i keep trying to dress the future in a worn out sweater belonging to the past.
holding fear against my heart, clutched so tightly that you can’t take it from me. i’m not sure i ever really learned how to let go…
all of these teardrops wasted on the likes of you. shed in the streets like the tears of so many other girls having a bad night + one too many drinks.
at this point, i’m unsure how to go about adopting a “hoes before bros” lifestyle, i’ve spent too many years with male best friends.
a boy i used to know called me 13 years later just to remind me that the universe has cards up it’s sleeve.
the fact that we are no longer trying to impress each other might be our greatest downfall.
it all seemed so important until it wasn’t anymore.


on april 29th, my dreadlocks turned 3 years old. they grow up so fast…

here is a bunch of photos of my face from early may 2010 until now. i love seeing the changes my dreads have been through, i can’t believe how long they are getting. they fight me often but i love them.

this is my second batch of dreads, the first ones were rough + messy because i was young + didn’t know how to maintain them. my current dreads were backcombed by my friend crystal. i don’t do much to them, i bleach them a lot + they seem to love that. i have once or twice crochet some of the loose stuff in but i mostly just let them be. i interlock my roots because i have a lot of hair but it is super fine + really straight so my roots do not like to lock up on their own all that fast + i like the texture interlocking creates, i don’t like smooth dreads. i don’t believe in using wax but i do sometimes use aloe, especially if they are feeling dry from all the chemical processing i put them through. i have 50 dreadlocks.

so… yes. happy birthday to my hair.


i’m fine without you until i see you + forget how it feels to be fine.
hand in hand, heart to heart. valuable time spent standing in silence listening to each other breathing.
the space between us can’t be measured by standard means. it is as vast as it is minuscule.
call me again in the middle of the night, i promise i’ll answer this time.
sometimes i feel like we are the ghosts haunting this place.


from grateful to be alive to blissfully happy to be on stage. i remember why i fell in love in the first place…
crowds in the underground, chanting like cult followers. ice forming on the edge of sharp surfaces even though it’s spring. headlights like searchlights leading us home. ringing in our ears + lack of sleep.
in the moments between encore + bed time, we convince ourselves that nothing else matters.


colourful + delicate like patterns on a tea cup, you holds us all in the palm of your hand.
tall shoes for the days when a pedestal just isn’t enough to show off your beauty.
marching around town like you own the place or scared of your own shadow.
warm + sweet like a london fog.
fairies + unicorns ain’t got nothing on you!
you are the kind of girl who will capture all hearts without speaking.
you are the kind of girl who will never believe these words are about you.

(@unicornribbons: you read my words hoping they are about you… these ones are.)


i understand every note + know every sound by name. it is the foundation of my memory. it is everything i wanted, all that i need + so much of what i am.
this voice is more familiar than my own.
this drum pattern is my heartbeat.
this bass line is the only thing i’ve ever truly loved.
these words write my story, these songs are my oldest friends.

19 years + counting. thank you for being the greatest constant in my life.


we fight off the heartbreak that tries to flood our veins.
we stay up too late talking about possibilities.
we spend too much time living in the past.
we are brighter than the stars in the northern sky.


kidnapped on a wednesday night.
we drive north, away from the city lights + out to where the stars hang clearly.
i love the simple beauty in a car full of boys, watching farmland pass by in the dark. cold air, high beams + existential conversation.
tonight, the nostalgia is drowning me and i graciously let that feeling fill my lungs.


i’m getting far too old to be falling down sober in parking lots. cut hands + bruised knees. my inner dialogue tells me not to get up this time.
last one to fall asleep, first one to get up off the floor.
i usually leave before the morning after melancholy. self-centred + coming down slowly, feeling as empty as the bottles you left behind.
misery loves a sunday morning.


life would be easier if i could fall out of love at the same rate i fall into it.
i surround myself with kids who live at home, kids who sleep on floors. the afraid + the vagrant.
we define our time by how we waste it with pointless activities. roaming the streets, sitting in bars, telling intoxicated secrets in the middle of the night.
i still can’t believe you’re the one i changed my habits for.