I probably should have known
that something was
wrong.

But I didn't see it.

I was in the eleventh grade, in love with a girl who would never be mine, and figuring **** out.

There was this teacher.

I have no idea what subject he taught I just know I was in his class.

In that class with one of my best friends.

I remember telling her I was gay in that class.

Regardless,

I am pretty sure the teacher had a
thing
for me.

He was one of those,

what do you call it...

"eccentric" teachers.

He was all indie
and didn't give a **** about
what was in.

Including the teeny boppers
who smoked and cussed.

But, he liked me.

And my nonchalant attitude towards school as well as my taste in music.  

I let things happen.

Nothing, too weird.

Just the fact that I folded an origami swan and he kept it all year,
or
the fact that I left his class one day singing Crimson and Clover,
and I came back to a note on my desk from him saying
"Over and Over..."
with clovers drawn on each corner.

Yeah that should have been my first sign.

Later on I'm on "the bench" with the girl I loved, and what does he do but shove his way in between us, and put an arm around us both.

We exchanged panicked glances before this teacher took his chances and
called out to another teacher saying,
and I quote...

"Look! I'm in a chick sandwich!"

And of course, the other teacher nearly gagged before bolting into the principals office.

He didn't speak to me for the rest of the year.

It was only when I graduating and picking up my repot card that I sought him out to say goodbye.

I found him in the tech lab drinking whiskey.

I saw the bottle.

I saw the LCBO bag.

He was drinking and he took one last drag up my body.

What would have happened if I had been even more stupid?
More vulnerable?

In the year book as a joke I listed my secret crush as him.

I thought it was funny.

It was certainly not.

And never will be.

There is a tattoo
of a wolf
on my thigh.

A tattoo I had been planning,
for a long time.

Underneath is not what I would call
bare skin.

It is graced with
and possessed with
scars.

Of one kind.

That kind.

I am grateful that now
when I look down

I am not met with harsh lines,
but instead the eyes
of a kind wolf mother.

She now bares the scars that I carved.

Be kind to yourself,

she says.

This is kind of weird.

What is the intention.

Of all that background noise and memories of boys?

When I was young I though I had to date men.

So I did.  

I mean sort of.

I had a new boyfriend every few months and I am sure as hell not proud of that.

It made me hate myself.

I had a crush on my eight grade french teacher.

To the point that I called her by her name and flirted with her.

When I told my mom that for the first time the other day,

she asked me why I didn't just come out sooner.

I mean...

If only she knew.

What I had to go through,

to be here now.

You see fireworks once
you see fire works a hundred times.

But I still whip around to face my window,
when I hear them.

Coming with passing seasons,
for different reasons.

What was the reason?

Some sort of holiday.

But it makes me wonder,
what exactly
people are celebrating for.

Do they even know?

I think it might just be an excuse for humans to do something that makes them feel happy.

There was one night when things were still bad,

Bad as in
I was still dating a man although I'm a lesbian,
and still not eating properly.

Or,

at all really.

We used to drink the hunger away.

Be it one dollar iced coffees, or a beer.

I knew how to fake it.

If I didn't get what I ordered, the gag reflex kicked in.

He didn't like that.

I shouted at him
that I have
an
eating disorder.

-

Things are better now
I've gained 50 pounds
and I look
healthy.

Except now my family is telling me to lose weight.

It's like I can't win.

I know it shouldn't bother me
but it does.

Would they rather me be on the cusp of death than have me with a pudgy tummy?

My mother told me to lose 20 pounds.

Doesn't she remember when I needed to gain them?

I thought she would be proud.

But,

whatever.

When I step on the scale I smile.

There is a pigeon at my doorstep.

Right outside,
on
the balcony.

I am writing a novel about pigeons.

So I approach.

My girlfriend tells me not to.

My fiancee not my girlfriend.

But I do anyway.

I come almost beak to beak but he fled.

Angry with me.

He is back tonight,

with a girl under his wing.

They have lost their home, maybe children

Or maybe she is about to lay eggs,
pregnant.

In the animal world, they bare babies and that is life.

But in this human world we have a choice.

Or at least,

we should.

I don't often get Political.

But the world is burning.

**** whoever let bills pass that **** woman over a fetus.

Watch them make gays illegal again because

I am

*******,

and bleeding out,

all my "children".

When I was young,

I had my hair done for me.

Ponytails, pigtails, whatever.

And then it being the '90's.

My hair was chopped off due to lice.

I cried, and cried. I was in the second grade.

"I look like my grandma..."

I thought.

Years go by of growing it out.

Boys used to pull on it,
as if
I were a
doorbell.

My hair was long but I did not know what to do with it.

I would spray it with foam, or spritz.

I did whatever I could to it.

I burnt it with a straightener.

I was even silly enough to use a curler on my already naturally curly hair.

Like I said,

I had no idea what I was doing.

Then I chopped it off.

Like it was nothing.

And I didn't care.

It's growing back now.

Almost to my *** which is what I wanted from the start.

Sometimes you have to lose before you gain.

Hair I mean.