Monday, December 30, 2013

Dear Sierra

1) Push yourself to get up before the rest of the world - start with 7am, then 6am, then 5:30am.
2) Push yourself to fall asleep earlier - start with 11pm, then 10pm, then 9pm.
3) Erase processed food from your diet. Use the rule that if a child couldn't identify what was in it, you don't eat it.
4) Get in the habit of cooking yourself a beautiful breakfast.
5) Drink more water.
6) Keep journaling. Write down everything you do: Dinner dates, appointments, assignments, coffees, what you need to do that day. No detail is too small.
7) Take walks. Take your headphones, take your dog. Smile at strangers walking the opposite way and be surprised at how many smile back.
8) Message old friends, reminisce. Suggest you catch up soon, even if you don't follow through. Push yourself to follow through.
9) Become the person you would fall in love with. Be a considerate driver. Compliment people on their cute clothes. On their beautiful smiles. Look them in the eyes.
10) Be bold: with love, with food, with fashion.
11) Ignore your social media when you're with friends. Turn your phone off at dinner. Relish in the times spent with the ones you love.
12) Find something that interests / slightly terrifies you and take a class on it.
13) Help strangers. Pay it forward and remain anonymous.
14) Make up with anyone who has wronged you / who you've wronged.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

How to be perfect.

Get some sleep.
Eat an orange every morning.
Be friendly. It will help make you happy.
Hope for everything. Expect nothing.
Take care of things close to home first. Straighten up your room before you save the world. Then save the world.
Be nice to people before they have a chance to behave badly.
Don't stay angry about anything for more than a week, but don't forget what made you angry. Hold your anger out at arm's length and look at it, as if it were a glass ball. Then add it to your glass ball collection.
Wear comfortable shoes.
Do not spend too much time with large groups of people.
Plan your day so you never have to rush.
Show your appreciation to people who do things for you, even if you have paid them, even if they do favours you don't want.
After dinner, wash the dishes.
Calm down.
Don't expect your children to love you, so they can, if they want to.
Don't be too self-critical or self-congratulatory.
Don't think that progress exists. It doesn't.
Imagine what you would like to see happen, and then don't do anything to make it impossible.
Forgive your country every once in a while. If that is not possible, go to another one.
If you feel tired, rest.
Don't be depressed about growing older. It will make you feel even older. Which is depressing.
Do one thing at a time.
If you burn your finger, put ice on it immediately. If you bang your finger with a hammer, hold your hand in the air for twenty minutes. You will be surprised by the curative powers of ice and gravity.
Do not inhale smoke.
Take a deep breath.
Do not smart off to a policeman.
Be good.
Be honest with yourself, diplomatic with others.
Do not go crazy a lot. It's a waste of time.
Drink plenty of water. When asked what you would like to drink, say, "Water, please."
Take out the trash.
Love life.
Use exact change.
When there's shooting in the street, don't go near the window.

~ Ron Padgett

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

#1

Please

don’t leave me


she silently pleads through eyes that are wide and deep-set and dark

and sometimes, to you,

they may look hollow; empty even

but that’s only because you’re trying to convince yourself that she’s heartless.

Because you can’t grasp the concept of her,

how she can smile and wink with one side of her face and scowl with the other.

she may tell you

f*** off

in even fewer words than that,

but that’s only cos the fewer words she gives you,

the smaller glimpse you get

into her soul.

It is beautiful, though, you know.

Exquisite, even.

It may be poorly tended but

underneath the overgrowth

lies a rosegarden.

And she’s cautious.

Of course she’s cautious;

no one but her has ever set foot in it or even seen it.

She wants to open up to you,

to give you the key and invite you in

but

you haven’t given her any reason to believe that

you won’t stomp in

with muddy boots

and trample everything she’s spent her whole life protecting.

Just give her patience.

Time.

Keep quietly watering her soul from a distance

and put on your shiniest dress-shoes.

Just please don’t give up on her

yet.

This is a work of fiction // A Series in Wishful Thinking

Sometimes I shut my eyes so tightly

and hold my breath for so long

that my face turns your favorite shade of blue,

just because I want to see the stars and remember what it felt like to be kissed by you.

And sometimes I speed into the night sky just so I can throw my hand out the car window

and shake off the dust that’s settled inbetween my fingers since yours were last there.

I read last night that my body houses over three trillion cells

and within each one lies enough information to fill the pages of one hundred thousand novels.

If that’s true, then why can’t I find even one word to sufficiently express the sensation that washes over me every time I realize you’re truly and irrevocably gone?

#9

I wonder if

when monsters go to bed at night,

they ask their parents to double-check for humans

under their beds and behind their closet doors;

because they’ve heard stories about a world where

men storm into movie theatres carrying nothing but a gun and a broken heart or a blind grudge

and where women confuse dumpsters for bassinets, as they lay their newborn infants down

alongside any trace of compassion left in their bodies.

Stories in which

liars live in mansions and honest men die in the streets.

I wonder if we’re the true monsters.
Stay away from the girl who spends her nights alone,

or else you’ll wake up to your phone ringing at four o’clock in the morning and find yourself holding back her long, matted hair exactly nineteen minutes later

while she heaves into the nearest wastebasket.

The air will become heavy with the smell of red wine and poetry and unspoken loneliness and when all her secrets have been spilled, she’ll turn around, eyes averted, wiping her mouth,

and she will curve like a comma around the doorframe, a break between the story told by senior portraits and diplomas hung on the walls.

The trail of letters still dripping off her chin spell out

S’il vous plait aidez-moi

but you slept through french class in highschool and won’t think much of it.

(That’s okay;

she won’t want you to)
Just gonna post some stories I've been working on over the past couplea months. So. There's that.