¡Átame!

I once fell in love with a boy at a concert.
Constantly thinking of him,
needing him.
Frustrated. Upset.
Obsessed.
Desperate to run in to him.
Felt such painful regret for not speaking to him,
kidnapping him.

kiss.hugs.sex.cuddles.

stockholm syndrome

amongst burnt beans

I never thought I’d be the kind of man that could fall, in like, love. Dude, I’m like, so in love with you.

OH: Young man to heavily fringed young woman.
Location: Starbucks/ Indigo. Bay & Bloor

I am almost %1000 sure this rocked my lady rando’s mind.
But I swear to God,
I would sooner be an asexual granola, than be referred to as ‘dude’ by the opposite sex. Especially when professing one’s love to me!
Young people today, no respect.
Or imagination for that matter.

Are you there God? It’s me, uh, Kiwi.

“You are resilient.”

My little sister said to me with such conviction I had to believe her.

In retrospect I didn’t have much of a choice. There was no time for remorse, or crybaby antics. For you see I have a dream, one of those – my life will end/ empty shell – kind of dreams. And if I wanted to follow it, I would literally have to pick my self up, shake of all that bad karma shit, and grab destiny by its tight shriveled up balls.

Classy? Non.

Look, I’m just a girl, looking for a break.
That is all, nothing fancy, I promise.

So,
hey there universe,
interweb wasteland

God,
Whom/whatever-
all I ask for is one shot.

DO YOU HEAR ME! YEAH?!
Okay. Awesome.
Thank you.

Young Blood

It’s a grey morning,
minus 25
and what looks like a sheet of ice cracks across my window.

I have the apartment all to my self,
so I shall be making the most of it.
Blaring beautiful beats,
dreaming of the sun,
citrus scented skin,
and of vanilla ice cream dripping down my chin.

Misfits

I dream ,
dark, venomous dreams.
I wake screaming,
most nights.
Every night.
Blood, wounds,
Jin and angels.

Bad luck versus that presumed to be good.

The air tastes different now,
I blame the fear, buzzing underneath my skin.

A part of me wants to be eaten whole.
Disappear,
never to be seen nor heard from again.

The secondary, God fearing part of me,
counts the stars,
the blessings,
my loves,
and cherished moments.
It is then that I am forced to realize,
that my very existence,
is bigger than me.
And if I am still desperate to seek
my own personal freedom,
it will have to be by my own hand.