A Meal for Two

Relationship with my eight year old son strained
like raw spaghetti rigid in the sink
and when you toss those toothpick noodles against the wall
nothing sticks.

The sauce burnt on the stove
even though I like the smell because it smells like I cooked something nice
like how I created my son without looking at a recipe
or the ingredients.

Who measures out sperm or eggs?

So here I struggle, while he stirs the pot
of boiling brain temperatures of mine
and racing heart.

The perfect dish of basil and mushroom spaghetti doesn’t exist
but getting my hands dirty and paste splattered on my apron
that I don’t even wear because my whole body is a canvas for stains,
is this process that at least
I can use to become better
at

making the dish of Life
sticky and sweet
enjoyable.



Confused Bubbs

If I broke the bubbles in the bath with a sledgehammer , I thought myself a murderer.
When I break my own heart, I feel like a loser in the gutters of East Toronto.
What is the difference between smashing up other peoples lives
instead of your own?
What makes guilt fight conscience?

What makes you live so poorly
so intentionally unpotentially?
You know there is more out there for you
then sucking bubbles down your throat trying to drown your sorrows,

as if air could do that anyways.



It’s Inside

Sometimes dramatic thoughts and not thinking about the realistically or literally or common sensically, way, is fun. It’d endearing to my own self. I believe in it . For the fun. For the youthfulness.
And standing on that once upon a time wizard feel, is a fantastic. I feel the confidence that comes with being proud. that’s easy to feel when you have the audience praise popping around the stage of life you’re making. And when you don’t , when you find that the spark’s been sucked up, or you cant light wet ash, you create the fire,you become the rest of the part you stumbled with.
In growing older, you question whether you are being the so young so too much and you wonder about the crowd u want to attract
.
And once you realize the place you want to exist in for yourself, you can love that you can know the power in the relationship you make with who you are.

Life tells me I’m beautiful

I’m in the middle of being far away. I let the sunrises and sunsets become sightless greys and blacks and I know I’m a wreck when I don’t touch eyes with fellow shoppers. We are people that have the useless power of slumbering through our days standing up.
I drive to work and I get there and think there is nothing I noticed. There is no shape of house or height of tree that I let myself acknowledge. I just pushed air with the car, pressed pedal with foot, and got there.
I don’t need to challenge myself to point out life.
I am apart of it and my brain and heart are too and if I let sunsets and rises sink under my skin, I then become everything there is to see.
Life tells me I’m beautiful, I just need to tell it
that it is beautiful too.