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Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written May 24, 2012

Sitting at the quarry
or outside in the back
it was never white and black
it was only a love story
with lots of pain, and true, some glory
that started with a panic attack
and a man that couldn't cut some slack
and ended up pretty **** gory
with a girl in a hospital waiting room
alone and really cold
but she always did keep true
even while awaiting doom
what he did was oh, so bold
yet she still said "I love you."
--> Someone challenged me to write in this style, but I got it all wrong. I still enjoyed writing it.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written August 22, 2012

...and another days goes by.



She's not exactly sure how long it's been since the last time she was able to smile and say it came from the heart. She doesn't remember if it was November of last year or sometime in mid February, or just before April... she really wasn't sure. All she knew for sure was that it had been a while.



And the days go by...



Confusedly she carries on with unanswered questions about unanswered questions to months and months of dishonesty and distrust. Recently, she found out that a man she used to know has recently became a mother. She was surprised, but she also wasn't. At least now she knew where her beliefs on karma stood.



Some months before days have gone by, she has no idea where she will be once days have gone by. Maybe she would have some insight on where she would be after days of months have gone by but her perspective of the world is too askew. She should probably fix her tie before carrying on.



But eventually she might understand with some help from the polka-dot woman, but she doubts it. Her mind is too far gone for even those who consider themselves professional polka-dotters. She thinks maybe she could become a polka-dotter one day, but she doubts she can because her dots are way too out'ta line.



Of course she knows she has the animals but they can only help so much. She realizes that when it's clear they can only purr up against her leg so many times before they just can't purr any longer. At least they've helped thus far. With limitations she wants to break down but cannot.



A random thunder rumbles during the sunny summer day and snaps her into realizing it's time to gooooo.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written November 29, 2012

In the midnight hours, I hear a scream.
From where, I wonder, comes this scream?
It frightened me.
It startled me.
My mom's asleep,
and it wasn't from me.
From where came this scream?
From where could it be?
I look around, I still hear the sound, but the eerie sound is still unfound.
It turns into a deepened moan, the kind that is almost a groan.
Here I sit, completely alone, horrified, not far from the phone.
I can only hope the very most it's nothing more than just a ghost.
I've become accustomed to them there...
...to come to my house, would you be scared?
--> I felt like creeping out all of Facebook one night, so I whimsically decided to write something creepy. Is it based on reality? You tell me. ;)
Sofia Emma Mar 2013
She knew also how strange she measured time. Time and space, and lack of space, and the comfort in a rhyme. There was pre life, post and purgatory, not much, though, in between. Pre life floating synonymous to living, post life, really feeling things. Now floating synonymous to friendship, love to lashing out. Lies in bed with floating while it jealously pouts. In the future lives to come, open eyes, the greeting. Life to living, past to pain, killing soldiers in between and then so much to gain.
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
"Not only is beauty of a person in the eyes of the beholder, so is the beauty of a smile."
~Imperfections
Sofia Emma Mar 2014
I know it's better this way but that doesn't mean I won't miss...

Your breakfasts in bed
You teaching me how to skateboard (by the way I ****** a lot but I wasn't as bad as I made myself seem. I just liked you holding my hand)
Singing with you (when you thought I actually sounded good)
Our long talks deep into the night when the sun was coming up.
Being your big spoon and cuddling you like I was the guy.
The way your eyelashes looked ridiculously long when wet.
That little wink before walking out of a room.
Your super comfy clothes.
Watching movies... On the floor.
The way you screamed like Hank Hill when you saw a spider.
Tickling you, even though it made you hate me.
The way you're so passionate about the things you love.
The fact that your eyes match the sky.
Waking up beside you.
The way you never knew I knew you always turned around to make sure I got on the bus but I always saw you.

