WAR.

“i don’t know what’s worse: to have lost them, or to have never had them at all…”

“i do. it’s to know which way it was…”

- abby

I will never beg you to stay

When you and I know you’ll just walk away

…

first

second

third — one, two

fourth

sixth — one, two, three

eleventh

twelfth — one, two

fourteenth

fifteenth

twenty-first — one, two

twenty-eighth

twenty-ninth

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

“He left me the way he always had: disappointed, but not surprised.”

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

“A hero is a person or character who is admired for their courage, achievements, noble qualities, who looks fear in the eyes and doesn’t even blink.”

That is the quote I saw on the wall of my sixth grade students classroom today. I strongly disagree.

All humans have hesitated. It’s instinct. It’s vital. It’s as strong as your heart beating. It is the culmination of thousands of years of survival. Hesitation is a universal experience.

Therefore, a hero always “blinks.” That ‘blink’ is the moment that human beings realize what they are doing. That singular defining moment that changes the gravity of the situation. The exact second that the given circumstances could produce a hero if the right choices are made.

Humans program robots. Robots don’t blink. If a robot were to walk through a path of throwing knives without blinking, would it be a hero? No, of course not. But by the first definition, they technically would be. The reasoning as to why they aren’t? Because the robot faces no repercussions. The robot has no risk. The robot has no real understanding of the danger, nor have they been forced to confront the facts of what they are up against.

That's where we come to our hero blinking. In order to be a hero, you must blink. You must have a moment to see the horrors that all logic would tell to run. Because it’s in that blink that the hero confronts the danger they put themselves in, and pushes forth anyways. That is what makes a hero. To have that shackling sensation of hesitation, and where most others would turn back, they trailblaze on. They trailblaze on anyway.

So here I propose a new definition:

“A hero is a person or character who is admired for their courage, achievements, and noble qualities, who looks fear in the eyes, blinks, and despite facing the world’s darkness, chooses to continue being the world’s light.”

BAND-AID

Call your new toy by your pet name for me,

insist that that’s not how that is but I see,

I caught you red handed as you replaced me.

It was plain and simple, Destiny.

Pretend that you’re pure and that you share love,

But I know how to tell when looking at one,

You’re unstable and you blame everyone.

No wonder you’re so lonely in Edmonton.

Claim you don’t take sides yet turn and ‘campaign’,

To get others to leave me, but with you to stay,

The fact that it’s not real, that’s really the shame.

They’ll leave you one day.

You were shocked and confused when I stood up to you,

Went crying to Kevin, but he thought it through,

He knew that you were lying to him too.

Too bad. Screw you.

Do you need an emotional Band-Aid?

You’ve got no friends left after your charade.

Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I ain’t.

And it’s all because you’re a snake.

On Monday, you cried to me bout your boyfriend,

Then Tuesday, you told me, I wasn’t a good friend,

Three weeks ago you decided it was the end.

Not such a nice Canadian.



You made up some false narrative in your head,

Badmouthed me to all of our mutual friends,

And now to me, you’re simply dead.

Hope it was worth it in the end.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY







“In a place as dark as this, you’re bound to be a light for someone.”

- abby

DRAWER.

I get the feeling and a strange sense,

that you’re glad that I escaped, that from there I left.

When our towns daily newspaper had talked about me,

I wonder if you bought that edition to see.

I wonder if somewhere you hide a secret drawer,

where you keep your memories and regrets,

Movie tickets, funeral cards,

newspaper clippings, and cassettes.

Do you go through that drawer while sitting on the couch,

The one my mother designed from the catalog?

That couch that has seen you through three marriages now,

The same one your new wife sits on?

I wonder what the difference between us is,

why we are the way that we are,

We don’t have many similarities;

The contrast is so stark.

Your opportunities were boundless,

You could’ve done anything,

your parents were married and owned their home,

you played sports in the spring.

But me, I didn’t have those privileges,

and it’s all because of you,

my childhood I spent bounced back-and-forth,

you divorced when I was two.

Mom raised me independently,

and independent I was raised to be.

Everything I’ve done is no part thanks to you.

Its all been because of me.

But even all these years later,

I know you’ve watched, and listened to the grapevine.

Even after everything that’s happened,

you’ve been proud of me all this time.

I wonder if someday when you’re gone and when I get that call,

I’ll go over to your place, survey, and start to comb through all,

your personal belongings, prized possessions, and some more,

But I wonder more than anything, if I’ll ever find that drawer…

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

…

second

sixth

ninth

tenth

eleventh

twentieth

twenty-ninth 💋

“i gave the clothes off my back, just for you to stab me.”

- abby