To a Pessimist

Her ashy ringlets bobbed as she skipped her tiny legs across the sidewalk.   Her little hands gripped the cottony rose bag that held her school kits.  As she made her way by each brown house with the same muddy windows and deceased grass, she hummed the new nursery rhyme she learned in school.   She stepped on cue to each syllable, giggling when she came across the tricky beat scheme.    Her bright emerald eyes scanned the sky, chasing the birds that glided through the air.  She gazed at the planes that carried hundreds of people, hoping each one of them felt like a bird.

     Her thoughts walked home with her, until she reached the large wooden door with a brittle wreathe that hung melancholy.   But her humming didn’t cease as she stepped through the door.   She slid off her small black dress shoes, tucking them safely by the door.  She turned, taking in the dust filled cabinets and sheet of cat hair bunched throughout the laminate floor.  Although she barely blinked as she hobbled into the kitchen.  Pots and filthy dishes filled the sink and counter tops, mold brewed in a stale pot of tea, broken glass was dotting the floor and the fridge was bare.  All except for a rotten apple. 

     Her feet danced over the glass as she pulled down an old box of cereal, popping a few dry pieces in her slim lips.  She spun into the living room, holding her box of cereal affectionately as she sighed into the fraying, worn couch.  She sat there for a bit, listening to the dead clock that hung on the wall.   The big hand stuck on three.  She imagined the clock ticking joyously, greeting her with every click.  She crunched the cereal melodically, humming as she kicked her feet.   Her eyes scraped the pattern on the curtains before her.  The damaged material wasn’t as pink as it used to be, instead a creamy yellow filled the shades.  She placed the box on the floor of the couch and leapt to the stereo.  She adjusted the antenna, flipping it to the current eighties mix.  She twirled and jumped, sang and belted her heart out to Michael Jackson.  But as she jumped against the ground, the stereo silenced.  Her cheeks flushed as she attempted to fix it, but she simply pulled out her homework when it became clear that the technology was fried. 

     Slight creaking sounded from the wooden staircase, and she pulled herself to her feet as she padded to the base of the stairs.  A woman who looked older than she was placed her frail hands against the railing.  Her sunken green eyes met the little girl’s, and a shaky smile formed on her mouth.  

     “Lynn dear, how was your day?”  Her legs shook as she stepped down, but she pulled the child into a weak hug.  Lynn smiled widely, pulling the woman’s hand to lead her excitingly into the living room.

     “Oh, mama I learned a new song today!  And little Jimmy—the one down the road, he tore my music sheet into confetti.”  The woman’s smile grew sad, but Lynn continued, “But don’t worry, mama.  I used the confetti to throw into the air.  Everyone was having so much fun with the tiny bits of paper that they tore theirs up too.”  Her tiny lungs exhaled, waiting for the woman’s response.

     Her bony legs moved to the couch, as she sat down the couch sunk with her.  She patted the cushion next to her, “Lynn that was terrible what that boy did.  He ruined your song and didn’t apologize for it.”

     “But he did-“

     “How could you know he meant it?  No one means anything now a day.  They’re all just a bunch of liars.”  The woman pulled her fingers lovingly through Lynn’s curls. 

     Lynn chuckled as she poked the woman’s ribs.  Her mother frowned thoughtfully.  They sat there with Lynn’s head in her lap as the woman stared at the ragged curtains.   Finally her mother spoke.

     “Sweetie, I spoke to the doctor’s today.” 

     Lynn jumped up with joy, twirling off the couch.  Her mother’s lips didn’t twitch though. 

     “They told me I’m getting worse.  We are going to have to find you a foster home soon.”  Lynn tilted her head.  

