27 03 2011

March 1st, 2005


As I sit here,
trying to get over the fact that I need you,
It fills my mind; you fill my mind.
I know it’s cliche but
even the sight of you
relieves my addiction to you.
But only for so long,
until I have to get over my desperation
for you.

In the Mind of a Wise Idiot

4 03 2011

While in the New Shoots Creative Writing program in high school, I think we were supposed to write something performance-y or at least something that our mentor, whose name I have forgotten… no!  Ben!  Yes!  Ben was supposed to look over and give comments.  I went through a phase in high school where I thought that writing the most random things that came to mind equalled great poetry.  How very, very wrong I was.

This initally consisted of 3 pages, both sides, of the most random things I could think of.  Some were inspired by what was around me, mainly Math class.  Of these three pages, I then took passages from all three and condensed them into one prose/poem thing.  There’s no story, so it’s not really prose but it’s not structured like a poem (then again, free verse = anything).  I remember thinking this was the most brilliant thing I had written.  How Ben was able to read and make any sort of sense of this is beyond me.

In the Mind of a Wise Idiot


“Not at all”, he said to me as I wondered what it would be like to finally taste the sweetness of his lips.  Don’t tell me I’m dreaming again, I think to myself.  Well, how can I be dreaming if I can think?  Maybe it’s that even the first time I saw him that it changed everything for me.  The randomness of school makes it impossible for me to do anything.  At all.  At all, at all.  Somehow, I find myself wondering about him all…yes, all!  The times are changing; perhaps I will feel different tomorrow.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Perhaps he will finally notice me…


Why am I so scared anyways?  It doesn’t make sense, well…we’re all scared of something, especially the truth; it blinds us, it tortures us, it shows us things we’re hiding from All!  this time.  And yet we can’t seem to accept it!  It is like we want another reason, but we are given the reason; we just refuse to believe it.  How stupid of us, all of us.  Why are we all! so stupid?  It doesn’t make sense.  Then again, nothing ever makes sense.  It probably never will.  We will all! continue to blind ourselves from the truth that we refuse to believe.  I don’t understand.  And I probably never will.


I wonder if I should do anything about it.  About what?  There’s nothing to do and nothing anyone can do.  Well, except for both of him.  Perhaps he’s scared.  Perhaps he doesn’t know if I am or not.  Perhaps he himself isn’t.  Perhaps this, perhaps that.  Only time will.  Tell me what you think.  Make sense of ALL!  Look, there he is again.  I think he was looking at me. But I didn’t look back.  Should I have?  Who cares anyways?  But it’s not impossible right?  I don’t know what to think anymore.  Should I keep chasing after him, or in that case, anyone if I don’t get high?  Hmm…maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe I should stop.  Stop.  Stop.  Stop, yes…that sounds quite right.  Hmm…everything seems so wrong.  What is right?  What does it mean?  The brightness of his shirt is overwhelming.  Who is this?  Who are you?  Who is everyone?  Who is anyone?  How do we know who we are if nothing is right? Math is stupid and endearing ’till eternity.

Nothing can escape a black hole; its black, black, black heart swallows all.  This reminds me of when I thought about not breathing ever again before.  Nope, not fun at all.  Why don’t everyone just shut up?  Please, shut up!  Get out now, you stupid opossum!  And stay out!  Don’t forget to shut up!  It makes no SENSE!  Yes, that’s what we all need; some sense.  How can I make sense of sense if I can’t sense it?  Hmm…perhaps my binder holds answers.  I don’t know anything. “Funner” is not a word, you stupid hoe.  I really should just stop because I’m not making any sense…yes, that word again!  I’m confusing myself.  What should I do?  If today is gone, would we be on February 14th?  Quite strange really, but maybe…maybe not.

