Book of erotica to comfort you about your recent lack of snuggles: $20.26.
Baking mix to make brownies to ease your romantic sorrow: $3.19.
Moleskine journal to document all your angst: $29.90.
Having the boy of your dreams show up at your door to ask you out unexpectedly: priceless.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
word vomit
"i still like him a lot."
i say this like i'm expecting her
to be surprised, even though
she's my ex-girlfriend so she knows
exaaaaactly how long it takes for me
to evict illegal inhabitants
from my harrowed heart.
she smiles because she knows i'm
pathetic & i can't help it
& maybe she remembers (warmly?)
the quiet excitement of that time so long ago when
she was the bad habit i just couldn't kick.
it's tricky business spilling angst
to an ex whose eyes still kinda sorta
mean something. it stings a little
retelling emergencies to a face that still
sets off soft alarms in my head.
as if i can
help it,
though.
i say this like i'm expecting her
to be surprised, even though
she's my ex-girlfriend so she knows
exaaaaactly how long it takes for me
to evict illegal inhabitants
from my harrowed heart.
she smiles because she knows i'm
pathetic & i can't help it
& maybe she remembers (warmly?)
the quiet excitement of that time so long ago when
she was the bad habit i just couldn't kick.
it's tricky business spilling angst
to an ex whose eyes still kinda sorta
mean something. it stings a little
retelling emergencies to a face that still
sets off soft alarms in my head.
as if i can
help it,
though.
November 2009
I talked to her for the first time tonight. She really likes me. She's not a mind-games girl.
How do you tll someone you think they're wonderful?
That you think you really like them back?
That you think about that almost constantly - that you wish they were sitting next to you right now.
That when you talked bout heartburn it was about them - her.
She's beautiful. I want her.
How do you tll someone you think they're wonderful?
That you think you really like them back?
That you think about that almost constantly - that you wish they were sitting next to you right now.
That when you talked bout heartburn it was about them - her.
She's beautiful. I want her.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Encounters of the Adorably Awkward Kind
(Two months ago, I wrote this as a fictional introductory piece for a creative writing course. Ultimately I concluded that I hated it, & ended up submitting a poem instead. Now that I come back to it, & am no longer interested in the person I wrote it about, it actually seems kinda cute, & only a little bit crap.)
“Um… So, tell me about yourself!” he chirped, a little too cheerfully. “I mean, I know you do improv, obviously, but… what else do you do?”
I giggled nervously and readjusted myself in my seat. “I play music. Guitar, piano, ukulele, singing, writing my own songs… And I like to hula hoop, and write…”
“Do you write about me?” he asked, and suddenly my body filled with guilt as I realized it was a serious question.
I sipped my latte to stall for time. “I write about everyone in my life. It’s not a big deal. I don’t write anything bad about you. I mean, obviously I think you’re pretty great, so…” Another unattractive nervous laugh. This was not going well. “Uh, you tell me about yourself now!” Smooth.
He looked so cute. It was extremely difficult to listen because I was too busy staring. I nodded periodically to make sure he felt I was keeping up, but mostly I was thinking back to the terror I’d experienced when, a week before, I’d finally gathered the courage to march up to him and ask him if he’d maybe, um, I dunno, like to get, like, a coffee or something sometime, or whatever. And he’d said yes. Simple, like it was nothing. And here we were.
“That’s so interesting. You’re so interesting,” I replied enthusiastically. I meant it, even though I hadn’t heard a word. I mean, there’s a reason I asked him out, other than his obvious physical charms.
He took a big bite out of his espresso-flavoured brownie and I glanced surreptitiously at the clock. A few long seconds ticked by.
“So… Are you my girlfriend now?”
My stomach pretty much fell to the bottom of my abdominal cavity. I swallowed. “Uh. Do you want me to be?”
Just as he went to speak, more words poured unstoppably out of my mouth: “Because I’d be into that. But only if you are. I mean, I know we’re both super busy. So I don’t know if it’s for sure the best idea. Even though I want to. I guess. Do you?”
“Yes.”
And just like that, my lungs filled up with happy and my blood was pumping happy and my pores were dripping happy. It hurt to breathe and all I could do was smile, and then I started to laugh, and then so did he, and it was, hands down, the best date I’ve ever been on.
“Um… So, tell me about yourself!” he chirped, a little too cheerfully. “I mean, I know you do improv, obviously, but… what else do you do?”
I giggled nervously and readjusted myself in my seat. “I play music. Guitar, piano, ukulele, singing, writing my own songs… And I like to hula hoop, and write…”
“Do you write about me?” he asked, and suddenly my body filled with guilt as I realized it was a serious question.
I sipped my latte to stall for time. “I write about everyone in my life. It’s not a big deal. I don’t write anything bad about you. I mean, obviously I think you’re pretty great, so…” Another unattractive nervous laugh. This was not going well. “Uh, you tell me about yourself now!” Smooth.