     “But did they tell you when you’d be at your worst?”  As her mother shook her head Lynn gripped her hand affectionately, “It’s okay then mama, because we still have time.”   Her mother dropped her head, the room filled with echoed sobs.  But Lynn still gripped her hand tightly, “Mama.”  She spoke firmly, “I know you’re dying.  I know we won’t be together for much longer, but with the time we do have… we can make everything special.”  Her eyes glowed as her mother raised her head to look at Lynn.  Her face was solemn.  The wrinkles creased around her eyes and mouth as she parted her cracked lips.  Lynn’s mother took in her daughter.  She furrowed her eyebrows as Lynn watched her curiously.  Usually when her mother spoke, she couldn’t stop listing off everything negative.  She expected her mother to say something about there not being a point to do anything if she was about to die anyways.  But instead, her mother lifted herself slowly off the couch, her legs shaking with all the effort.  She shuffled down the hallway, her feet never fully leaving the cold ground.  Finally, she reached the door.  With all her strength she pulled the door open.  She lifted the wreath carefully, allowing no more pines to break off.  As she turned back into the house, her eyes caught Lynn’s.  Lynn watched her mother move more than she had in the past six months.  She watched her mother limp into the kitchen, open the garbage bin and place the wreath in it thoughtfully.

     And then she smiled at Lynn.  Ever so slightly.

 

The Most Important Day For Any Woman

Her hands shook.
Not slightly.
She shook so much that you could tell from the church entrance that she was terrified.
Or humiliated.
Or angry.
She sat alone, with thousands of white ruffles cascading down the marble steps.
She sat alone, gripping the bouquet of scarlet roses as though her life depended on it.
She sat alone, not bothering to wipe the blood in her hands before it destroyed her gown.
The blood from the thorns of the flowers.
The beautiful pain that enveloped her.
That cloaked her. Her face was bare, perfectly clean of makeup to show her naturally porcelain composure.
Placid.
Her soft pink lips were parted
ever so slightly.
But no sound came out.
Emptiness rang out from the crying stained glass.
Thunder shook the building, making the crosses on the wall clatter to the floor.
But she sat on the steps
waiting
ever
so
quietly.
The clock rang then, singing with the thunder.
Her body merely shook
waiting.
She could hear the marble floor's breath as the building towered over both of them.
Protecting both of them.
She brought her head up then,
staring at the large wooden doors that lay what felt a hundred feet away.
But she knew it would take mere moments to place her cold, bloodied hand on the sterling silver door handle and push out into the storm.
Never looking back.
But she waited.
She couldn't leave.
Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt.
A cry escaped her lips as the bouquet slipped out of her hand.
A sound that spoke so truly
as though she were giving up
and the petals crunched against the ivory
and the blood dripped into a pool
and the leaves were limp
as were her hands.
Why were they limp?
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't give up.
She brought her hands to cradle her face.
To cradle her now free flowing tears.
To make her tears become red.
With anger.
She staggered to her feet.  Her bare feet.
The room spun
and she felt disorientated.
Why was she giving up?
Her feet stepped onto the roses
and she stood there
staring at the oak doors
whom seemed to be staring at her
mocking her
mocking her
mocking her.
Her eyes became sunken as she stepped slowly off the delicate petals beneath her feet.
As she stepped away from the beautiful red that was embedded in them.
As she stepped away from the altar.
As she stepped away from the storm inside of her.
The ruffles danced behind her as she took conscious steps to her exit.
Her hair kissed her shoulders as she rose her head
higher.
And as she reached to the gleaming silver
the storm suddenly filled the room.
The thundering shrieks
and water spun darts
attacked the marble floor
attacked the stone benches
and she saw his pleading eyes.
He saw her fear.
They stood there gaping at one another.
And he pulled her close, kissing the blood off her hands.
His gray eyes were damp
from the tears
he
was
now
shedding.
And her eyes were as dry
as the way
her
heart
felt
like
sandpaper.
And as though he was a stone
she couldn't break him down
to open
to speak
because he wasn't there
he wasn't there
no
he was
here
now.
With her in his arms
he was here
but her heart tugged
so solely to one feeling
in which would be to leave
to not hurt
but she couldn't pull away
from his tight embrace
his cologne filled suit
his pale damp hair
his sullen gray eyes
his eyes
made her sad
and she couldn't
pinpoint
why.
Until the echoing chill of the clock struck her mind.
The time.
The time.
Was gone.
She stiffened.
He let her go, asking if she was okay.
His soothing voice
silky
soft
against her thoughts.
But the time.
He asked again
with the head shaking response from her
and the simple phrase
"It's too late."
His eyes clouded.
Distraught filled the room
his distraught filled the room.
It filled
her heart
as she left
padding so quickly
that she could have tripped
over her
thousands of ruffles
but they were being dragged by the rain
the rain that had started to stop
and the thunder that turned to sparks
of light.
But she couldn't look back
because his sorrow
was hers
and it hurt
it hurt
so much
as though someone
was wrenching her heart
and there was a person doing that
it was her
she was hurting herself
why
she loved him
she loved him
and she left
why would she leave?
Because she loved herself too.
And she couldn't let her heart hurt anymore.
She couldn't let her head cry.
She couldn't let her feet feel heavy.
She wanted to fly.
She wanted to laugh.
She wanted to live.
And she couldn't
when her
entire self
hurt.

