Seven years past (poem)

Seven years,

tell me all that can happen,

tell me a story about a boy

who becomes a man,

falls in love

and loses more than he imagined.

My story.

Record for me my madness,

every little obsession,

every time I had trouble letting go,

and everything that I've learned

about myself,

and about us.

A childhood home left,

eternal goodbyes we never want to say,

but must be said eventually.

Goodbye to the first love,

and the second and the third,

but hopefully not this one.

A child wandering through the grey,

lost in the uniform landscape

who stumbles upon a vivid forest.

Put pen to paper

and he is ablaze,

the child of fire is home.

Seven years,

we could never say what will happen,

and we could never say it all.

Too much has happened

in the past seven years of my life,

when this all began.

-Zero

The Coming of the Light (poem)

I felt it all slipping away

last winter.

In a place I called home,

where I no longer belonged.

Surrounded by hope

but unable to touch it.

I would lie on the couch,

alone in my apartment -

in the center of town,

yet isolated -

and I would dream of the life

I once had.

Lost in loneliness,

I withered.

For all the light that poured in

through all of my windows,

I lived alone in the dark

with nothing but sorrowful songs.

I would go to the theatre

to distract me,

only to return home in tears,

having witnessed a story not mine,

a life I desperately wanted

like the dead wish for life.

Then my grandmother passed...

the thought killed me,

the darkness tempted me so I hid

in a bright cafeteria,

but I still couldn't see the light,

only shadows moving through the ink.

And then she came -

just a girl but a light -

Hope.

Belonging.

The promise of a future,

a boat out to rescue me.

With her there,

everything changed.

The light poured forth,

enveloping me and the world,

imbuing all with the infinite,

returning me home.

One day she left,

frightened by the shadows of the past,

uneasy about the infinite,

about ever after...

But the light stayed,

unafraid of the shadows it casts.

-Zero

I don't want to fail You (poem) - live long enough to become the hero

You know what?

I'm afraid,

terrified even.

I feel inadequate,

not ready,

unable to do what I must.

There's this big unknown,

this abyss of uncertainty,

and there's no escaping it.

All I can do,

all I seem to do,

is fall into failure.

I don't want to fail You

because You believe in me,

even when I hide behind a mask.

Through all the storms in my mind,

You were there consoling me,

until all was calm again.

When I was lost,

You found me and gave me a torch

so I could find my way.

But its light isn't enough now,

it's just darkness below,

like a drop off into the void.

And as I stare into the darkness,

I feel forsaken by You,

and the terror of it holds me still.

Yet I know You are here,

waiting for me to choose to jump,

or run away.

-Zero

God will show me the way (poem) - live long enough to become the hero

I'm always told

that God will show me the way,

and if I listen,

all will be well.

Yet somehow,

I've been left with debt,

and little means

of release.

And I try to walk,

but it's so heavy I barely move,

and the path

goes on without me.

-Zero

a hundred novels (poem) - live long enough to become the hero

I have written a dozen novels,

from beginning to end.

People praise me for this.

But these novels are first drafts,

and instead of editing them,

I write another because it's easier.

They talk of my work ethic,

say they want to read them one day,

but never will.

If I die old and miserable,

I will be an author of a hundred novels,

and none of them will be worth reading.

-Zero

A story not worth reading (poem) - live long enough to become the hero

I think I'm afraid

that I'm not good enough,

that all these years of work

were a waste of my life.

So I hide away in my safe haven,

where everyone thinks I'm great.

Here, there's no rejection,

no epiphany of reality.

What if I really am

a story not worth reading?

What if only I love my words

because I live in them?

And I'll spend the rest of my life

pretending that I matter.

-Zero

The mask I wear (poem) - live long enough to become the hero

My mask is calm confidence,

the seeming carelessness

of a man who has it all.

But behind that mask

is a man afraid to speak

in fear of making a mistake.

Behind that mask

is a writer afraid to submit

in fear of being rejected.

Behind that mask

is a fire afraid to burn

in fear of being put out.

-Zero

A crow perched on a cross (poem)

In the end we're all bound to change.

A crow perched on a tall rusted cross,

its once white paint long gone -

the cross now a bare-boned effigy

to a god who went silent long ago.

One day the wind will blow,

and the cross will crumble,

eaten away by years of neglect

by a people who forsake their god.

A great kingdom turned to sand,

washed away by the wind and rain -

homes turned to ash,

their inhabitants spilling out of broken urns.

-Zero

Never stop haunting me (poem)

No, they're not nightmares,

these dreams I have of you.

They're my only chance to see you,

to pretend you're still around.

So if you're a ghost haunting my dreams,

please never stop.

There's no bringing back the dead,

but I'll take your spirit over nothing.

