the timeline

when i was four years old
i remember, every night
my mother would turn on the fan in my room.
it didn't matter
if it was freezing cold in there,
when it was bedtime,
the fan went on.
and i hated that fan.
i hated that fan.
because the fan sounded
like daddy yelling.

when i was seven years old,
my dad left for a year.
he left in a blaze of anger and alcohol,
after a midnight fight with my mom
that left me with images of my mother dying
in the middle of the supermarket
and me, standing there,
not knowing what to do with the cart.
because when you're seven years old,
and your dad tells your mom,
"you're gonna die in front of your daughter,"
you never, ever think
it's going to be
at the hands
of your dad.

and when i was seven years old
and my mom yelled out the window,
"somebody call the police!"
while my dad cornered her in the guest room,
i suddenly realized that
no, mommy and daddy were not yelling
because there was a fire.
something was much more the matter with that.
and did you know
that in grade school
they teach you to make fire escape plans with your family
and they teach you nothing
nothing
nothing at all
to deal with this.

and when i was seven years old
and i started to cry because i was scared -
not of anything that was actually happening, really,
but more just scared because
i didn't understand -
my dad turned around
and picked me up
and carried me
out of the room and down the stairs.
and i started screaming
because the last thing i saw as we turned the corner
was my mother
standing there
looking more frightened than i have ever seen her
before that or since.
and i can't help but think
how it must have torn my father apart
to pick up his little girl
and hear her scream for her life.

when i was eleven years old,
my brother became violent
out of his own confusion
for what happened while he slept
back when i was seven years old.
and my mother
my mother
sent him away
to live with the man
who had threatened her life.
my father.

when i was thirteen years old,
i used to hide in the garage
while my brother and my dad went at each others' throats
over fights that i started.
i used to hide in the garage
and cry in the back seat of the car
while my dad held my little brother against the wall
by the cuff of his shirt
about how my brother
ought to still love
my mother.

when i was fourteen years old
my mother kicked me out too.
and i went to live with my dad,
who spoiled me rotten.
and everything was fine
until i said the wrong thing
and my little brother
had to come and take my dad out of the room
before he hit me.
and even after i moved back in with my mother,
i never told her,
and i never will.

when i was eighteen years old
i tried to kill myself
twice
and after the second time
my mother kicked me out again
because it was all too much.
and i lived by myself
and was as happy as i have ever been,
because finally i was alone
and there was nobody around
to hurt me
by loving me.

i am nineteen years old,
and what i know now is that
when i was four years old,
the fan did not sound
like daddy yelling.
daddy was yelling.
and when i was seven years old,
my dad
threatened the life
of my mom
in front of me.
and my mom
thought that she was going to die
in front of me.
and my dad,
this dangerous man,
picked me up and took me away
and my mom
just
watched.
and she never came after me.
and she let me go.
and i am certain
that even just a little bit
i broke my father's heart
when i screamed for her to help me.
and when i was eleven years old,
my brother became violent
because nobody ever took the time
to fucking explain to him
what happened that night
while he was still asleep
and why things happened the way they did
because i heard the fan
and i know now
about the yelling
but he
never
did
and nobody gives a fuck.
and i am certain
that my little brother,
my baby brother,
was beaten by my dad
while i hid like a fucking coward
in the fucking garage
at thirteen years old,
and that's why
when i was fourteen years old
my brother
knew how to save me.
and when i was eighteen
i tried to kill myself
because i was fucking tired
of everybody trying to love me all the time
because i have seen
all my life
what love is.

and at nineteen years old,
ladies and gentlemen,
no fucking thank you.

because at nineteen years old
i know
that being loved by someone
means being hurt over and over again
and being hurt because you hurt them
and being loved by someone
means never
never
never
forgiving them
for not coming after you.

