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Tag Archives: gifts

The pursuit
is the truth
My passion has clouded my clarity
with boisterous,
bulging cloud formations
Beautiful, passing, plump
Everything up to this point
directed me to a warm moment of panic
a painful relief
I have not been touched
with such tender assurance
than when I was
disappointed
The sweet prize was
disguised as a goal –
something to aim for
when the Truth was having
a barrel to look through
down
into

Britta B.

There’s just something about somebody
who just
shows up
unannounced, no calls
no signals

just appears

He just shows up
from around the corner

gives you that look
that you can’t look

away from

Britta B.

Can’t swim
but love to study the waves

My favourite part of the day
is when it’s raining
Ah, blue o’clock
I take my time coming home

Trouble
you’re in trouble…

I sing to myself when I catch him
in my breath

His eyes:
two liquid capsules full of transparent blur
red-rimmed and open ocean blue
He
was barely there

When asked what’s up
his head hangs like a crooked frame on a wall
and the little yellow and red Lego pieces of me
instantly connect
to the ton of bricks on his shoulders
I know, I know
You shouldn’t play with road kill.
But it’s like holding a camera in your hands with no flash
and you must make light of the situation
I guess the best way to explain it
is that
wherever he is, I’ve been there

I get it

Despite surviving a semi-detached house full of split personality
part of me believes
I deserve to be forgotten, left alone unwanted
Sometimes I feel like a rescue dog, you know?
Scared
and hungry
for something other than what could be held in my mouth
or sometimes I feel like an ex-jock
who can’t help but be loud and drag around a stupid Letterman jacket
I might run ahead a few blocks
but I always look back
and it’s complicated to fall
for someone who doesn’t want to be who they are
It’s counterproductive to react (it doesn’t do any good to feel bad)
The hardest part of being there is knowing when to step back

I step back, out of the way

His eyes, two tidal waves
of Come At Me
or Get Out of My Face

I can tell he’s been chasing shadows and leaving dead people
all over town
Not that he’s in any danger per se
but he’s desperate to escape from living out the corner of his eye
so I make him a bed he can’t refuse
circle around it a few times
before laying down
and joining in

We reach for our slingshots and fold into each other’s laughter
pointing at those who scurry by with their newspapers and umbrellas
because we love the rain
we love the water and
would kill to have something we’re made of
destroy us
Using my arms for scaffolding, I build myself up into a seated position and…
He’s a copycat!
Mocks the way I study the waves
and I’m… flattered

Because it doesn’t matter
if you’re looking through trash or looking through
glass,
you always find what you’re looking for

Britta B.

Here’s a short documentary put together by some Humber College students (2013) Special Thanks to Julia Rogers.

Ever since I was born I can remember
I both hated myself and wanted
to make people’s lives better.
I learned very slowly
that these two energies don’t
work together, they work against each other.

Sometimes, I still hate myself
but I know this is a passing feeling or thought
that I am stronger than. That I am loved despite this.

But what will always be a part of me is my
undying urge to make a difference.
                                              To change somebody.
                                              To inspire and encourage.

Britta B.

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.

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!!!*