Emmamendesofficial - Hello Poetry

Claim my burden but never offer your shoulder to confide, to cry, But you have no tears to spare. Trying to eat the slice of pie I spent hours baking, you spent seconds eating. Those peaches were freshly picked! Bathed in bicarb! I scrubbed the dirt until it was nothing but another piece of myself for you to ****** I do not swallow sweetness, I choke on copper, throat bursting to the brim with pennies- the same pennies you offer in penance for the burden of lead that nooses my neck. You wear it by choice; by Gold, by Glory, believing our blood is the same drop split in two. Though it is proven to be yours for the taking, you will be tasked with breaking each frozen finger, forced to pry your prize from my bruised palms.

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Oct 16, 2024

Oct 16, 2024 at 5:08 PM UTC

What's In A Name?

Claim my burden but never offer your shoulder to confide, to cry, But you have no tears to spare. Trying to eat the slice of pie I spent hours baking, you spent seconds eating. Those peaches were freshly picked! Bathed in bicarb! I scrubbed the dirt until it was nothing but another piece of myself for you to ****** I do not swallow sweetness, I choke on copper, throat bursting to the brim with pennies- the same pennies you offer in penance for the burden of lead that nooses my neck. You wear it by choice; by Gold, by Glory, believing our blood is the same drop split in two. Though it is proven to be yours for the taking, you will be tasked with breaking each frozen finger, forced to pry your prize from my bruised palms.

31

Please weave your nerves along My bones, my marrow is your supper. Please wrap your never ending absoluteness around My eternity, my endlessness is your reward.

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Sep 25, 2024

Sep 25, 2024 at 5:59 PM UTC

Tommy Left Petrol In The Womb.

Please weave your nerves along My bones, my marrow is your supper. Please wrap your never ending absoluteness around My eternity, my endlessness is your reward.

11

Did you know? Did I know? Did I bury you before death? Am I culpable of a sinful sentence?

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Sep 25, 2024

Sep 25, 2024 at 3:02 PM UTC

Dutch Love

Did you know? Did I know? Did I bury you before death? Am I culpable of a sinful sentence?

3

Suppose I am just blue. pale, hardly replicable. Neither black; nor white but lacking saturation nevertheless.

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Sep 24, 2024

Sep 24, 2024 at 1:29 PM UTC

Benecio

Suppose I am just blue. pale, hardly replicable. Neither black; nor white but lacking saturation nevertheless.

5

I carry you in my heart; in my head; in my bones. I would have carried you to the earth's end, but now, you are simply mulch.

0

Sep 24, 2024

Sep 24, 2024 at 1:27 PM UTC

Dutch

I carry you in my heart; in my head; in my bones. I would have carried you to the earth's end, but now, you are simply mulch.

4

I tell them to watch a movie- that one when the sun sets like aloe on their scalded skin, that one where after sunset, the guy kills himself. But I don't tell them that part, I simply lather the lotion thicker, suffocate their burn and boast about the healing powers of cinema I so humbly wish to share. In honesty, there is little need for conviction as I so kindly spread love on their wound, proposing the perfect solution, a comforting press to the chest. On condition, they are instructed to watch alone; travel to Ankara and snuggle beneath cloudy blue skies. They must take extra care. And under no circumstances should they tamper with the blooming blisters- they should let the summer breeze do all the work. They trust me, pathetically, even as the hours wane on, even as my waxy ointment melts to oily paraffin and slips far, far away from the wound. I doubt that they even notice, but I know that with five minutes to spare, all hope of healing will be held out of reach- especially as my soothing facade shatters beneath blinding strobes, as my fibs fade and salt sprinkles their skin with the promise of a permanent scar, fragile tissue that will surely wither with the sun for an eternity to come. The credits roll and so do the tears, until their cheeks are so stained, so branded with hollowness that all left to do is howl out for the end to near. Now, they feel like I do, and we will suffer a lifetime of sorrow in unity. It makes me feel a little better.

