emma-johnson-2 - Hello Poetry

A cigarette to calm the mind,  a bowl to ease the fight between spirit and society,  a lover’s touch to hold my pieces together.  For these,  I am an addict.   I am cravings and desires.  I want,  I need,  I yearn.

0

Apr 3, 2014

Apr 3, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC

Addict

A cigarette to calm the mind,  a bowl to ease the fight between spirit and society,  a lover’s touch to hold my pieces together.  For these,  I am an addict.   I am cravings and desires.  I want,  I need,  I yearn.

9

There are some things man cannot find the words to describe. When he tries to make sense of this feeling of perpetual solidarity he realizes he cannot convey it properly. He then becomes more lonely, disconnected from the souls of others. Holding tight to the notion that one day this will suddenly change and he will have found purpose in life. Maybe time will stop where love begins. Maybe finding another soul akin to his will halt impending death and he will begin to live his life. Because, if he feels this aloneness and finds no meaning in it, he thinks he cannot truly be living. The act of living implies loneliness. When he is alone without distractions he must feel the reality of his emotions, and without them could we call his life a life at all? The one of an already dead man, there must be a reason he continues on. Maybe time will stop where love begins.

0

Mar 29, 2014

Mar 29, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC

For such a population we are a lonely species

There are some things man cannot find the words to describe. When he tries to make sense of this feeling of perpetual solidarity he realizes he cannot convey it properly. He then becomes more lonely, disconnected from the souls of others. Holding tight to the notion that one day this will suddenly change and he will have found purpose in life. Maybe time will stop where love begins. Maybe finding another soul akin to his will halt impending death and he will begin to live his life. Because, if he feels this aloneness and finds no meaning in it, he thinks he cannot truly be living. The act of living implies loneliness. When he is alone without distractions he must feel the reality of his emotions, and without them could we call his life a life at all? The one of an already dead man, there must be a reason he continues on. Maybe time will stop where love begins.

9

i know i drunkenly kissed you on the porch at 3 in the morning, i let you put your hands on me like i knew what i was getting myself into. what i meant to do was ask you about your family and what the word love means to you, instead of connecting with people i choose to ****** them because they can’t hurt me when i refuse to feel anything but a nameless body pressed to mine. these things do not make me happy. alone now, 3 in the morning, craving my whiskey so i can forget that there’s no one to hug me, the most comfort i’ve felt in too long was at the bottom of the bottle, and that’s left me with nothing but a migraine.

0

Mar 29, 2014

Mar 29, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC

Love won't **** your liver

i know i drunkenly kissed you on the porch at 3 in the morning, i let you put your hands on me like i knew what i was getting myself into. what i meant to do was ask you about your family and what the word love means to you, instead of connecting with people i choose to ****** them because they can’t hurt me when i refuse to feel anything but a nameless body pressed to mine. these things do not make me happy. alone now, 3 in the morning, craving my whiskey so i can forget that there’s no one to hug me, the most comfort i’ve felt in too long was at the bottom of the bottle, and that’s left me with nothing but a migraine.

12

One arm wrapped delicately around her waist, you can feel her wasting away even though she says she ate not two hours ago, she only consumed one more part of herself, so recklessly trying to vanish from this world she does not understand. Drink after endless drink calms the monster scratching at her bones looking for an escape because he is eating her alive, tearing every docile limb from its foundation trying to make her feel something hoping hope and passion can break the haze of whiskey on an empty stomach. - When somebody is dedicated to a lifelong suicide you cannot save them, only love them through each poor decision ; one arm around her waist trying so hard to protect her from this world, the evil upon us.

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Mar 29, 2014

Mar 29, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC

Calming the Monster

One arm wrapped delicately around her waist, you can feel her wasting away even though she says she ate not two hours ago, she only consumed one more part of herself, so recklessly trying to vanish from this world she does not understand. Drink after endless drink calms the monster scratching at her bones looking for an escape because he is eating her alive, tearing every docile limb from its foundation trying to make her feel something hoping hope and passion can break the haze of whiskey on an empty stomach. - When somebody is dedicated to a lifelong suicide you cannot save them, only love them through each poor decision ; one arm around her waist trying so hard to protect her from this world, the evil upon us.

