Say it.Say it over and over and over again.Say it like a mantra.Say it like a magic spell.Say it until you believe it.Say it until it sounds wrong.Say it until the words twist in on themselves.Say it until it makes sense.Say it until your voice runs out.Say it until your throat is raw.Say it until you’re swallowing blood.Say it until you can’t breathe.Say it until it’s true.Say it.Say it.Say it.Say it until it stops being true.Say it.Say it.Say it over and over and over again.   This poem was published in the June 2013 edition of Open Heart Forgery.

Miss your parents. Be struck with deep, heart-hollowing longing for them at the oddest of moments. Wish your mother was there when you are trying to decide whether a striped shirt should be washed with lights or darks. Feel the absence of your father when you watch a good documentary. Call them for no reason other than to tell them you bought some new storage containers and the grocery store didn’t have any good avocados. Be annoyed when your mother does the same. Love when your father emails to tell you about a typo in the newspaper.Long for home. Be confused about what that means. Fly back to your parents’…

The summer we were sixteen our bodies became liquid. We spread ourselves over the earth seeping into dirt, shimmering in sunlight.   We were weightless then, invincible, things of beauty. Our skin could not contain our radiance. Light leaked through our pores.     This piece was published in the 2012 edition of Ballyhoo, an annual arts publication of The King’s University College.

Regret slips in quietly sometime around 3 a.m.He curls up in your favourite chair,pulls a blanket over himselfand waits.When you wake upthere he isdozing in your living room.And no matter how silentlyyou go about your morning ritual,he will wake up,he will invite himself to breakfastand stay much longer. This piece was published in the 2011 edition of Ballyhoo, an annual arts publication of The King’s University College.

[IMAGE SOURCE]   Edgar Degas, pastel on paper, 1900-1902   It would not do to come undone   for a stray hair landing on a cheek to suggest imperfection freckled skin uneven seam   It would not do to draw attention   for an unsteady smile or shaking hand to hint at fear teary eyes bitten lips   Take a moment to compose yourself.   It would not do to come undone.     This piece was published in the 2012 edition of Ballyhoo, an annual arts publication by The King’s University College.