on feelings
and senses and
how could anyone possibly hate something so filled
with love?


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