The Man With a Beautiful Soul

He tapped his hang drum wondrously
as though pulling you into Alice's world
scaring all your thoughts away
with a simple wrist twirl
tapping
and tapping
became melodic
and breathtaking
as though taking all of your worries
and not hiding them--
but letting them fall away into the breeze
the breeze that sang out his heart stopping notes.
The girl who was speaking solely to her brother
didn't stop to listen
until her brother told her to stop
and as she stopped
as did her breath
because what she heard was so uniquely lovely
that her eyes began to swell.
She offered her brother to give the man money
but he shook his head and told her to give it
and as she opened her wallet,
a darkness creaked into her
she barely had any coins to spare
and not a bill to give.
She tossed the coins she had
and told the man about his beautiful playing
and that if she had more coins
she wouldn't hesitate to give them to him.
And his smile was comforting
happy
purely joyous.
He said he wouldn't ask for more
because her thanks was all he wanted.
He then asked her for a hug
in which she didn't feel odd
he didn't feel odd
or uneasy to be around
and she couldn't pin point why she felt so soothing around this man.
So she hugged him
and they stayed there for a moment
letting the echoing notes stay in their minds
and as they pulled a part
his smile widened
when he saw the two stones draping from her neck.
He told her she was beautiful
and that her stones were so powerful.
He told her she wasn't just a beautiful person
but that she was truly beautiful.
And her throat caught
because he meant it whole heartedly
and she couldn't express anything more
as she left.
And as she left his notes rang out again
and she got back to her brother
they continued
and he asked her about the man
and she told him
about the man
with a beautiful soul. 

Fat.

She sat in the back of the room like every day.
She hung her head to her lap,  avoiding the people sitting around her
like
a
swarm
of
bugs.
She never spoke to them unless for group work
in which she was never chosen.
But on this day
when she was sitting
as she always did
away from view,
a boy spoke to someone else
quite blatantly.
This girl whom he spoke to
was the size of a chopstick.
But her height was that
of a paperclip.
The girl who sat in the far back spot
was very insecure.
She had a lot of muscle
which made her quite dense.
She wasn't large by any means
but her weight was much different than people guessed
because she was one-thirty-four.
And she was five-foot-six-and-a-half feet tall.
She usually wore heeled boots.
This made her roughly five-foot-nine.
For someone at that height, was healthy.
Her muscle
was
healthy.
But this boy spoke to the tiny girl
"Ew, you're one-hundred-and-thirty pounds? That's f***ing disgusting you fat a**."
"Oh my god you're so fat."
"Fat."
"Fat."
"Fat."
This tiny girl was laughing
knowing it wasn't true
but the girl who sat in the back
was hiding her tears
because she weighed more than that
she was fat
fat
fat
fat.
She felt embarrassed.
So much so
that when she got to her next class, she couldn't stop staring at the girl who had taken up modelling.
She was the girl's height.
But she was thin.
So much so
that it made the girl who sat in the same spot everyday
upset.
She wanted to be as thin as her.
Have no flab on her arms
Be able to wear t-shirts freely
Be pretty
Beautiful
even.
"You're eyes are so pretty."
People say to her.
"I love your hair."
People say to her.
"Oh wow, you have runner's legs."
People say to her.
What they don't say
is if she's skinny.
They don't say fat.
They don't say skinny.
She just
is.
And the girl in the back was torn a part
from hearing indirectly how fat she was.
And she's tearing herself up
everyday
because of these things she hears.