He looked so cute. It was extremely difficult to listen because I was too busy staring. I nodded periodically to make sure he felt I was keeping up, but mostly I was thinking back to the terror I’d experienced when, a week before, I’d finally gathered the courage to march up to him and ask him if he’d maybe, um, I dunno, like to get, like, a coffee or something sometime, or whatever. And he’d said yes. Simple, like it was nothing. And here we were.
“That’s so interesting. You’re so interesting,” I replied enthusiastically. I meant it, even though I hadn’t heard a word. I mean, there’s a reason I asked him out, other than his obvious physical charms.
He took a big bite out of his espresso-flavoured brownie and I glanced surreptitiously at the clock. A few long seconds ticked by.
“So… Are you my girlfriend now?”
My stomach pretty much fell to the bottom of my abdominal cavity. I swallowed. “Uh. Do you want me to be?”
Just as he went to speak, more words poured unstoppably out of my mouth: “Because I’d be into that. But only if you are. I mean, I know we’re both super busy. So I don’t know if it’s for sure the best idea. Even though I want to. I guess. Do you?”
“Yes.”
And just like that, my lungs filled up with happy and my blood was pumping happy and my pores were dripping happy. It hurt to breathe and all I could do was smile, and then I started to laugh, and then so did he, and it was, hands down, the best date I’ve ever been on.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
three little poems about the same person
1. disorienting
oh funny freak i find you sooooo
disorienting & you don't even know it.
that eye contact you thought was
nothing? it was so much. those few
words you thought were empty? they were
overflowing with meaning - for me.
mid-conversation i spot you peripherally
& i'm gone. my sentence ends whether it was
finished or not. that's your effect on me.
i hope you know. i hope you never know.
i hope you feel it too even if i
know you don't. i hope you
feel it too. i hope. i
feel.
2. something terribly interesting
you walk by
& i
pretend to do
something terribly interesting
so you won't know
that what really interests me
is (of course) you
3. haircuts help my heart to heal
(so far) every time someone
has bruised, broken or betrayed
my little heart, i've spent a day & a night
swaddled in bedsheets & dripping in tears,
& the next time i saw
the criminal in question,
they'd changed their hair
(colors, cuts - why?)
& it looked so different
it was hard to imagine
they were the same
person i'd been so
affixed on
for so damn long.
oh funny freak i find you sooooo
disorienting & you don't even know it.
that eye contact you thought was
nothing? it was so much. those few
words you thought were empty? they were
overflowing with meaning - for me.
mid-conversation i spot you peripherally
& i'm gone. my sentence ends whether it was
finished or not. that's your effect on me.
i hope you know. i hope you never know.
i hope you feel it too even if i
know you don't. i hope you
feel it too. i hope. i
feel.
2. something terribly interesting
you walk by
& i
pretend to do
something terribly interesting
so you won't know
that what really interests me
is (of course) you
3. haircuts help my heart to heal
(so far) every time someone
has bruised, broken or betrayed
my little heart, i've spent a day & a night
swaddled in bedsheets & dripping in tears,
& the next time i saw
the criminal in question,
they'd changed their hair
(colors, cuts - why?)
& it looked so different
it was hard to imagine
they were the same
person i'd been so
affixed on
for so damn long.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Guest Profile: Arena
My name is... Arena, Thommie, Creature, That Weird Girl Who Sits Behind Me In Math... I'm known to respond to pretty much everything.I indentify as... Bisexual.
I am attracted to... Humans. Especially the Ellen Page kind.
As for hobbies/interests... I love reading, acting, flirting, writing poetry and prose, singing my heart out, sending emails that no one will ever read, chairing my school's GSA, avidly reading PostSecrets and avidly sending in secrets of my own.
I usually hang around... Kabbyo's basement, bookstores, my school's art hall, Katherine's kitchen, the library, the library, Black Market, Alice's bedroom, Criminal Records, Mr Beans, and - although very rarely - my own home. About my future... It's sort of undecided because my plans shift constantly. Currently, I have a desperate longing to go to U of T for Sexual Diversity Studies, After that, I plan on living in New York for a year because of an Allan Rickman pact I made when I was thirteen. I think after that I'd like to live in the village and hopefully get a job in queer rights activism.
10 adjectives to describe me... Awkward, Nostalgic, Nervous, inquisitive, Romantic, Capricious, Nosy, Humble, Zealous, and Childish.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
sometimes i am ugly
sometimes i have dreams where
my teeth are crooked & my
skin crumples like old paper & my eyes
sink into my skull &
i am as ugly as you
make me feel;
sometimes i shuffle around the house
in old sweaters & sagging pants
& i can't remember that i could ever have been
a blushing beauty queen
in pink & green taffeta ruffles;
sometimes i see you walking by
eyes apprising a prettier girl than i
with her thin arms & flat belly &
simple, nonconfrontational curvature
so boring but i can tell you
are loving it;
sometimes i sit by the window
away from the mirror
& pretend all the birds & swaying trees
are my face, my hips
my smile...
my teeth are crooked & my
skin crumples like old paper & my eyes
sink into my skull &
i am as ugly as you
make me feel;
sometimes i shuffle around the house
in old sweaters & sagging pants
& i can't remember that i could ever have been
a blushing beauty queen
in pink & green taffeta ruffles;
sometimes i see you walking by
eyes apprising a prettier girl than i
with her thin arms & flat belly &
simple, nonconfrontational curvature
so boring but i can tell you
are loving it;
sometimes i sit by the window
away from the mirror
& pretend all the birds & swaying trees
are my face, my hips
my smile...
