I have lost all of my words.

So, I have started to carry my thesaurus
with me everywhere

in hopes the words will saturate
through the pages
up and out of my purse,

shoot up my arm,
tracing and weaving around
each finger,
until the syllables inject into my veins
and blue ink blood poisons it's way back
to my lungs
to breath.

babe, you've gotta stop
selling yourself short.
(or just selling yourself short of common cents)

to me you are the entire
Province & Territory
collector's edition set of quarters.

to me you are a crumpled
brown $2 bill.

to me you are any kind of
foreign currency I can get my hands on.

to me you are a Rider loonie.

you are mint.
(in condition & taste)

this bed is too big

i used to love the impossible reaching
trying to get all four limbs
to clutch a different corner.

but the more i sleep here
the smaller i feel,
the more sleepless i get.

i insisted upon an unfathomable
number of pillows when the bed first arrived.

in a quiet state i've removed them all-
making the area exponentially larger.

this space is unforgiving.

you can see the stress
in my fingernails.
little bumps/dents
like the jagged rings in a
tree trunk.

i can pin-point the exact
moment when you broke my heart.

i've watched the indent
slowly, very slowly climb
further from the cuticle.

i wonder if maybe, just maybe
my heart will be healed by the
time i trim my nails.

Off beat.

I am one of the lucky ones.
I live underground where the sun and air
and birds and twigs can't get me.

My world is full of choice and
Lenient moments.
Filled with abrasive opinions and
hours that seem to pass and pass and pass
without skipping a beat.

Time stops in my sound heart,
and even though I'm a sucker for a hand-clap medly,
I crave the silence this beat less second gives me.

Da dum Da dum.

I am truly alone.

Da dum Da dum.

The independence that I've wrestled with
happens 63 times every minute.
Off beat.

Tight Lips.

I have learned so much about myself this year.
I look back and everything has changed.
Not one ounce of old me remains.
In some ways this is the scariest thing in the world.
Is it odd that I'm excited?

Tonight I saw a couple of the girls,
I think they wanted me to spill the beans,
give details and tidbits like I used to
(I always prided myself in being an open book)
but now, my pride lies in my tight lips,
my hesitant heart.

I used to allow myself to be read by everyone for the reassurance.
If they all know everything about me,
there are no surprises.
I realized that I like surprises.