Allice

Looking up into the freezing snow, her eyes slowly blinked.  She stood on a jagged boulder that looked out onto the city beneath her.  But she didn't make her way to the glowing lights.  Instead, she made her way through the woods behind her to begin her search.  She had known that she would have to look for this since she was a mere tot, and she never knew that it would be this calming to try to find it.  She always imagined she would be frightened, her legs buckling.  That she would be too much of a wimp to go out on her own.
To say goodbye to her loved ones.
But she never did say goodbye.
She simply said goodnight.
And then she left.

She shook her head, getting rid of the familiar smiles that her adoptive mother and father gave her.
The sun would be rising soon.  They'd start making coffee in a few hours.  They'd be waking her up for training in a few hours.

But she wouldn't be there to be awoke.

Hopefully she'd be long gone by then.

She shuddered at the thought of their reactions.  She swallowed roughly and wiped her brow as she pictured them sending out the hounds to find her.

Her footsteps became sprints.
She couldn't go through this heartache just to be brought back.
She silently thanked the sky for snowing, hoping it would snow enough to get rid of her scent and tracks.  She thought about using the trees as travel, but realised that even if she was safer, she wouldn't get very far in a few hours.
She adjusted her bag as she swiftly made her way through the trees.

After a while she found herself in front of a cliff.  She swore as she collapsed in rage, pounding her gloved fists into the foot of snow.
She scanned the edges of the cliff, focused on getting across.  Her heart lifted when she saw the two edges of cliffs grew closer a few kilometres to the right.  She moved as fast as she could in her tired state, and she sat in the snow for a moment when she came to the close cliff edges.

"C'mon, Allice."  She punched the ground with agitation for how exhausted she was.
She shakily stood up and peered to the bottom of the cliff.
Pitch black.
She swatted her thick black locks out of her face.
Allice moved to the base of a pine tree, then pushed off to gain speed for her leap of faith.
Her breath froze as she glided over the crevasse,   choking her as she fumbled ungracefully into the piles of snow on the other side.
She coughed roughly into the powder, cursing when a spout of blood splattered the icy rain.
She forced herself up, falling down several times in the process.
Her breath was shallow as she continued down the snow filled field.  She felt uneasy about how open the area was, but she made her way quickly.

She didn't know how she knew where she was going, but her body seemed to move her like a map and a compass.
The sun was setting as she came across the stone building she sought out.
It had runes along each side of the doorway, and without a second thought she placed her palm over the moon symbol.
Her eyes flashed ivory, blinding her vision completely.  Fear shot through her as her body began moving forward by itself.  She felt herself walk forward into a tight space that was quite damp.
After several moments her vision returned, but she couldn't see through the tunnel because it was pitch dark.  She kept walking cautiously forward- if she was moving forward.  Her equilibrium became unbalanced as she became confused as to where she was going.

The tunnel opened up suddenly, and a bright white orb floated in the centre of the room.  Torched filled the walls, giving off a warm yellow glow.  And as she brushed her hair out of her face, she realised it wasn't black anymore.  Instead, it was a vibrant glowing opal.
She swallowed her fear and stepped closer to the orb.
She found it.
She found herself.
She stalked towards the orb carefully, afraid of what would happen.
But as she grabbed the orb, its light shot into her body sending out screams of pain as she shot into the air.
Her hair was flying around her face by forces of wind, growing out in long strands.
Her eyes glowed beautifully as her skin radiated white light.
As the scene calmed, she knew.
She knew everything about her.

Because she wasn't Allice anymore.
She never was.
She was the goddess of light, saviour of lands and creator of being.

But instead of staying in the tomb, she left.
Her light radiated constantly as she went out into the snow land.
By now, the sky had fallen dark, but  still she sent out light to extreme lengths.
She shot up into the sky, meeting the moon as its grace, and she placed herself into the atmosphere.
She knew what she was doing would be helpful to all people.
She knew that this is what she had to do.
And yet, sadness filled her.