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Sep 23, 2024

Sep 23, 2024 at 8:02 PM UTC

How To Heal A Burn:

I tell them to watch a movie- that one when the sun sets like aloe on their scalded skin, that one where after sunset, the guy kills himself. But I don't tell them that part, I simply lather the lotion thicker, suffocate their burn and boast about the healing powers of cinema I so humbly wish to share. In honesty, there is little need for conviction as I so kindly spread love on their wound, proposing the perfect solution, a comforting press to the chest. On condition, they are instructed to watch alone; travel to Ankara and snuggle beneath cloudy blue skies. They must take extra care. And under no circumstances should they tamper with the blooming blisters- they should let the summer breeze do all the work. They trust me, pathetically, even as the hours wane on, even as my waxy ointment melts to oily paraffin and slips far, far away from the wound. I doubt that they even notice, but I know that with five minutes to spare, all hope of healing will be held out of reach- especially as my soothing facade shatters beneath blinding strobes, as my fibs fade and salt sprinkles their skin with the promise of a permanent scar, fragile tissue that will surely wither with the sun for an eternity to come. The credits roll and so do the tears, until their cheeks are so stained, so branded with hollowness that all left to do is howl out for the end to near. Now, they feel like I do, and we will suffer a lifetime of sorrow in unity. It makes me feel a little better.

8

sweet and sour, he is ******* sap from the **** of a talentless swine. her sapping, sip-less, sticky syrup- succulent, seeking severance, his salty belly- spewing bile, screeching, his barren belly- bones shattering, squelching his bloat-less belly- innards squished, her hooves so unkempt- suffocating him with such ugly, udder-less love.

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Sep 23, 2024

Sep 23, 2024 at 7:03 PM UTC

The Sow That Sewed

sweet and sour, he is ******* sap from the **** of a talentless swine. her sapping, sip-less, sticky syrup- succulent, seeking severance, his salty belly- spewing bile, screeching, his barren belly- bones shattering, squelching his bloat-less belly- innards squished, her hooves so unkempt- suffocating him with such ugly, udder-less love.

14

I was wedged between blue leather, scribbling axes into the shape of question marks; and you were laid on blue woven wicker, snoring and many miles away. Now, I am sinking into fluffy blue polyester; and you are sleeping on a table carved of icy blue steel. It is strange, isn't it? I did not know you then, I will never know you now.

0

Sep 22, 2024

Sep 22, 2024 at 7:48 PM UTC

Blue Couch.

I was wedged between blue leather, scribbling axes into the shape of question marks; and you were laid on blue woven wicker, snoring and many miles away. Now, I am sinking into fluffy blue polyester; and you are sleeping on a table carved of icy blue steel. It is strange, isn't it? I did not know you then, I will never know you now.

4

Can I kiss you beneath the Chestnut Trees? Capture you with my ancient branches, press you into my breast? Will you curl nearer? Wind your roots with my own, Welcome me with dampened Spring soil? Shall we stay right here? Forever? Puffing in dusty pollen until Summer seeds sprout through our brittle cracks? Could we just? Should we just?

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Sep 21, 2024

Sep 21, 2024 at 2:15 PM UTC

You, Me, The Chestnut Tree.

Can I kiss you beneath the Chestnut Trees? Capture you with my ancient branches, press you into my breast? Will you curl nearer? Wind your roots with my own, Welcome me with dampened Spring soil? Shall we stay right here? Forever? Puffing in dusty pollen until Summer seeds sprout through our brittle cracks? Could we just? Should we just?

2

So, what happens now? Now that it is all over. Is there hope for us yet? Yet? It is plain to see. See that it is not so. It is not so. So, what happens now? Now that it is all over.

0

Sep 21, 2024

Sep 21, 2024 at 2:03 PM UTC

Stomping On Melons

So, what happens now? Now that it is all over. Is there hope for us yet? Yet? It is plain to see. See that it is not so. It is not so. So, what happens now? Now that it is all over.

6