(because i know it's easy to read this
and think my dad is the bad guy,
but my mother let him carry me away
after threatening to fucking MURDER HER
and that will always hurt a thousand times more.)

sands

"ocean spray,
a thousand miles away.
a thousand smiles today,
down on the sand.

summer breeze.
a laugh that comes with ease,
i'd like to hear it please,
that sunny band.

i can feel it in my hair and in my bones,
i can feel it when it sings those dulcet tones,
i can sympathize and harmonize and then
i am bathing in the ocean once again."

whelp fuck

you want to talk and i can't stop thinking -
try to walk it off and my legs are shrinking,
'cause i get so small when i'm counting down.
watch the clock fall 'til it hits the ground.
honing in on all my worst-case comebacks,
try not to cry when my heart reacts
to the traps i've laid out for when this plays out
and i finally figure out what you're on about.
mind over matter - i don't know what does.
i don't yet know why and i'm predicting "because",
waiting for a call as i try hard not to,
remembering the lines back from when i fought you,
and you said you didn't know if this was worth it
and i tried so hard but i'm still not perfect.
tell me what you want, boy, tell me what you need.
your silence leaves space for my mind to breed
all the terrible outcomes i'm hoping aren't true.
i just want to talk. i just want you.

dzjxhvdkjxhvkjsd

"tangled in the blankets,
dripping from the tap.
aim for steady pulses
with your hands in your lap.

and every hair you brush away,
every bit of skin you touch,
every look you ever gave
makes me think too much.

distance will test
what we have in this.
every breath that we invest
is a breath that i will miss.

i wanna capture every moment,
and lock them all away.
i wanna put them in a room
where i can make them stay.

i wanna visit every whisper,
every spot you ever kissed.
i am homesick for a place
that doesn't exist.

i am homesick for a place
that doesn't exist."

idk wtf this is either. fuck me sideways.

i drank an energy drink to try and finish my fucking homework and this is what i'm doing instead. kjhdgkjfdxv fuck fuck fuck. and i swear this energy drink just made me more tired. ugh.

goodnight, i think.

(i am going to tear out my fucking tonsils and throat with the dullest knives i can find, i swear. sdjvhdjxv)

poooooooooop

"let me know
if you want to go.
i won't fight it or try
to put on a show.

i'll just repeat,
as i stare at my feet,
i'm sorry, i'm sorry,
and then i'll retreat.

it's okay,
there's no right words to say,
so stop talking,
and simply start walking away.

i'll be fine,
cut free from your line,
'cause if it ain't me,
i'd rather not be the girl who kept you confined,

and i hope, i hope you understand
that it's just easier, it's kinder
if you just let go, let go of my hand
and go out there and find her, go and find her."

well shit, that sucked.

fuck, i wanna write a song about telling someone you love to leave you to find someone they love just as much...? if that makes sense.
why? fuck if i know.

it's hard because i guess i don't feel that way right now.
which is good for me, but shitty for my lyrics.

da-dum-dum.

candles

"if you had caught on fire
and there was nothing i could do,
i'd gladly take your hand
and let myself catch fire too."

i can't stop thinking

i hope you know that your mother thanked me for coming to your service,
and that it meant a lot to me that she did.
i feel like it probably meant a lot more to her than it would have to you,
but it's not something that i'll ever know for sure,
is it?

there's still a mark on the tree from where you left us,
and up until they paved over it there was still a mark on the road too.
it's strange to drive by and not see the skid marks.
it's strange to drive by and look for skid marks at all.

i can't help but tense up when we drive by that bend in the road,
that end of the line.
i don't understand.

your mother told me the story of you carrying home the wooden chair you made in shop class because you didn't ever want to be a bother to her.
why couldn't you just be a bother to her?
i don't think she'll ever stop blaming herself.

she scares me sometimes when she talks about you.
when she talks about dying.

i'm sure there are people who don't recognize your name anymore,
but then again i'm sure there are people who don't recognize mine either.
i guess the difference is that i'm still alive and therefore still fading.
you're dead and therefore just as vivid as you ever will be.

sometimes i feel like you'll be remembered more than anyone else,
and someday we'll all be dead,
except for you.

there's new bark growing over on the tree where you left us.
i don't know what to do.

never in my life

have i felt like more of a burden on my friends.