I know it's better this way, but never experiencing any of these things ever again doesn't feel better.
Sofia Emma Jun 2013
I know that I will never wake up one morning and find you beside me in my bed.
I know that I never have - it's not like you were once there and now you're gone; you just never were.
I know that who I am is the reason you don't see the same beauty in me that I see in you.
I know that you look more at what I am than what I've become.
I know that you also look at what I'm not.
Sofia Emma Aug 2021
This is a poem I’m writing for me
And sure, it’d be satisfying if you heard it
But even though you’ll never get it
I’ll write to ease the burden

I know you think that all this time we’ve been healing from each other
But in truth, you are healing from your father and your mother

True for many, but it wasn’t me who gaslit you, controlled, manipulated
Your childhood fears taken out on me, ego projected

The world beat you, I’m so sorry
You could’ve been great
You could’ve changed the world, like fate

With the intellectual potential of a hundred beings, the motivation and confidence of none
“Fearful and sad most of the time”
Diagnosis is a doorway to healing, not excusing abuse
A moral compass: pick one

And so I’m doing the real healing from the trauma you received
As a child years before I ever knew you
Forced to carry a burden that curved my spine
While you heal from being held accountable for your actions

How will you handle it now that you’re conpletely alone?
You do not deserve to be in a room with others
Until you can learn how to treat them
Like a child being punished for what they have done
Your consequences served up with a silver spoon given to you by mom and dad

I don’t miss you
Sofia Emma Apr 2015
What does it say about humankind that it defines happiness in a rectangular paper with a number and this symbol on it: $ ?
And there is no escape for those who don't define as such. If your definition is anything but $, €, £, ¥, and so on, you, apparently, are not allowed to eat, drink, have a shelter
reproduce
wear clothes
Have a voice...
Sofia Emma Feb 2013
Not all that much time has passed since I met him and we hung out that first time at the theater at night.
They say it takes time to develop feelings like these, and usually it does, and that's why I'm so confused.
He burst into my life like a deep, beautiful and refreshing breath of fresh air and entrapped himself in
my lungs.

I can't stop thinking about
his eyes and the way he
looks like he's going to
cry every time I make
him laugh, even though
it'll never be me he wants
or maybe even anyone for
that matter... at least maybe
not anyone of the same gender
as me. But I probably shouldn't
start rumors, because I'm still not
sure.
Sofia Emma Feb 2013
-Here's to you, fellow ladies and gentlemen who are single over Valentine's Day. Here's to all you girls who are hating your ex boyfriends today. Here's to all you guys hating your ex girlfriends today. Here's to you who are still in love with them as well. Here's to those in love with the same gender, and being the wrong gender. Here's to those learning to move on, those who can't move on, and those who don't want to move on. Here's to those with secret crushes, and crushes that aren't so secret. Here's to those who professed their love and got shot down. Here's to those who are too scared to profess that love at all, hidden deep down inside wanting to spill out. Here's to those who were cheated on, abused, unloved, unwanted, lied to. Here's to those who were manipulated and used. And most definitely here's to those single by choice on St Valentine's Day. You're NOT alone and you ARE loved. You may feel alone today while every kind of person is making every kind of love to every kind of partner, but just remember that every passing day you spend alone just means one day closer to the day you'll meet the one you'll spend your life with. **Hold strong, friends.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Suddenly, it was all gone just as fast as it had come. Sometimes the days are long, but still feel like they end before they've begun.
It's a necessity to carry on merrily and that's fine to be as long as I can see the differences inside of me.
I find myself wondering just what the hell is wrong with me.
It's just about time to accept the fact that sometimes we just cannot go back.
The things we once took advantage of become things we have envy for; care, peace and love.
The doubting is dangerous. Danger is famous but not for an eccentric like me.
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
August 26, 2012

