Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry, Uncategorized

things i learned during my undergrad

  1. Papaya salad is always delicious
  2. There are no good BBQ joints on any university campus north of Dallas.
  3. If a body part starts feeling itchy, you should always get it checked out, ALWAYS.
  4. I’ll never fit in with the “artsy kids.”
  5. There is no human way possible to attend a lecture at 9am and not look like you’re in a coma.
  6. You must keep your eyes on your bubble tea at all times.
  7. Define yourself and your brand from day one to avoid being ostracized by the cool kids (see bullet point #4).
  8. Elevators are a great place to mess around with your TA.
  9. Escalators are a great place to mess around with your prof.
  10. Messing around with your TA will substantially improve your marks.
  11. Fucking your teacher is a surefire way to fail a course (especially when they try to leave their partner for you).
  12. It is best to stand up in class, when asked to read a passage aloud.
  13. There’s no such thing frathouse sex parties.
  14. Everyone knows that the orgies are held at that one rich kid’s parents’ house in Kitsilano.
  15. The North American university system was designed to comprehensively fragment your mind into so many munite pieces, that you can only form coherent thoughts in the form of bulleted lists.

-05.17.18

Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

matter of taste

I’ve been thinking
about what it means
to only like white ice cream.

You say it’s a matter of taste but
I’m beginning to think it’s actually a showcase
of who you really are as a person. You say wholesome,

it strikes me that you don’t play nice with others.

You talk of simplicity, but you’re the kind of person
who wants, no needs their nuts,
and their caramel,
and a little whipped cream—
included free of charge, of course.

You tell me
that I need to relax, that we’re just talking
about opinions. It dawns on me that opinions
are great, if you have the privilege
to be able to hold onto them, to have them respected,

and that we aren’t really just talking about dessert anymore.

-05.17.18

Posted in eavesdrop, Poetry

tumbleweed

He was a nice guy.

Your mother seemed to think so. Told you
that you reminded
him of that song and when you asked
him which, he wrote you a new one on the spot.

A nice guy.

The kind who would take you
to your favourite Marché Fermiers, learn to make
homemade cheese with you on your weekends off together,
and never dispute the validity of the Oxford comma.
Talked about taking you to London or Calabria.

A nice guy.
Except he only operated at one speed.

No roots would ever take hold.
No cedar hedges.
No small cabin on the outskirts of town.
Just arguments
over who got to take the cats
and gin fueled cyclones grinning

“I never promised you anything.”

A nice guy.

Tumbleweed not oak.
You were just an outpost where he could rehydrate
before rolling into the next town.

A caustic reminder of why you always
felt better tended to by bad boys.

-06.06.18