one day i met a man who killed all the poems in me i am no longer fascinated with my pain after you there is a dullness to the writing now, this is the calm after the storm,  an island widowed from atmosphere after a hurricane has swept through it, everything is rubble and stone i think about how much happier and at peace i am alone and always have been, love has a price always and the price is always yourself you just kind of hope the other person is doing that too, once you leave someone you have no right to ask anything of them. there is such a peace of mind when you know how little someone can offer you and when you know it has everything to do with them and nothing to do with you. some people turn your love for them into a mistake in the after. it becomes untouchable in the after. it becomes dirty and Wrong in the after. i keep thinking of being abandoned again by someone else and being ok with it. i keep thinking about how to clean my love, filter it through the City of Toronto’s water treatment plant. i think about all the people in my life who have been very bad for me. there are more of these people than those who have been good for me. i keep thinking about making better choices but i don’t really know how. i think about the good friends i have. girls like me need to learn to receive love and this is hard because we don’t really know what it is. it is ok to lay in the rubble of a broken island dream. the price you pay when you love someone is yourself – and sometimes means a part of you dies once they leave. it’s ok. death is just the space before life in so many traditions. it’s ok. the love that stays is the love that lets you live. but the love that kills your instinct to give lets you die. we have to die before we are born again. this island has nothing anymore and that’s ok. sea rise. high tide. high time. thank you for killing that girl. this girl is a serpent in the water, does not need you, does not want you, has herself. i am at home in the salt and in the ocean. when you left there was an empty space inside me, as big as all the love i gave, as big as the love i wanted; when you left i saw how big the hole inside me was. saw the parchment paper thin skin, the girl that gave with no expectations, the girl that loved with no expectations, the dead girl hair, the dead girl eyes, the brown corn husk of a body, buried at sea with rubble dreams. it’s ok. some girls only find themselves on the other side of their graves. inside the dead girl corn husk brown shell brittle is me. Snake girl, snake witch, the girl who never gives anything for free anymore. the price of love is always a body. these days, i want to see how much he gives. a hand. a finger. a toe. a nose. what are the body parts i will collect in my room? i think about the littleness of men’s love. the way they collected my body parts and gave nothing. i think about their cowardice. How can you have yourself and other people’s body parts and give nothing? i think about how men make love transactional and dirty. i think about the little brown paper girl dissolving in the sea who loved to give and thought others would too, for her. i think about how i don’t love to give anymore. there is such peace in rest, in death. the truth is no one owes each other anything. the truth is, owning your word and living by it and knowing all men are made of lies in all ways always and that their words are worms in their own feces that you’ve been happily swallowing for years. men are only as good as their worthless words. you realise at some point you have to be better – really better. you realise you cannot live within the confines of the little ways of men with their narrow souls. you realise you hold yourself to better standards not because you have to, but because it’s a question of honour and justice and you can never tolerate anything less than that in yourself. you realise men will never do right by you, but that you can still do right by everyone – not for them, but for yourself.
On my best days, i wish him well.  On my worst days, i hope with a viciousness i did not know i had that someone hurts him the way he hurt me and that i run into him when he is struggling to find himself.  Then i remember: i did meet him when he was struggling to find himself.

And then I feel only indifference.


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