Esquire Theme by Matthew Buchanan
Social icons by Tim van Damme

26

Sep

the ex x

I

You are a magnet.

Not the kind used in the scripts of rom coms.

But the kind that is both piercing and gravitational.

The kind of magnet that chokes the cords around my windpipe, stronger than any hands every could.

 The kind that pulls you swiftly towards light, before you realize it is only a shadow. 

Or a mirage.

II

I call myself a writer

but every time I try to plunge at the keyboard with my suffocating

agony, I drift off into a tornado of silence. 

And my hands, full of colour, become soft and dispondant like a runny yolk. 

III

I want you to know that I can get through a day (or maybe two) without a whisper of your name crawling through me.

I am better at being a alone.

And now, the light of your name on my phone only sends three shocks to my heart.

Not ten.

 I don’t like the weight that I’ve gained. But I can still feel your hands along the map of my hips, complaining that I’m too skinny.

Or that my hair is too red.

Or that I call too much.

IV


And I wonder why the thought of you being here, an arms length from my sanity, is sending me into a coma of nausea. 

Because after all, I will always be worlds away from you. 

You and I are like Pluto and earth.

Orbiting around the sun, and never sharing the same warmth. 

-b

25

Nov

withering heights.

It’s funny how

A skeleton that was once so

so strong.

With chastity

and colour,

could wither into

a rack of 

desolate,

pervasive,

heartbreak.

And all I can

do is

watch. 

-b

05

Mar

Oh, just #EatPrayLove reiterating my life again. (Taken with Instagram at Lima, Peru)

Oh, just #EatPrayLove reiterating my life again. (Taken with Instagram at Lima, Peru)

03

Nov

tis the breakup season

I write a lot about love because that’s what we know. And whether we know it because our hearts have been broken once, twice, or three times we all have, or all will be there. My best friend is going to the most tumultuous break-up I have witnessed in a while and when you become so closely intertwined with a friends’ life their experience becomes your own. Having been destroyed last summer, I’ve stepped up to the plate with my words of advice ready at the tongue because “I’ve been there,” and “I got through it.” And it’s true…as Conor Oberst wrote in Cassadaga “I walked into the winter and came out the other side.” I am here, having been through another relationship since, and developed a whole new different kind of love, and viewing relationships in a brand new way. But as I walk further into friends relationship woes, and stories of breakups, and cheating, and the massacre of hearts all around me-I feel that every single word I have to offer is the shell of that I really want to say. That the love I have spent so many years pining after has become further tainted by my own and others experiences of disdain. My views are becoming increasingly slanted into a cynical single bitter chick that hasn’t heard of a good guy (or encountered one) in well, ever. And so after consoling my best friend for days on end after yet another asshole dude has struck again, I have to untie the knots in my stomach because words that I preach and theories that I believe and strive for, are beginning to float into the cynical basket of “the things that never ended up being true,” forcing me to consider the retirement of all things yellowbird.

-b

26

Feb

here’s to never letting go.

This situation has me on the outside looking even deeper. Searching relentlessly within myself, pulling out any lifelines I can that will amount to the strength I need to not collapse under the weight of pain. I am letting go of what I want to be held tightly around my finger; a conflicted heart, losing luster and gaining experience. From the outside, I watch you take each step further away, and yet I still hold on to the question of what was, and what will be, and what can be. Your back is the only way I recognize you; turned away from me as each day takes you further away. Dreaming only of a distorted reality-what is, versus how I paint my life to be perceived.  I can feel my grip faltering; losing strength-my sanity is questionable as darkness becomes more attractive than the clarity of facing life with bravery. Letting go becomes the nemesis that gnaws at each thought and exterior gesture. Every conviction I have is on trial with fate and inevitability. 

-b