the silence between us stretches, a vast expanse that widens our separation we exchange bland words, leaving a bitterness on our tongues and, our hands have yet to meet, yearning for a touch unknown there exists a magnetic force, drawing us near, only to repel us further into the depths of distance she eludes me, enveloped in a language of her own creation and i long to decipher her, to read the intricacies of her being i crumple myself within the folds of her eyes, nestled within their creases, i despise her, and she, she despises me i glean fragments of her existence through the reflections of others, witnessing her transformation, until she becomes whole (woman!) oh, how i wish i had never crossed paths with her, what tragedy… the world halts at her feet, a liberation and recreation my god, she's intoxicating a warmth that beckons me, tender palms and the caress of autumn's breeze i seek permission to explore the depths of her being, "can i love you fiercely, enough to ignite a smile upon your lips, enough to be held gently by you," a warmth that allows me to immerse my past, and to shed all layers until only my bare bones remain but we're not close, and i grapple with the uncertainty of loving a woman like her, for i am a woman - like her she resides within the chambers of my heart, yet i exist only within the fleeting hours we share, my name a fragile echo that could easily fade into oblivion so, we remain muted for now, words too weighty to be uttered, emotions shrouded in a haze of confusion i can't discern if we harbor hatred or not, yet i know that within each other's gaze, we observe ourselves, and perhaps that's why we're hesitant to draw nearer, afraid to confront our own reflections, foo fearful to surrender, too fearful to love
I completely agree with you! This degree has introduced me to a world of history and culture. Thank you for…
I hear your conundrum; I too suffer from a ‘title’ that doesn’t pay the mortgage…Beowulf, Dante’s Inferno, Canterbury Tales are…
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Good stuff.
- The Animal with My Face
- Alberta’s Book Ban: A Dystopian Reality
- Decoding “Sinners:” A Vampire Film with Cultural Depth
- John Hates Lemons
- Checkpoint Poetics: What a Soviet Poet Taught Me About Moral Resistance
The Animal with My Face
[A literary, modernist-inspired psychological gothic vignette with feminist and speculative undertones.] It began in silence. Not the sort that follows noise, but the kind that has always been there and waits to be noticed. The room held it carefully. Between the clock’s measured tick and the slight movement of the sheets, something remained untouched. It…
Alberta’s Book Ban: A Dystopian Reality
They say words have power; in Alberta this fall, they are also being held accountable. The weight of this power is evident as classics such as 1984, The Handmaid’s Tale, and Brave New World have been marched off the shelves—not with a bang, but with the muted bureaucracy of a book-ban policy that swept through…
Decoding “Sinners:” A Vampire Film with Cultural Depth
When Ryan Coogler’s Sinners hit theatres this spring, I expected style, atmosphere, and a dose of supernatural dread. What I didn’t expect was a politically charged, allegorical horror epic that tackles cultural appropriation, the cycles of colonization, and the politics of assimilation—all set to the raw pulse of 1930s juke joint blues. This film doesn’t…
Anxious Thoughts
Navigating life’s uncertainties, one word at a time
Anxious Thoughts 
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