Her light became unstable, glowing at immense power.
Until, the light consumed her completely.  Sending sparks of ivory throughout the entire sky.
It formed a shield around the mountains, forest and cities beyond travel.
And by the time the sparks had settled in their cloaking, Allice was no longer a being.
She was a saviour.

The 'Love' Bite

I remember seeing my grandmother's cat for the first time. 
Big Red.
What a scary name.
But she was so beautiful.  With thick orange fur that kissed her emerald eyes gently.  The way she strutted through the large wooden house with pride made me want her to love me.
So I wanted to pet her, love her, kiss her, hug her.
But when I asked my grandmother about the cat, she told me not to chase or bother her because she wasn't a friendly cat.
But I was young.
That isn't an excuse now, but I was just so curious.
Wanting an animal to love me.
So when my grandmother was in the garden I set out to find Red.
Once I found her in the kitchen I started running at her.
Of course she ran.
Into the living room.  I finally caught her though, feeling my tiny hands fold into her thick fur.
And then it was like a scene from jaws.
Her head turned sideways, her mouth seemed to unhinge, and she submerged her fangs  between my left eye and temple.
I dropped her.
Not from the pain, but from fear of what my grandmother would do.
I was scared she'd be angry.
I disobeyed her.
I just wanted to love the kitten.
So I sprinted upstairs into the bathroom with tears down my cheeks.
I looked in the mirror in horror.
Blood was gushing from my face, no matter how many tissues I used it wouldn't stop.
My grandmother knocked on the door after a while asking if I was alright.
I told her I would be out in a minute.
So me.
Thinking oh so cleverly.
Plastered tissue to the side of my face.
And walked out of the bathroom.
My grandmother of course instantly asked what happened, and I told her about Red.
She hugged me then.
Which startled me.
And she took me to the doctors.
I had to take pills to make sure it didn't get infected or anything.
And that was that.
It took weeks to heal.
But me and that cat...
We're on good terms now.
Sometimes if I'm lucky, she'll let me pet her.
Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, she'll lay in my lap.
She's a good cat.
I was just a bad child.

My Love For You

It is the act of not doing to save others happiness
that feels as though you are stabbing your own heart
but instead of falling into your grave
you live through the ever growing anguish you created.
So why, why harm someone you adore so ravenously
when the answer isn't as simple as you care.
It is done because my love for you goes beyond
anything I could possible imagine.
My love for you and your joy is something
that I don't even manifest for myself
because my love for you is indescribable.
Even if it seems as though I'm hurting you,
oh sweet,
If I act on anything I will bring sorrow to your heart
and you will live through it
as I live through my knife wound
and that,
is something I can not allow happen to you.
I apologise in ways you don't see
each apology runs down my face
and all I can do is let the dampness become
absorbed into my sleeves
as I wipe them away.
Because my love for you,
is something I will not let you fret about
I will not allow you to be desolate
in my hands
so I will not hold you
so you will be free.

It was April 27th of this year when I knew I had cancer.
I didn't go to the doctor, or feel a lump or anything.  But the day was just so... different.  Lethargic.  Painful to think.  As though my body couldn't focus on anything except the creeping agony that I couldn't feel yet.
And all I remember doing that day was blinking.
How every time I closed my eyes, it felt as though a lifetime surged through me, creating, well...me.
I didn't go to the doctor right away.
I scanned my body, did all the feeling tests.  Which was weird, because I had never felt my body so much before.  It was like disturbing sacred land. I was trying to comprehend why I was suddenly so panicked when no one in my family had cancer.
There was no reason to be frightened.
"I'm overreacting."
Was what I kept saying every time I didn't feel a lump.
"There's nothing wrong."
Was what I tried saying when I forced myself to breathe.

I never found anything.

But the doctors I went to did.

They found it in my ovaries.

They told me I wouldn't have blood-related kids.

They told me they were sorry.

They told me about the surgeries.

About the Chemo.

About the pain.

About the life altering chaos I was about to go through.

And when they walked out of the door, they muttered to each other, "She's barely twenty.  Her loss must be difficult."

