Uncomplicating Love

I often rant that the world used to be simpler. That without the Internet, smartphones, and paper towels, love was easier, as if human interactions have become more complex alongside the evolution of our tools.

I think this theory was a product of my millennial ego, my tendency to overthink everything in life and my desire to explicate and justify my loneliness. In my defence, it also seemed this way on television. In old films a handsome fellow would catch the gaze of a pretty girl at a dance, they would spend months going to the movies, meeting each other’s family’s and giggling over ice cream before he asked for her hand in marriage. They would spend a lifetime together making babies, cooking meat pie and doting over their grandchildren. Their love would waver, but never die; it would be challenged, but never fail. There was an attitude of persistence in love. That persistence, combined with a sense of faith in love, made bonds unbreakable, made ecstasy irrelevant and made questioning dangerous.

I have now realized that this sense of nostalgia is a fiction I created to appease my loneliness. Love is love, people are people, values may have shifted, but everyday I build my own reality. I built the false narrative — with the help of TV and movies, and millennial things — that love is extremely complicated and that when I feel it, I will feel it viscerally. When I experience real love the framing of my world will change, small blue cartoon birds will follow me around and I will dance to a song that only I can hear in the middle of the day in a crowded place. Not only will I feel the shift, but the whole world will respond and my life will never be the same again. This is a world where love is a chemical reaction that requires an exact measure of many different elements in order to catalyze the perfect result.

This myth of real or true love is dangerous. Particularly, in the context of the current information explosion, which has exposed us to worlds that we didn’t know we wanted, products we didn’t know we needed and displays of love that make us feel inadequate. We live in a world where no one buys toothpaste without researching all the brands and the effects of whitening properties. We want to know everything about everything and we want to know that we have the best.

This is an attitude that has set us up to fail at love.

In order to succeed at love we must first demystify its supernatural qualities. Not to develop a cynical approach, but instead to have a sense of realism about what love looks like on a day-to-day basis. This process of injecting reality into our views on love will also help us develop more faith in love. We must also dispel the culture of scarcity around love. The idea that it is ‘once in a lifetime’ or that it involves finding a ‘soul mate’ puts us into the chaotic search for a needle in a stack of hay, only the needle has been transformed by a warlock to look exactly like a piece of hay. It’s frantic, it’s impossible, and it will result in the hunter feeling exasperated, desperate and alone.

Here are some things to consider when taking stock of your views on relationships: What expectations do you have when it comes to the experience of falling in love? What sort of pressure do you place on yourself and on your potential partner around living up to standards of love and relationships? Whose standards are you using to measure your relationship success? Are you constantly questioning your relationship or wondering if there are better options out there?

Reflect on these questions and remind yourself that in love there is no best. You can’t research your way to the answer, and there is no perfect endgame. The reality is we are all just living in entropy. Nothing is perfect, and no relationship can be written as a chemical equation. It may not look the way you expect. It will not be perfect. The perfect one may pass you by.

When you are able to accept this, you will open yourself up to love. Love is no more complicated or simple than it ever was in history. It is as easy or as difficult as we make it. Once you start thinking about love as something that can be felt and experienced everywhere and with anyone, finding love becomes a far less stressful experience and a much simpler one. You need to accept that your partner will not fill every space in your life and that it is okay to also seek different forms of support and connection from friends and family outside of your relationship. When you stop questioning and searching for the best or better in love, you will find satisfaction and happiness. If you cherish every experience of love or almost-love for what it is, and you constantly seek more of it in your life then you will find bounty.

In its essence love is simple and plentiful, so long as we continue to view it as such and fill our lives with it we will be happy, full and satisfied.


she was all too familiar
with beauty
she had been admired before
en masse

she had felt all the eyes
land on her cheekbones
felt their gaze on her body
rubbing her up and down

with their stare
she had felt the intense
power and vulnerability
in her beauty

felt the reductiveness of it
as her insides
melted away
from irrelevance

she had also known
how it felt
to lose beauty
to crave invisibility

to feel judged
to feel undeserving
of skin
or space

she had known
the experience
of occupying
a female body

and so she
knew shame.

Photo Source: https://unsplash.com/photos/lIYhwFaWfY4

Potential Energy

I feel all the potential energy of the world crowded up inside my heart like the potential energy of a leaf falling from the height of a cloud.  How at the top it is light but when it lands the whole world will shake.  All of the what ifs and could haves are settled inside of me, building up energy from being contained.  They sit there waiting to fall.