"take off my clothes and i feel useless,
don't think i know how to do this."

portrait

it's actually very difficult
being surrounded by a family
that isn't broken.

excuse me forgetting,

but these things i do.

i'm so fucking lost.

and then i get to thinking,

"the nike suicide:
just do it."

peach

last night i dreamed that he didn't hate my guts,
and that things were still okay.

we talked for a while,
and even though everything else about the dream was totally surreal,
that part stuck, and stayed.

it felt real,
and i feel like maybe it felt real because
i wanted to believe it was.

i woke up with the most overwhelming feeling
of no. not okay. no more. i'm done.

near the end of my dream,
he turned into me.

i don't know what that means.
i don't understand.

part of me wants to tell him how i've been feeling,
but i don't know if that's fair. after all,
i'm still not sure if it's because of him
or something else
that i want to kill myself.

but i think,
most of all,
i am afraid.

because in my mind, i can see it happening
where i tell him how i've been feeling,
and i say to him,

"i'm going to kill myself."

and he says,

"good."

yeah,

i don't want to be here anymore.

cracker cuts

here i am to take my bow.
we are more than over now.
dim your candles, kill the flame -
hide my face and hide the blame.

oh, you know,
i really have to go.

oh, you see,
you deserve more than me.

it's not about what could have been,
i believe in what i've seen.
i'd offer you one final kiss,
but i can't love you more than this.

i can't love you more than this.

suicide

because when you strip off the jewellery,
all i really am is tired, sorry, and sad.

kd

if you see me in the halls you better run, bitch, run.
this is the game you made, and it ain't no fun.
you could have had it easy, but you tried to be tough,
and now no matter what you do, it won't be enough.

float

i think that drowning,
if you really accepted it,
would be a painless way to go.

and pretty, too.

fack

trust me on this one, and just walk away.
i am a terrible idea, it's only fair to say
i will hurt you, i will destroy you and leave
and i will not give a shit like you wouldn't believe.

trust me on this one, it's proven as fact.
i am wearing a mask, please don't fall for my act.
i am selfish, i am rotten and mean.
i don't try to be dirty, but i can't come clean.

trapped

crooked rooftops, unlike the suburbs,
so counted and clean,
grainy mornings, mist from the trees
that surround us in green.

mist and distance cloud us from fear.
we can breathe in deep here.

crooked rooftops, perfect for climbing
while under the stars.
cracked pavement under lights, where in the city
there would have been cars.

we are so far away from what's holding us back.
we are so close to making up for what we lack.
you can be anyone you want, dear.
you can breathe in deep here.

mist and distance cloud us from fear.

something i've never told anyone

i think the first time i ever really thought about sex was back in either kindergarten or the first grade. i'm sure i didn't know what the hell i was actually thinking about back then, but still. it had to be sometime during that period because it was in the old public library in orangeville (we moved after first grade), up in the attic where the childrens' books were. i was obsessed with beatrix potter books, like the tale of peter rabbit and whatnot, and the book i read a lot at the time was "the roly-poly pudding", also known as "the tale of samuel whiskers". i don't remember everything that happens in the book, but i remember that at one point this rat tries to roll this kitten up in dough or whatever to turn him into a pudding. and i don't know why, but somewhere in my subconscious this registered as something sexual i guess because i used to read it and just look at the pictures over and over again and try to imagine what it felt like to be wrapped in dough and kneaded and whatnot. i know it doesn't sound sexual, and it actually sounds fucking stupid, but i remember feeling guilty every time i did it. i don't know. i guess just when i think back about it, it registers to me as something sexual.

i guess another one along those lines was this disney short where donald got stuck in a hair-styling machine upside down and they styled his like ass-feathers or whatever instead, bahahaha. i don't even know, but that was another one.

maybe this is why i can't have regular sexual relationships - every one of my earliest sexual fantasies (or whatever i should call them) involved some level of bondage.
... i'm gross.

yep. enjoy that one, internet.

varnish

i wish that i was far, far away from here.

"but maps can't tell time," you know?
you know.

i want to vanish.