And all I thought was how dare they.
How dare they try to even comprehend the thought of being unable to carry something that was going to mean the world to them.  Because that new life would be my world.
But in a moment, it was gone.
And I had never, ever in my entire life feel so ripped off.
So angry.
So betrayed.

I didn't pray that night.

I showered.

And cried.

And tumbled into my unkempt bed.

And I slept.

Chemo was expensive.  I was in college, far away from family.  They were supportive, sad.
But I felt anger.
Resentment to them.
Because they pitied me.
I felt like kicked dog on the side of an abandoned road.
And I wanted to scream at them.
That they didn't understand.

But they asked me what made me go seek help.  I told them I didn't feel right.

"Was it a lump?"  They would ask.

"Did it hurt when you weren't menstruating?"  They would prod.

"Did something show you something was wrong?"  They would pick.

And I gave them the same answer.

I felt different.

 I went for a check up.

I got the news.

I wanted to die.

Not from Cancer.  But that fucking thing can go kiss my ass.  It should be easy as it's kissed my ovaries. 

I wanted to die in a different way.  By a car accident, heart attack, falling asleep and never waking up.

But now I'm going to die. 

I caught it a while ago,  so they can only slow the cancer.  Not stop it.  

"Three years max."  The doctors said mournfully.  As though I had already died.

I felt dead inside, so I guess that's the same thing.

I stopped doing things I enjoyed. 

I used to ride my bike by the ocean every day.  Twice. 

I didn't have the strength to anymore.

I used to photograph people at their happiest.

I threw my camera against my bedroom wall.

I tore shelves down in my room. 

I stabbed scissors into the wall.

I never went more than one day without crying.

I always cried until I fell asleep.

That was what I was like for  a year. 

It felt excruciating.

I lost my hair.  I used to wear a wig because I felt embarrassed, but I stopped and started wearing a toque. 

I missed my hair a lot.  It wasn't very long, I was always called a lesbian for having a pixie cut.

But I loved it. 

It was a subtle mouse brown that somehow managed to make me look like a rock star every day without doing anything to it. 

I didn't have to shave my legs or anything anymore though. 
That didn't suck. 
It sucked because it reminded me that I was dying.
And my insides were screwed.

But I went to the doctor almost every day for two and a half years.

At this point, I was on edge daily. 
Not angry, just anxious.

Like, I knew I was going to die any day now.

But I didn't.

In three years I was still alive.

And I felt so much hope well inside of me that I thought I was going to burst.

I think I did burst actually.

In tears.

The doctors didn't know what to say. 

I still didn't have any hair, but I strutted with my bald head high. 

I felt amazing.

I even fell in love.

He was amazing.

He knew what I was going through, but stayed with me. 

He wanted us to get married, have children--
Which he knew we would have to adopt.

But he didn't care.

We were in love.

We travelled all around Europe.

We moved to Paris. 

I became fluent in french.

We had an apartment.

We walked down the river ways.

We were in a book.









But, my book ended five years after I had been diagnosed with Cancer. 

I was twenty four when I died holding my husband's hand.

I was twenty four when I had so much cancer in me, that I could have killed twenty other people.

I was twenty four when my little girl had to kiss her mother goodbye. 

I was twenty four when my life ended.

A Poem

09/01/2014

It was as if I was touching the clouds
That the smoke danced me into the sky
our breaths molding to the smog
is that what it's like, say you, to be high?
With the heavy bass trampling our hearts
as though that was what kept us alive
it was constantly a blur
but I swear to you,  I never felt deprived.
Through every seeding moment
it felt like eternity
but as time ran from us
it was merely internally.
You spoke, you spoke with confidence
about how I should write a song
but your harmonising creativity
would make all my work seem wrong.
But that was never negative
Oh, no it made me smile
because of how you spoke so solely
it made eternity last a while.
This isn't a song, but I would add guitar
just to say I did it,
and just to prove you right
even if it sounds like shit
I would never take it back
Those moments are precious to me
we were never that trapped before,
but I had never felt so free.
This isn't a song
but I hope a poem will do
because you've done so much more for me
I hope I can do so much for you.