This way we never say goodbye,

always meeting halfway between life and death.

This way I don't lose all I have of you

after your life was drained away.

So meet me halfway,

haunt me like I'm an old house

that you spent your life in

and was never able to let go.

Wander through the hallways of my mind

with such frequency

the other inhabitants grow accustomed

to seeing a ghost among them.

Haunt me until I crumble

and I burn to ash like you,

because then we'll meet again

in a place beyond dreams.

-Zero

After Ever After (poem)

So much time spent in fantasy,

in dreams of happily ever after,

my words have forgotten reality,

engage it like a stranger.

I put my pen to paper,

but everything comes out wrong,

completely inadequate,

as if all I can truly write are lies.

I think the fearful value courage,

and the dishonest value truth,

but for all my efforts to attain it,

I remain fearful and fictional.

A child of fire made of paper and ink

constantly striving to return,

but terrified of catching fire,

so he plays pretend instead.

I worry that despite my efforts

to depart from my fictions,

I will always be a stranger here,

in this world we call reality.

-Zero

When thunder should hold its tongue (poem)

Sometimes it's best to sit and listen,

and support others by just being there

than to write a response to it,

to talk of you in response to them.

Sometimes it's hard to know

whether to voice your support

or to just be there in solidarity,

a crowd for a cause instead of a novel.

Because sometimes when we speak,

we draw attention onto ourselves

like the booming voice of thunder

brings attention to the thunderstorm.

But the crashing of thunder

drowns out the pitter patter of the rain,

even though it only came because of it,

thunder distracts us from the rain's soft voice.

So sometimes it is best for us

if the thunder holds its tongue,

and allows the rain to speak freely

without being drowned out.

-Zero

Hurricane Relief (poem)

Sometimes the world seems so dark

that it's hard to believe it can be saved.

When hurricanes devastate so many,

Puerto Rico without power for six months,

with their president ready to abandon them

so he can focus on inciting war again.

But what can we even do,

besides getting lost in the darkness?

Besides giving up on the light,

on what can still be saved?

-Zero

The Lingering Shadows (poem)

Isn't it funny how the past,

despite being what is no longer,

has such an impact on the future?

A past filled with demons

who have all been burned away

is a shadow still cast over me.

No one notices it,

not till another points it out,

not until someone warns them.

Then the doubt is firmly planted,

and for some I become those demons

instead of the flames that burned them away.

So they leave,

and I'm left in a house of memories,

covered in the shadowy ash of the past.

-Zero

Orange Shirt Day (poem)

The last residential school closed in 1994,

the year I was born, twenty three years ago.

Children taken from home and family,

thrown into a place meant to break them,

lone wolves dropped in the Sahara desert.

Once there, they're skinned alive,

stripped of mother tongue, mother's touch,

and forced into a pale shell of conformity.

Native children, still just children,

treated like criminals of identity,

born outside of “Canadian” culture,

one built on extermination and oppression,

the victims treated as wrongdoers for existing,

animals to be broken and tamed.

There is no true reconciliation,

only political apologies and promises,

while indigenous women go missing

and the rights of indigenous people go ignored.

The residential schools may be closed,

but the wounds are far from healing.

-Zero

Death of a Romantic (poem)

I feel so insignificant,

a writer trapped in thoughts of love

while hurricanes destroy homes,

and nuclear tensions escalate.

Love is an easy topic,

but the romantic in me is dying

so may it rest in peace

as the flames of war consume me.

I have known love's madness

too many times already -

I'm tired of repeating the same story,

meet, love, heartbreak, repeat.

Let romance be burned from my mind

so my words can venture forth

into worlds unknown,

into a conflict worth fighting.

-Zero

A Porcelain Monster (poem)

For so long I felt like a porcelain monster,

an unchangeable bringer of pain,

on my shoulders an ever-growing world of guilt,

a weight that threatened to shatter me.

But just as I seemed to fall to pieces,

you told me it's alright if I don't know what I need,

that it's alright if I still feel,

that it is what it is.

It was as if the porcelain fell off,

only to reveal me underneath the facade,

and the world of guilt breaking apart,

leaving me free and light once more.

For so long I felt like a porcelain monster,

a fragile but dangerous terror,

but I'm just a man,

a man who feels and makes mistakes.

-Zero

Ever After (poem)

Our little infinity

finally found its end.

And so it goes,

forever is put to rest.

“Once upon a time”

is no longer now.

“Now” is lying awake,

yet another dream lost.

And the bed is haunted

by your cold silhouette -

made up of our words,

our promises, our plans.

We had ever after,

our story a fantasy,

the one we were writing

with no end in sight.

But all stories must end -

I should know that by now -

so we acted out the final scene,

our ever after came to an end.

I will hold our story close

as a reminder of love and hope.