19

One arm wrapped delicately around her waist, you can feel her wasting away even though she says she ate not two hours ago, she only consumed one more part of herself, so recklessly trying to vanish from this world she does not understand. Drink after endless drink calms the monster scratching at her bones looking for an escape because he is eating her alive, tearing every docile limb from its foundation trying to make her feel something hoping hope and passion can break the haze of whiskey on an empty stomach. When somebody is dedicated to a lifelong suicide you cannot save them, only love them through each poor decision ; one arm around her waist trying so hard to protect her from this world, the evil upon us.

0

Mar 9, 2014

Mar 9, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC

Lifelong Suicide

One arm wrapped delicately around her waist, you can feel her wasting away even though she says she ate not two hours ago, she only consumed one more part of herself, so recklessly trying to vanish from this world she does not understand. Drink after endless drink calms the monster scratching at her bones looking for an escape because he is eating her alive, tearing every docile limb from its foundation trying to make her feel something hoping hope and passion can break the haze of whiskey on an empty stomach. When somebody is dedicated to a lifelong suicide you cannot save them, only love them through each poor decision ; one arm around her waist trying so hard to protect her from this world, the evil upon us.

18

Blizzards hidden under sunshine images, tales of love, a cloud of smoke in the afternoon sun, lovers hiding from something they can’t see. Beautiful life, whiskey in the parlor and cigarettes in the living room waiting for a heat wave, addiction growing, trying to battle the frost because I’ve decided I don’t want to die here, I’m sure you feel the same-

0

Dec 3, 2013

Dec 3, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC

I love you, you know that

Blizzards hidden under sunshine images, tales of love, a cloud of smoke in the afternoon sun, lovers hiding from something they can’t see. Beautiful life, whiskey in the parlor and cigarettes in the living room waiting for a heat wave, addiction growing, trying to battle the frost because I’ve decided I don’t want to die here, I’m sure you feel the same-

9

Mountains’ majesty a cave of amethyst brews confidence in its own perfection near the peak peeking into the crayon colored clouds. Desire for a moment free from earth where right above our heads the world is colorfully candid through a foggy wine-stained film. Glossy sun through glossy eyes entices the mind enough to lift legs one thousand and two steps up the mountain coiling through indigo trees on turquoise trails until we pass the purple threshold where it’s best to pass the time. Pomegranate lips smile stretching pomegranate skin yours tastes like otter pops and *** mine I imagine is similar with a hint of bad decisions. This reality is unrealistically appetizing contorting trails contort minds peaking at the sunset so close I swear we’re almost there.

0

Oct 23, 2013

Oct 23, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC

Cave of Amethyst

Mountains’ majesty a cave of amethyst brews confidence in its own perfection near the peak peeking into the crayon colored clouds. Desire for a moment free from earth where right above our heads the world is colorfully candid through a foggy wine-stained film. Glossy sun through glossy eyes entices the mind enough to lift legs one thousand and two steps up the mountain coiling through indigo trees on turquoise trails until we pass the purple threshold where it’s best to pass the time. Pomegranate lips smile stretching pomegranate skin yours tastes like otter pops and *** mine I imagine is similar with a hint of bad decisions. This reality is unrealistically appetizing contorting trails contort minds peaking at the sunset so close I swear we’re almost there.

26

She eats her spaghetti with a fork like a shovel, ignoring the etiquette lessons from her mother so many years ago. You can tell her there’s tomato sauce staining her mouth like lipstick smeared from the night before, but she’ll just laugh and wipe it away with her sleeve when she’s finished. You would think such a messy eater would leave bits of her meal all over the table but when she’s done, there’s no trace of her haphazard manners and she disappears again.

0

Oct 2, 2013

Oct 2, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC

I saw her in my dreams

She eats her spaghetti with a fork like a shovel, ignoring the etiquette lessons from her mother so many years ago. You can tell her there’s tomato sauce staining her mouth like lipstick smeared from the night before, but she’ll just laugh and wipe it away with her sleeve when she’s finished. You would think such a messy eater would leave bits of her meal all over the table but when she’s done, there’s no trace of her haphazard manners and she disappears again.

