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Category Archives: National Poetry Month

Standing
Posing
Looking out, perched on the corner
of Shuter and Parliament… above Queen Street
looking for somewhere to go

I’m on a quest for
something
but I can’t tell you what I’m looking for

***

Sometimes big puffs of black smoke will
come along,
I always think my first heartache is the driver;
it takes me a sea of molten lava constructed in under 36 seconds by the
holding of my breath to not run
out into the street, bang on the hood of that car
screaming, “It’s me!! I found you!”

Britta B.

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I cry a lot
More often than I exercise
But this crying is exercise, a release
A good hustle to the top of the bottom of something
a hill or hole
depending on the day and how much strength I have in
confronting my weakness

Although, I am not weak just because I cry
I am most certainly alive
For I can feel the two furthest bits of me, kiss
Pain kissing Peace
Peace killing Pain

Britta B.

The sound of crooked kitchen chairs, hands
squeezed shut around necks, and words built on boomerangs
bellowing out from ’bout-to-be-broken jaws
drag themselves up the wall and into my room…
I’ve got a project I’m working on

Fire vs Burning
I’m on fire and burning
on fire
and burning
on fire
and burning
on fire
and burning
on fire and
burning

Britta B.

Ever had a thousand words to describe a picture
only you can see?
in a language only you can speak?

I think we all have our privileges
I think we all got our struggles
we just gotta find that speck of light sometimes, for me
it’s the moon 
it reminds me there’s a light at the end of the tunnel
it just means we’re all going through something

we are all going through it
respect the pace

It took my whole life to get here
and I still got a long way to go
places to see
people to meet
a better me to be
                                and

I give myself permission
to be whole
despite my holes, I am whole
despite my brokenness,
                                I am whole
I’ve fallen apart before, haven’t you?
when we fall apart, we fall together
“sometimes when we breakdown it is really a breakthrough”

Imagine a jar,
a beautiful Alabaster jar decorated with delightful designs and colours
the only way to know what’s inside is to break open this jar
Now, imagine yourself as this jar
decorated with delightful designs and colours

In life, sometimes we have to be broken to be opened
we have to be broken to be open
we can keep it all in
or we can choose to let it go
Give yourself permission to go somewhere unknown

we are neither created nor destroyed
but when we are broken, we transform

This feeling’s a little scary (okay, it’s really scary)
but haven’t you already survived a time you once believed
was the scariest part of your life?

maybe you have scars to show
but here you are today –
look how far you’ve come!
look how much you’ve grown
we are all going through something 

Trust your struggle and you will grow
you will grow

It won’t be easy, it will take a lot of work (and at times, you’ll feel alone)
trust your struggle anyway
it’s messy and
beautiful

Britta B.

Fine, I’ll admit it. I have trouble with
biting my nails

I constantly do it
and the dirt sticks to my gums
giving me reason to spend Sunday mornings in bed
on Google, Wiki-doctoring this weird *sucks teeth*
itch in my mouth

it’s Gingivitis. Totally Gingivitis.

I end up at the drug mart self-prescribing Gingivitis fighting
Colgate Total, $3.99 (WTFraggle Rock, man? #pennypincher)

On the way to the check-out counter I can’t help but get stuck
in the magazine section flipping through the latest Rihanna scandal 
and her most recent break-up with you know who
biting my nails all over again…

I guess we all have our habits to break

Britta B.

I don’t care ’bout the same things no more
I’m screaming in sign language
behind a brick wall
reaching into a kitchen cupboard with the
blender turned on, high-powered: 
Give me something new!

Britta B.

I hate the word “speechless”
but the English language is what I speak most
yet, amongst all of the letters and the sounds and the meanings it consists of
I have nothing to say
nothing true enough in its form to describe the immense amount of
appreciation I have for you

Lil’ buddy, you make me embarrassingly proud

I can react to disappointment like an animal
use my outdoor voice to spill my best kept secrets
slam a door in your face
act a fool
cry, pig out, cry, leave the country, cry,
not talk to you for days (because that’s all we can ever really last)
go out and make friends with strange and unusual people
use words I don’t know the meanings of and cry
let myself think for a moment that it’s possible to lose you then cry some more
and there you’ll be – right beside me on a stoop
somewhere, anywhere because this city is ours
no matter how many names deface it with graffiti we can’t read

The other day, you tried reading my palm with a stack of cards you found in a house
you keep coming back to despite your plans and executions  
and I wondered –
what are you really trying to tell me that
I don’t already know?

And now I remember
how you’ve always been a reminder
a red tie around my finger
a badge of honour, a souvenir
you are the acceptance speech I wrote when I was 6 years old
after throwing crying fit in my closet
because you get me when words fail me

There is no sound for this

It’s not like me to be the unlikely me so upfront, so close and personal
but you welcome me
and there is no sound for this
there is no sound in welcoming the unsound
it is merely a silent
ovation
  

Britta B.

*LOVE YOU, LIL BUDDY!! HAPPY 25th BIRTHDAY
MAY ALL YOUR HAKIM “THE DREAM”‘s COME TRUE!!!* 

I have trouble with remembering
what I was going to say
I’ll be all caught up in a
conversation, just about
ready to hammer the
nail on its head when
I slip up (I’m such a clutz), and hit
myself, my tongue, my thumb sticks out
like a sore sour patch kid with a sugar cane

Aghf, what was I
going to say?

Britta B.

Somewhere ‘tween the blowing curtains and his kiss
I started to feel like
I didn’t belong
like I should have
been down the street
talking to Average Joe
about LSD, vinyl records, and the best techniques for keeping the
government out of your business
but no
I was caught, uncool
crumbling, uncool
lackadaisically keeping up
with the shifts and the twists of a tongue I could have sworn belonged to a whale
as it slid down my throat and into my pocket for later
for when I finally go home to my roommate, squatting on top of a milk crate
stroking the final touches of her latest attempt to paint her take on the
skin-close encounters of the wild things we tend to bump into
when we’re just looking for something good to listen to
a groove that jingles especial for our jungle
ah yes, that’s when I’ll pluck the rubbery velvet from the corners of my mouth
and question, “If boys are my weakness, Maj, what will a man do to me?”

 Britta B.