Writing

I dragged my feet through the untouched snow. It seemed to be falling faster and faster. My camera hung from my neck  and bobbed up and down as I walked. My sneakers were soggy but I kept walking on.

I remember taking Polaroids with you

In the driveway of the house you’ve now sold

On a grey afternoon that looked like night

In the photos. We’d wait impatiently

Dear Canada, 

You do not belong to us. 

You never have. 

And I really, really hope you never will. 

You are your own country, but I know I don’t have to tell you that. 

"why are you crying you shouldnt cry its useless stop crying stop crying"

stop crying 

What if

I could be a real actor

What if

It doesn't matter if my name sounds like a big-movie-star name?

What if I'm delusional?

What if I don't really care?

A world which 

Begins with the 

Click of the 

Day, with 

Every tick 

From the clock 

Going round, 

Hounding the day till 

I drag myself out,