The end of our era has come,

so it's time we say goodbye.

-Zero

The Second Song (poem)

You gave me two songs

to serenade you with.

I learned one in a heartbeat,

started to learn it on the piano,

but we fell apart before I could.

I've learned the other now.

I put off hearing it for a while,

but then it crept on slowly, quietly,

and captured my heart and attention,

even though I didn't want to like it.

I think of singing it to you,

putting it into a concert you'll attend

as if we were still together,

just to give you something you deserve,

one of the many I never gave you.

-Zero

Just a memory now (poem)

I remember being crushed,

breaking down while doing dishes,

and being so heartbroken

that it was hard to breathe.

But it's just a memory now,

and I feel guilty for that,

as if I deserve to be crushed by heartbreak

because you certainly deserve to be mourned.

Maybe I've been through the fire so much

that I've already been charred to ash.

Maybe I'm in denial about it.

Or maybe we were wrong about us all along...

-Zero

Charlottesville (non-fiction)

     This is the type of post no one wants to write - that no one wants to feel like they have to write. But I guess it was a matter of time with how things were going. There was a part of me that had hoped Neo-Nazis would remain relatively quiet, and most of all, peaceful, which now seems like a ridiculous hope to have... But before I formally begin, I want to apologize in advance for any short-comings of my own, any thing I might have left out either in ignorance of it or in forgetfulness. I am only human after all. 

     By now, I'm sure you're aware of what happened in Charlottesville in Virginia recently, so I won't go into any details. Suffice to say that there was a 'white supremacist' rally which met with a counter-protest, and reacted with violence, leaving many injured and one dead. It is a terrifying thing to think about, and I can only offer what condolences and support I can as a relatively unknown writer from another part of the world, but I'm going to address white supremacy in this post. But before doing that, I want to discuss the concept of Free Speech, as these Neo-Nazis seem to suddenly be in love with trying to abuse the idea in their favor. 

     The main idea behind the right to Free Speech was the protection of journalists and writers (and etc.) from the government should the people criticize the government. This was intended to block any attempt of strict governance of ideas and promote a healthy and free-thinking democracy. Moreover, it goes without saying that everyone has the right to free thought, partly as a consequence of the impossibility of controlling another's private thoughts. This means that anyone can believe what they believe and express it through words. 

     Of course, it is not the case (at least not in Canada and in some other countries) that all things are allowed, usually meaning Hate Speech and threats. In most day to day cases, what comes to mind here is bullying of all sorts and harassment. Death threats against people can lead to formal criminal charges, as can telling someone to go kill themselves (most especially if they do and the messages are found). The point I'm trying to get to here is that these types of freedoms are not infinite. There are always limits, and those limits are the freedoms of other people. 

     Now, back to Neo-Nazis/white supremacists, whose entire belief system is based off of a superiority complex that implies the inferiority of people who do not have pale (white) skin (despite there being no modern data to support this idea). In recent times, they have been trying to use this freedom of speech card to escape criticism and to criticize the reactions from others that result from their warped belief system (and the expression of it). But this belief system is by its very nature in conflict with the freedoms of others (and if you take the concept of Hegelian Freedom, perhaps even in conflict with the freedom of white people), so the argument falls apart. Beyond that, it is very clear that they want to impose this belief system on the world again, and are clearly fine with using violence to do it again (since most of the world has seen it before and learned from the experience of World War II).  

      Although the idea of violence is terrifying, there is hope in the world, and I am certain that North America will not fall into white supremacy as a whole. These white supremacists are clinging to a time that is already on its way out - the time of the white man. If there's anything I've learned in the past six or so years - since I started this blog - it's that there is a lot of incredible people of all sorts of backgrounds in the world today. I know that North America isn't as white as it used to be, and the people who live in it are more aware of the world and the truth of race than ever before. There is no going back. We will fight them on every battlefield they try to engage us on, whether it is intellectually, online, or in public forums - even though the 'president' of the United States won't. And we will win. 

     Oh, and before I end this post, I want to make sure that it is very clear that white men are by no means oppressed and are still in a privileged position, since that seems to confuse some people. The truth is that yes, technically we are being placed in a worse position, but as someone on Twitter put it while talking about the 'oppression of white men' (link to Facebook screenshots here), "we used to be the only voice. Now we hold the only microphone" (JuliusGoat). The truth is that when you're used to privilege, equality/equity can feel like oppression. It's like starting early in a race for twenty years, only to have that early start taken away even though you didn't see anything wrong with it. Of course, that doesn't make it right. 

     Anyways, I think I will end this here. I just felt like I needed to post something condemning this way of thinking - this violence and hate. Sometimes silence is worse than making a mistake. Take care of yourselves, and do what you can for others. Until next time,

-Zero