morning blues.

Waking up can be hard sometimes;
I blame the lack of sunshine
and not the dull ache that holds my heart tight.

It is then,
at my weakest and most venerable,
I will line up a track and listen to a song.

Leg twitching, eyes closed
and suddenly I am free.

Free of duty,
free of pressure,
free of time,
free to just be me.
Sitting here allowed to be
blissful.
The best three minutes and forty-seven seconds
of the most mundane day of my week.

*flash-back

Trojan War

I peel off the condom wrapper that I spot stuck on to your elbow.
I toss it to the floor next to the Gatorade bottle that has stained your teeth and tongue.

“It smells filthy in here.” I say.
You expect a reaction as my eyes flit over your naked body.
“Red-leggings just left. I have yet to wash up.”

As I watch you disappear in to the bathroom I can’t help but wonder…
where has all the romance gone?
Caught between Shakespeare and super ribbed latex I suppose.

*Present tense

Mondays are difficult.

my lipgloss is poppin

“I am not that kind of girl.” I whispered brushing my lips against his cheek.  I leaned in so close I could practically taste the mint gum he always loved to chew. Picking my rumpled vintage velvet purse off of the counter I dug about for my lip gloss a standard avoidance maneuver Daniel could clearly read.  We knew each other well enough.
“And what kind of girl that?” He would ask, snapping his gum.
A sign of nervousness that I recognized clearly. I let the silence grow, I wanted him to feel more than the pricks and bites that tickled up and down his arms when I grabbed his fingers.  I wanted more than the standard lust/love reaction.
“The kind of girl that kisses a Boy-Face in public.” I shifted in my seat letting my knee brush his.
“Don’t kiss me then. I don’t mind.”
Lair.

¡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.