emiglin - Hello Poetry

Maybe, I write in cursive because it’s the only way to portray on paper how my thoughts are, tangled, hurried and unintelligible.

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Dec 21, 2025

Dec 21, 2025 at 12:56 AM UTC

Cursive thoughts.

Maybe, I write in cursive because it’s the only way to portray on paper how my thoughts are, tangled, hurried and unintelligible.

1

People always tell you to unpack To think about that list of stuff you took with you on your journey But when it’s done, I dont think its time for that When I unpack, I don’t wear the clothes that come out or the trinkets I got along the way I stuff them back into my closet Where it remains safe Safe from wearing Safe from feeling Where it doesn’t make me shed tears Where it lives separate to me

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Jun 18, 2025

Jun 18, 2025 at 10:05 PM UTC

Afterthoughts of a trip to life.

People always tell you to unpack To think about that list of stuff you took with you on your journey But when it’s done, I dont think its time for that When I unpack, I don’t wear the clothes that come out or the trinkets I got along the way I stuff them back into my closet Where it remains safe Safe from wearing Safe from feeling Where it doesn’t make me shed tears Where it lives separate to me

10

The looks of our children combination of both our positives and negatives from our different points of view raised in the mixing of our worlds the stance where it becomes their own a product gaining independence and the ability to be recognized for its uniqueness not as a mix but as a new form were similarities may be found maybe it gained your eyes the ones I get lost in or perhaps my smile the one you so often bring to life but their words remain true to their soul in the hope of finding its match the one to spark the cycle anew creating the unique once more

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Jan 27, 2025

Jan 27, 2025 at 12:12 AM UTC

Unique

The looks of our children combination of both our positives and negatives from our different points of view raised in the mixing of our worlds the stance where it becomes their own a product gaining independence and the ability to be recognized for its uniqueness not as a mix but as a new form were similarities may be found maybe it gained your eyes the ones I get lost in or perhaps my smile the one you so often bring to life but their words remain true to their soul in the hope of finding its match the one to spark the cycle anew creating the unique once more

18

Mom says I’ve gotten colder with the years, But weirdly, I’m flooded with emotions. And somehow, the big sobs in my childhood bed Can’t compare to the stray tears that fall from my adult eyes. My feelings have grown with my body, But have also been shoved in it, Engraved in my soul, Yet still, not in my words. Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to that shell— It feels safe, It gives comfort, More so when vulnerability feels like punishment, Opening up, like a crime. And when burying it all gives relief, Temporary or not, Fighting still feels better than giving in.

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Jan 19, 2025

Jan 19, 2025 at 8:28 PM UTC

Cold

Mom says I’ve gotten colder with the years, But weirdly, I’m flooded with emotions. And somehow, the big sobs in my childhood bed Can’t compare to the stray tears that fall from my adult eyes. My feelings have grown with my body, But have also been shoved in it, Engraved in my soul, Yet still, not in my words. Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to that shell— It feels safe, It gives comfort, More so when vulnerability feels like punishment, Opening up, like a crime. And when burying it all gives relief, Temporary or not, Fighting still feels better than giving in.

16

I’m always forgotten because I’m never known. They see me and my concept, what they believe it is, but they do not take the time to know me, my insides and fillings, my laughs and tears, my thoughts and words. I’m always forgotten because they never care enough to notice my light, or my lack of one. Superficial gifts and smiles all at once in one Christmas night. I’m always forgotten in their brains, like tasks that no one wants to do, a person no one wants to know. Closer to new years now. I’m always forgotten over the summer. I exist, lax and blurry, because they don’t remember me if they don’t see me. Every person creates a different image, except no one actually knows me. They just see. They watch. They imagine. And they create. Me, in their brains. But its not me anymore, because a me doesn’t exist in anyone’s mind. Not even mine.

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Jan 17, 2025

Jan 17, 2025 at 12:54 PM UTC

Me

I’m always forgotten because I’m never known. They see me and my concept, what they believe it is, but they do not take the time to know me, my insides and fillings, my laughs and tears, my thoughts and words. I’m always forgotten because they never care enough to notice my light, or my lack of one. Superficial gifts and smiles all at once in one Christmas night. I’m always forgotten in their brains, like tasks that no one wants to do, a person no one wants to know. Closer to new years now. I’m always forgotten over the summer. I exist, lax and blurry, because they don’t remember me if they don’t see me. Every person creates a different image, except no one actually knows me. They just see. They watch. They imagine. And they create. Me, in their brains. But its not me anymore, because a me doesn’t exist in anyone’s mind. Not even mine.

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