Photography by Ileana Skakun: https://unsplash.com/search/heart?photo=dNjMqj4emkc

Bleed Out

Source: https://unsplash.com/photos/xZ-XWESMTG0

Sometimes the words spill out of me so quickly I have no way to catch them 
As if the whole world is just made of poems 
And everything around me is screaming them 

Other times I need to press and pull for the words to fall out 

I don’t want to have to rip poetry out of the world 
I want it to bleed out 

You are Love

Putting pen to paper
I bring life and shape
To this void
Sending a message
As old as time
I am reassured
That those who need it
Will hear it
You are kind
You are loved
You are needed
That is my purpose
That is my pride
That is my work
Messages of love
And notes of solidarity
Sent into the ether
To be grabbed by those
Who hear then
Feel them
Need them
It’s my love letter
To the world.

What If

I haven’t been writing. I have been giving my dreams and thoughts away to universes that are lost and untrue. They are worlds that I extrapolate from a single moment or gesture. They are universes of what if’s, alternative endings and falsities. These worlds taunt and torment me, mocking my decisions and reminding me that I am the cause of my own suffering. I am the one who destroyed these fictive realities. I am the one who made them a fiction. It has been by my hand that these relationships and hopes have come undone.

I break it and then rebuild it in my mind, the only space I can mostly control. Then I let the pain and disappointment seep under my skin and tell me poisoning lies. The two worlds, real and contrived, begin to blend and I am left confused and torn up.

So I come back to the page broken and looking for validation from the pristine white blankness. It’s the only space I have found where every feeling is true and told. It is my safest place, reminding me that I am real, alive and a creator, not just of fictions but of truths.


Sitting here watching 
the birds resting on the rocks 
the rocks nestled in the water
the water kissing the shores
the shores leaning on the mountains
the mountains reaching for the sky
the sky holding the clouds
the clouds cushioning the sun

how beautiful this world is 
how fortunate I am to be on it

with my feet grounded in the earth 
I too am resting on the rocks
nestled in the water
kissing the shores
leaning on the mountains
reaching for the sky
cushioned by the clouds
brought to life by the sun

she is the strongest force 
of unconditional love
mother earth

in her presence I am never alone.

The Thing Is

The thing about you is that
You're a runner
Your legs are long and spindly
And your body built for moving fast
You have no patience, no time
For slowing down and staying a while

Which is why when you turned on your pillow
Looked me in the eyes and said
"I really really really like you"
I knew you had fallen fast
But that you may never fall deep

The thing about us is that 
We were only ever in passing
Our story was a treat
You wanted to keep tasting
Because it was so sweet
But it would never keep us full

The thing about me is that
I don't know if I'll ever be full
I have a deepness inside 
That may be infinite
I'm not sure because I have yet to find the bottom

So the thing is
This was never meant to be
But it still means something to me.


It’s 9:40am on a Sunday morning at the train station.

Beside me there’s a woman seated in the waiting area huddled around a pizza box. Her face is not within view, it is inside the box, ravenously consuming the slices; her head is bowed in shame. It seems as though she is committing a most intimate act and is trying not to draw attention towards herself.

Across from me, there’s a mother caring for her autistic son, while her daughter slaps her with resentment. The mother kindly turns to look him in the eye and says “Mathew would you like some food” he makes a groaning noise back, which she knows how to interpret much better than I. “Are you sure, you don’t want an egg sandwich?” “Groan.”   The mother makes a scathing remark about her husband and how useless he is. The daughter responds with “If you don’t care, then why the heck did you bring him” pointing to her brother, “you paid for everything hotel, show, everything, why, what’s the point?”

Next to me, there are two men in their mid-twenties moaning in agony over headaches that will not abate and musings over last nights affairs. One of them pulls up a half-naked photo of a woman on his phone and points it to the other and they chuckle together, sharing a pat on the back, and proudly celebrating their conquests.

I am sitting here watching, and listening to the performance.

There is another man a few seats over. He is in his late twenties with circular glasses framing his green almond eyes, red pants to match his red shoes, an old-fashioned button-up wool vest and a bowler hat. He is feverishly typing away on his computer. Perhaps he is writing about the sad uninteresting-looking girl who is a few seats down and seems transfixed to her phone. I depressingly wonder about the words that are going into writing my story.

I suppose “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players.”


The skyline is lit up like the stars it hides. So instead of looking up we are looking forward.  Instead of staring with our heads tilted wondering about humans’ place in the world and the vastness of the universe, we marvel at our own work and the vastness of ourselves.

We are disillusioned.  We are so small. If you need proof, think of all the lights you cannot see, the ones that find their home beyond our world. Not the ones stitched together with bricks and mortar and illuminated by electricity. Think of the stars.

When I see the buildings twinkle, I know they are only the charm of an imposter. They’re winking at us. Pleased and proud, like the fraudulent jeweller, they have us fooled.