Trevor Abes: Writer

Tag: poetry

What I Learned

A few lines from “What I Learned” off of my book of poetry, The Breakup Suite.

Copies available through Amazon.

PDF copies through me.

Moving On

When the broken glass of life

Scrapes dead weight from parts of you

You still treasure, gathering the slivers

Is a short path to hypersensitivity 

As opposed to applauding the poetry

Of how long you’ve had your head down

Letting the unfairness nestle

Into the corners of your smile

And bloom into the tender sweetness of a heart

Whose open arms proved insufficient 

The music in your hips newly sprung by bae’s absence

Her face in every woman’s face regardless of age

Stop trying to stop seeing her everywhere

Stop beating yourself up for finding yourself asking

What do you mean what do I mean by love?

Years into thinking the answer was set in stone

Just steep in it and get familiar with how you are 

Too much food to finish for basically everyone

Until someone comes along happy to wrap you up

And save you for delectable exploratory unravelling

Which, for the record, is the opposite of cutting back

To compromise on the tenant between your eyes

—Liked what you read? Grab a book.

Nevermind Valentine’s: Read Breakup Poetry Instead

Nevermind Valentine’s 🖤 Read breakup poetry instead 🖤

Print or Kindle copies available through Amazon.

PDF copies through me.

We’re Number One, Baby

After 2020, I’m determined more than ever to celebrate every win. I am overjoyed to report that yesterday my book of poetry, The Breakup Suite, hit #1 on Amazon’s Canadian Poetry eBooks Chart. We’re number one, baby! Thanks to Rupi Kaur for ceding the throne for a short while!

Grab your copy in print, as a PDF, or for Kindle. The support thus far has been overwhelming and it’s something I will always cherish. Thanks for reading poetry!

Just be Sure


The Answer to Dancing is Yes

Everyone has something substantially wrong with them

At brunch, overcast, maybe you decide to say yes

To the adventurous and inadvisable

Further feeding your little infatuation problem

Superimposing your imaginings of things onto real things

Hoping to chisel your vision into actuality

Unmodulated by platitudes and spared the need for gurgled battle cries


Then there they are, in your bed

Having just ridden the subway together

From that show with the description that read good enough to attend


They say, I watch the news for my safety

You say, I’ve been told goals should be small

Numerous and directionless

To still have life left in them when you run

Out of original mid-life crises


You both hold beliefs that would scare the other

Into a different person

But your limbs and ideologies bend

In the same agreeable way

Which is close enough

When what is absent is a game

Whether you memorize an ending

Or you’re your own accomplice

And call it a new beginning


You say, so long as I get to flex my perspective

In seemingly insignificant ways, like

How I stock the fridge for midnight ruminations

Gash ice cream with a melon scoop

Knife a pillow to keep certain memories intact

They say, I don’t need confirmation of your desire

To exercise your right to know yourself

If it involves damaging me

I’m prepared for it to happen

Moving Out

A reading of “Moving Out”, a poem from my latest collection called The Breakup Suite.

Grab your print copy thru Amazon.

PDF copies available through me.

First Thanksgiving, a poem from The Breakup Suite

Here I am reading “First Thanksgiving”, a poem off of The Breakup Suite. 

Print copies available through Amazon.

PDF copies available through me.


Leading myself on’s got the old animal instincts shot

But ruminating til your stomach turns inside out

Not really knowing where you’re going is what R&D is

This is why sugar generates sense when shit goes to hell

And death and mindlessness fess up to being family 

When Wipeout or Floor is Lava is on

My latest chance at self-expansion, tarnished 

By a lack of dabbling in evil, disguised

As fun that wouldn’t have been any fun

It helps me heal to think

On a path with space that means I’m independent

Or afraid of refreshing my email every 10 minutes

To see if I get what I want

Playing clairvoyant only if I think I know what you believe

Whether or not you hinge on it to stand out from your chosen throng

To suggest purpose + minimal reverence for inevitabilities 

That can’t be made to wait for rest

Slightly Less Terrible

Digging without treasure doesn’t make sense

There is no moment between yesterday and today

It just keeps going

When I said I hated the incense

And you still let me smoke a cigarette inside because it was cold

I didn’t have the lenses to intuit the presence of preciousness 

When you quit drinking and neglected to call me for a month

And I didn’t give you any shit about it

You mistook my devotion for a sign of low self-esteem

Despite the park sunburns, laundromat ruminations

Elaborate budget-salad meal prep

And diminishing shame for the buoyancy 

Of Burgundy and brie on brioche afternoons

The universe still failed to smarten up to us

To how we stood against going TV test-patterned 

Late at night to clean ourselves of the gunk of the day

Because it gave us something to control and accumulate

When $11.25 an hour felt like a blessing

Even though it made us unfathomable in our critical awareness

As if we were owed interest on our anguish

When that’s just not how fixed income works

10K-Foot View

As I trace a finger down my warped pages

And my schedule’s specks of glass hidden on the tile

Not bothering looks less like tidiness

And more like deferred contentment 

Gotta do it like it’s meant to happen

Watch for feeling good just past ill will

Or persistence, once it gets going

And starts to make things seem smaller

And more manageable than being a brick wall

As a self-preservation tactic 

Blocking all exits and entrances 

With generic Powerpoint as-you-can-see

Sometimes commitment is afraid of getting back 

On its laissez faire bs 

What if it works out? the operative question

To see as I dream

Water falling into a fine mist before it hits the ground

The first time I fell asleep to a television

I was self-medicating for my fear of the dark.

Now I’m more interested in the voices than the light,

The unexplained aches and pains of getting older having begun:

Now I find humility in how bad Earth looks from the outside;

Kinesio tape is something I prefer to keep magical rather than learn about;

Would rather look saturated than nourish another and enjoy my own consumption. 

The suggestion of church organ fuzz in the buses’ revs on my morning walks 

Kneading away the desire to produce a well-written thing nobody can understand. 

I meditate by breaking down boxes to podcasts in a cramped office now, 

To quiet the ripples in my flavoured water tracing back

To copyright documents for the first Jurassic Park movie.

I usually box people between vitamins and kinesio tape,

It’s the molecular configuration of my personal raincloud,

Eroding me til all I really want

Is a newspaper dispenser I can rest my coffee on,

My cut of the sentimental appeal of certain pouty 90s sedans.

You are aware of my sense of wasting away.

Looking for what I want in what I don’t have.

Setting aside all the beliefs I hold because I was told to

Wasn’t as good a look for me as I had hoped.

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