Friday, November 20, 2009
Things to be grateful for
(I make a gratitude list at the end of every day. Here are some of my favorite items from the lists made over the past two months.)
insane, stomach-scrambling, hopeful nervousness
allowing myself to experience pure untainted joy
pretty gay boys who awkwardly compliment me
excessively physical improv games
eye contact from across the room (or closer)
waking up slowly, gradually, & lazily with the help of music & sunlight
Dustin Hoffman
having a clean creative space
men who roll up the sleeves of their formal shirts
playing chess with my best friend in her hippietastic living room while blasting Fleet Foxes
elaborate kissing fantasies
meditating on the roof
singing in the shower
moving forward
Sex Matters by Osho, which is fascinating
optimism springing eternal
cashmere sweaters
waiting at bus stops in brisk, early autumn weather
the phrase "go steady with me"
feeling like a part of a whole
the realization that more enthusiasm is always better
people who don't know that their hair is sticking up
making funny people laugh
giving people silly nicknames (e.g. "Sexy Irish Boy")
noticing that cute people are watching me
prattling on about The Boy to anyone who'll listen
improv improv improv improv forever
independent pizzerias
silently sitting really really close
big toothy childish grins
intellectual debates on the subway
laughing so hard I start to cry & can't breathe
the all-consuming bliss of unity
people who say, "Tell me everything"
chocolate peanut butter ice cream
unabashed vulva worship
the ways in which we all inspire one another
moments where I realize that something I previously considered a hindrance is now a blessing
nervous laughter
walking home in the dark holding a teddy bear
when other people's happiness rubs off on me
smelling so awesome I make myself swoon a little
pizza
freaky universal serendipity
whimsical typography
channeling nervous energy into something great
if sex were as simple...
if sex were as simple
as seeking & finding & fucking
& leaving & living & dying
then life would be less
& i wouldn't worry
or wonder what might have been.
but it's not that simple:
it's yearning & wanting & crying
& finding & losing & lying
& hoping & begging & wishing
& fucking & touching & kissing
& losing & hurting & meeting
& stabbing & yelling & cheating
& all this expected, protected
by standards so solid that no one remembers
what love & sex mean
when they're all by themselves
with no hectic pressure -
just primitive pleasure.
so seeking & finding & fucking
& leaving & living & dying
is honest, is simple, is better
than making these messes together.
as seeking & finding & fucking
& leaving & living & dying
then life would be less
& i wouldn't worry
or wonder what might have been.
but it's not that simple:
it's yearning & wanting & crying
& finding & losing & lying
& hoping & begging & wishing
& fucking & touching & kissing
& losing & hurting & meeting
& stabbing & yelling & cheating
& all this expected, protected
by standards so solid that no one remembers
what love & sex mean
when they're all by themselves
with no hectic pressure -
just primitive pleasure.
so seeking & finding & fucking
& leaving & living & dying
is honest, is simple, is better
than making these messes together.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The Truth:
When I consciously like someone, when I stick them with the label "crush," & define them as such & talk about them as such & tell other people that this is what they are to me, I mess something up in the chemistry & rhythm of our building budding relationship. I make myself act nervous around them because now every encounter must count, every word or glance exchanged must mean something dreadfully important. This disrupts the formerly effortless flow of whatever could happen next.
This is not to say that I shouldn't flirt, or admit that I like someone (to myself, friends, even the person in question), or picture myself dating them or whatever. But I should avoid putting all my eggs in one basket. I shouldn't rely on just one person for all my romantic euphoria. It's not fair to me, because it means I have to work harder to meet the daily love-rush quota I crave, & it's not fair to them, because it puts a lot of silent pressure on them to reciprocate when they might not. So if I spread myself out, not fixating on one person but allowing multiple people to make me infinitely romantically gleeful, I can have much more fun during these periods of coasting between serious interests.
This is not to say that I shouldn't flirt, or admit that I like someone (to myself, friends, even the person in question), or picture myself dating them or whatever. But I should avoid putting all my eggs in one basket. I shouldn't rely on just one person for all my romantic euphoria. It's not fair to me, because it means I have to work harder to meet the daily love-rush quota I crave, & it's not fair to them, because it puts a lot of silent pressure on them to reciprocate when they might not. So if I spread myself out, not fixating on one person but allowing multiple people to make me infinitely romantically gleeful, I can have much more fun during these periods of coasting between serious interests.
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