I wonder if people wonder.  I wonder if people wonder about the same things as I do.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Perhaps they are normal.  Perhaps, no one is normal.  Perhaps we are all queer and I’m normal.  Perhaps my people are the normal ones.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  That seems to make so much more sense…there’s that word again.  No!  My god!  Your god sucks!!!  Math sucks.  Here sucks.  Do I suck?  I don’t know but probably.  Imagine all the people, living in hell.  That I can do.  Hmm…cards can be fun if you’re a hobo.  The pink fluffy bunnies will continue to hop until their legs fall off.  Alive, then dead.  I wonder about him and the future.  Perhaps it will all! change.  Perhaps, perhaps not.

Wow.  I am so obviously sane.

One More Day

3 03 2011

I often tell people that “Empty” was the first song I wrote, but that’s not actually true.  Back in the 10th Grade, instead of listening to Mr. O’Connor drone on about Social Studies and his propaganda (more on that a different day), I wrote this poem that somehow turned into a song in my mind. Sure, the lyrics are terrible and the melody of which I have long forgotten was probably equally terrible.  But hey.  Without this, I may not have ever been able to take a look at this later and thought, “Huh.  So this is kinda really bad.  Let’s write something good for a change… like about depression!”

One More Day

The morning brings to me,
Something I don’t know.
Singing in the streets,
Is what I have to show.

Why is life so hard
with everything I do?
Nothing seems to start
but your face will get me through
‘Cuz I know that…


I need to be free,
I need you with me.
When I’m goin’ crazy
and my mind is hazy, yeah
I need my own ways
Don’t care what you say.
Just help me get through one more day.

Dreamin’ of your face,
Thinking of your smile.
Staring into space,
Thouts just seem to pile.

Words can’t express,
how much I like you.
This problem’s such a mess
but I know you’ll get me through.
‘Cuz it seems like…

Repeat chorus

And it feels like this is never gonna work out,
on the inside, this is making me scream and shout.
Trying to forget you, but there is no doubt.
Now I cannot lie,
My love will only grow.
I can’t deny

[I think there’s a line more but the paper’s ripped at the bottom.  Which may be a good thing.]


26 01 2011

Back in high school in Grade 10, while the girls in PE class were having a self-defense class and learning all 101 ways to break a guy’s nose in the event he attacks her, the boys were getting their own lessons — in self-esteem.  Or something.

A man came in and we had what seemed like an hour and a half long pep-talk about what it takes to be a man.  Throughout the class, we did various things like stand in a big circle and confess to our new instructor one person we thought was our hero/someone we looked up to while he looked at us right in the eyes, as if to see if we were being genuine or not.  I remember Sean Tevlin said Jack Black and while we laughed, our pep-talker told us if Sean really did in fact look up to Mr. Black, that it wasn’t really something we should be laughing at — or at least not in a “Why would anyone look up to him?” way.

Another activity we did was listing things that were expected of being men, and another list of things that were not expected of men.  All was going well when someone said, an expectation for not being a man, “Gay.”  The room was silent (though it may have been silent-ish before the phrase was uttered).  I felt a lump in my throat.

“Does everyone agree with this?” the man asked us.

I wanted to shout out a simple, “No!” or to shake my head or do something, anything.  My mind was screaming at me to do something but all I could do was sit there stupidly, staring at him while everyone around me did the same.

Because speaking up would’ve meant that that person was gay.  No one wanted to do that.

The moment passed.  He seemed disappointed that no one said anything, and reluctantly put it on the board, on the list of expectations a man shouldn’t be.  And in that moment, I knew I would regret never saying anything.

You could argue that I was only just starting to come out and my nervousness, not to mention that I was/am a shy person at times, and that speaking up about it would’ve been understandable hard.

That’s not good of an excuse for me.  I was scared — scared of what using my voice, scared of what others would think of me.

It still is hard for me to speak up sometimes.  But then I think of this and how easy it is to say nothing, and I know:

I am better than that.


29 09 2010

More bad high school, teenage poetry.


Not unlikely that time
will stop for me; so
insignificant and dumb that I
don’t really Derserve such great power
such as time stopping
time warping
time travel
for me, no… never