strawberry full moon (postcards from canada)

they ask me
to meet them
oceanside.
drift away
under a
strawberry
full moon. 

i arrive
late
but eager.
off grid,
stanley park.

California approaches.

“hi.. what’s your name? 
i’ve got something for you
to break the ice.”
he gestures to his sling bag.

“no thanks, i’m working,”
i gesture to my camera.

“here, for you when you’re done. 
find me when your done.”
he slips, plastic, 
into my back pocket. 

my cheeks flush, 
anger, 
and still
i say
nothing.

i don’t know who repulses me more..

he- who think’s it’s ok 

or i- stockholm silence. 

i wanna tell him to fuck off
but the words get stuck.

i watch myself
just smile sweetly 
the way good girls
are trained to do.

he walks away
backwards,
keeping his gaze
on me, 
and i, 
feel dirty
with his eyes on me,
with his grim on me. 

i’ve have already planned 
flushing intentions
and french exits. 

fucking prick.

i turn back,
to here, and now.
i find my pulse, 
i find my breath. 
back to, 
heavy rhythmic
drums, bass beats,
they are so beautiful,
oh they are so beautiful, 
they’re intentions so pure. 
don’t let, one human, ruin it.
i am trying to stay here. 

but my throat swells, 
emotions risings. 
no one asks, 
they just assume. 
i think they all
want to love me best, 
when i’m not myself. 
but whose going to be there, 
at 2 am, and grief waves hit
on ungrounded realms?
no one asks,
they just assume.

it’s all fun and good vibes
unless you don’t wanna get high. 
the boy sure does try
i try too
to bring myself
back
to here,
oh how my friends glow,

and now. 

bass building toxic rage. 

and i just don’t understand.
where the words go.
i don’t want to be
another well trained girl.
where did my words go?

i’ll still meet you
oceanside.

but let me go
another route.  

to moksha- 

let me go
another route.  
i want to go
another route.