20

Saying your name will always hurt. I believed you when you said that you would love me forever. I nodded benignly through my tears when you said you never wanted to hurt me like this again, and that's why you did it then. I wanted to kiss you when you reached for my hand and told me this was only because you wanted to be there for me. I tried to forgive you, so we could be friends like you wanted because until then I was amazed by the way you knew and understood me, you were my safety blanket when I hadn't felt safe before and because of this I was blind to the ropes you tied to me like I was a broken marionette. Now I can't believe you saw my scars and didn't kiss them, let alone allow me to tell you their story. I can't believe you ****** my friend two weeks after you took knives to the places in my heart you knew would hurt me most. But mostly, I can't believe you expected me to crawl back into your arms after all this. I want to throw at you all the notebooks I've wasted writing about you. I want to scream at you for treating my heart like either (I can't decide which is more true) a playtoy or something that you could save, neither of which were right. I realize you're worth none of this. You're not the girl I fell in love with, you're not the girl I trusted with all of me, and I don't miss you I miss that girl. I tried to hard to forgive you, but you don't deserve that. All I can do is forget. (Sincerely) **** you.

0

Sep 30, 2013

Sep 30, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC

Dear *******

Saying your name will always hurt. I believed you when you said that you would love me forever. I nodded benignly through my tears when you said you never wanted to hurt me like this again, and that's why you did it then. I wanted to kiss you when you reached for my hand and told me this was only because you wanted to be there for me. I tried to forgive you, so we could be friends like you wanted because until then I was amazed by the way you knew and understood me, you were my safety blanket when I hadn't felt safe before and because of this I was blind to the ropes you tied to me like I was a broken marionette. Now I can't believe you saw my scars and didn't kiss them, let alone allow me to tell you their story. I can't believe you ****** my friend two weeks after you took knives to the places in my heart you knew would hurt me most. But mostly, I can't believe you expected me to crawl back into your arms after all this. I want to throw at you all the notebooks I've wasted writing about you. I want to scream at you for treating my heart like either (I can't decide which is more true) a playtoy or something that you could save, neither of which were right. I realize you're worth none of this. You're not the girl I fell in love with, you're not the girl I trusted with all of me, and I don't miss you I miss that girl. I tried to hard to forgive you, but you don't deserve that. All I can do is forget. (Sincerely) **** you.

53

Seven ruler-straight horizontal lines Two solidly thicker vertical lines connect those to the palm of my hand And one in the shape of a hot, bent, metal stick almost hiding in my arm's crease. They look so soft now but I remember when each one of them was ragged and ****** and I was crying out for someone to help me. I never left without my sweatshirt, I tried to blame it on the cat because I couldn't explain to anybody my reasons for harming myself, you can't just describe your demons that easily. These scars are a map, a storybook on my body of the time I needed so badly for somebody to hold me. When nobody came with a rag to soak up the blood I was trying to get out of me I realized that I was either going to have to learn to love myself or let myself die right there. I am happy to have these scars for they mean that I chose the former, escaped that dismal ending I had chosen for myself. They prove to me that if I can come from the edge of death to the person I am today there's no reason that I can't do anything else.

0

Sep 27, 2013

Sep 27, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC

this is just a story I'm telling.

Seven ruler-straight horizontal lines Two solidly thicker vertical lines connect those to the palm of my hand And one in the shape of a hot, bent, metal stick almost hiding in my arm's crease. They look so soft now but I remember when each one of them was ragged and ****** and I was crying out for someone to help me. I never left without my sweatshirt, I tried to blame it on the cat because I couldn't explain to anybody my reasons for harming myself, you can't just describe your demons that easily. These scars are a map, a storybook on my body of the time I needed so badly for somebody to hold me. When nobody came with a rag to soak up the blood I was trying to get out of me I realized that I was either going to have to learn to love myself or let myself die right there. I am happy to have these scars for they mean that I chose the former, escaped that dismal ending I had chosen for myself. They prove to me that if I can come from the edge of death to the person I am today there's no reason that I can't do anything else.

43