She offered me a fruitcake at Christmas, before Christmas I guess, and said... if you want one. The oven is broken and we’re getting a new one, they took eight hours to bake.
And I said of course I want one, I just didn’t think I was worthy of a fruitcake...
“It’s only a fruitcake.” She replied
And I said you can’t make seven with love and one with hate, and if you are going to make all with no heart at all then what was the point anyway? So there is no such thing as only a fruitcake, and
I will take one. Thanks.
Under this moon
I have blood on my hands.
My own blood. My own bones
Under this lonesome moon
our neighbour dies
and I feel relief.
Pain dies when we do
Under this heavy moon
a tulip unfurls,
one curled petal
of deafening white
When pain appears
relief reveals itself
I release myself of guilt
for not being okay
My responsibility remains
for the things that I say
and the actions I take
under this moon
which is always full
even when we don’t see the light
we speak through pain
I try to comfort one
who has mourned far more
than I can conceive
but I grieve too
We all do
Only a true friend
will call just to remind me
that the heart breaks
Your words sink in
like healing light
and I rejoice
under the hidden moon
I always know
where my friends are
when they answer my call
but you do not know
the relief I feel
when you howl first
Photo by Benjamin Voros on Unsplash
#moon #poetry #poem #Canadianpoet #love #friendship
We are each an act of fiction
We are each an act of fiction.
Love is not truth
the best lie
come up with.
We lie in love
And lay, in love
and craft the self
We think/we feel
Will fill the holes
I’m not sure what to do
I’m not sure exactly what I should do.
What do you want me to do?
The days are quickly ticking by, and before I know it -
It’s almost gone.
I know that crying would be useless
Because if they see my tears, I'll end up being ridiculed.
So, I shouldn’t.
But at the same time it’ll be the last time we meet
The last day we’ll laugh together and play together
So what if I shouldn’t?
Do I just leave my pools of tears somewhere at the back of my mind to rot and evaporate?
No, I can’t.
I won’t be able to forgive myself after
But the clog in my throat just won’t spin
And I end up not being able to speak my thoughts again
This feeling, however, is not pleasant
I would be full of smiles one second then those thoughts would run widely again
And I would plunge into the bucket called “reality”
I thought of it as a dream
But it was too fleeting and pleasant
There were many that I’ve met who supported me
And welcomed me
And it made me feel special
Then like a brick crashing into fragile glass,
Time is too short
Life is even shorter -
Like a thread that can be snapped, snipped, twisted, and buried any second
But even so, society will still go on
The Earth will continue to rotate and spin
People will continue walking on, sipping their coffee
As if nothing ever happened
As if that time never existed at all
But then there’s small remnants of those times
And when you find those things and remember to reminisce
It’s as if nothing changed at all
So, it can’t be that bad
But then you hear those sounds again
That small tink! on the glass
And that changes into a crack, then a smash
Then into the sound of falling jagged pieces
And into something that’s broken and will remain broken
Until pieced up together again
As long as they know, and approach that scene
With genuine intentions
With a piece of sharp glass, you can use it to cut someone
But have you ever thought that was what the glass wanted to be used for?
What if it didn’t want to become the “murder weapon”?
Or to be labeled as dangerous?
Or what if it never wanted to be broken in the first place?
Or that it never wanted to be left alone?
Or that it’s scared that people will never appreciate its beauty because of its sharp edges that’s blown apart?
But it’s fate isn’t exactly up to that glass
Because the future is muddled
And it all depends on…