When he looks at me, it feels like he looks right through me. His eyes pierce through mine like a red hot nail. Just one quick look and every part of me from the inside starts wiggling. It's the way it feels that he's reading my thoughts when he looks at me, like he knows exactly how he's making me feel and he does it on purpose to drive me insane because he gets a rush off it.
Every time he speaks, opens his mouth, moves his lips, so beautiful, it kills me to have to control myself. All I can see is him using those strong teeth to bite into my neck to muffle the moans. And when he laughs, it sends a warm happiness into me. Like if he's happy, I can be happy, and when he's sad, nothing is right.
And oh god, when he smiles.
He is so remarkable. Like a perfect sculpture of humanity. A rigid, masculine jaw, solid hipbones, a small, muscular waist, toned arms that have just a little more than a hint of proud biceps, and a smile that lights up the country.
He is my best friend. Like brother and sister. But siblings don't spend a ****, beautiful, romantic night together that feels so right right and feels so wrong, and means so much, and means so little.
Maybe one day, he'll see how happy I want to make him. Time to try again.
I briefly had feelings for my best friend after my ex left. This poem was written before I came to terms with the fact it was never going to happen.
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
He would
sit in the kitchen
singing opera,
or songs in Yiddish.
And every time I would pay them a visit,
he would try to slip a twenty
into my purse
and I would always argue with him
telling him
to keep his money.
He would bring me into the kitchen
and tell me long and boring stories about his trip
to Israel
when he was a boy of only twenty.
"Not much older than you are right now!"
he would say.
And he would talk for over an hour,
and I would squirm in boredom, and make an excuse
to get out of there and go do something else
like watch tv, or text a friend.
When I was seven years old,
not too long after my parents' divorce,
on a mild spring day he sat with me on his apartment balcony
and read me twenty-six picture books,
and followed every sentence with his finger
so I
could learn to read as fast as he did one day.
And later
I fell asleep in his lap, and he didn't move for
hours.
Just to let me sleep.
The day he lay dying in the hospital in
a coma,
I spent eleven consecutive hours by his side
crying.
The day he lay dying in the hospital in
a coma,
I called my then boyfriend and asked him to come keep me company by his side,
and he told me he couldn't because
he was busy with some friend, over at his house,
getting high.
I never forgave him, because he was not even nearly as important
as the most important father figure I've ever had dying of kidney failure when he still had
so much more
to live for.
Now that he's gone, and his name is forever tattooed on my arm, and his memory
forever tattooed in my heart,
I long for his long boring stories just so I can hear his voice again,
even though it annoyed me two years ago.
I want him to slip another twenty into my purse
and pretend I didn't notice,
and later
slip it back into his enormous box of perfectly organized pills.
The things I should have done
when
he
was
still
alive.
I just read a poem on here about someone's memory of their Grandfather whistling. It inspired me to write this.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
The winter last, I, with child-like excitement, jumped up and down exclaiming about the beautiful, crystalline snow on the ground outside my window. Thrilled over the beautiful, bumpy sheet of white that covered all memory of summer for as far as I could see. Images of sparkly Christmas lights danced in my imagination. Wishing I could afford to go skiing, and hoping to get a kiss under the mistletoe. So why is it that this year, when I look out my window, all I see is *****, frozen specs of water that fell from the sky? Why is it that now, the cold seems more lonely than it does refreshing, and the ground seems like a wasteland of death where the vibrancy of summer once was not so long ago? Why is this winter so different?
Sofia Emma Jun 2013
Roses are multi-coloured, violets are violet, this poem is literal, I have Asperger's.

:)
They say people with Asperger's Syndrome are often quite literal. I just felt like proving them right. :)
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written November 11, 2012

I was lost. I don't mean it in the way that I didn't know where I was, or didn't know where to go (although that too), but lost in the way that I, looking in at myself from the outside, didn't know where I had gone. I was two separate people: my Self who ran away, and my Self who walked the roads trying to find me. A few close friends and one gentle stranger helped me put up "MISSING" posters, but in the end it was evidently entirely up to me to find my Self. So I began to seriously search. The search consumed my entire life. My every day and my every night. I searched not stopping for over six months. One day, I was in the middle of a search when I sat down at the side of the road and began to cry. I cried for my lost Self, and I cried because I was finally starting to accept my lost Self was never coming home. At that moment, I looked up and wiped my tears, and looked across the road. It was someone who looked so remarkably like the Self I lost, but in an inexplicable way, equally entirely different. I walked up to it, confused, and asked it if it knew a Self that looked a lot like it but not exactly. It told me it did, but it regretted to inform me that Self was dead, but it was my new self and it was just born. To this day, I mourn the death of the Self I lost, but like everything else has its time, so do Selfs. I now know that Selfs are not lost and found, but in fact dead and reborn into something similar, but also completely new.
--> This was written when I was really beginning to find myself and what I wanted in life. I'm much happier know, and still finding myself. :)
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
Alright, world. It's time to get down to business. It's time to start caring about things that matter again. So take your mind away from all the trivial, superficial things and thing about the important things that change the entire dynamic of global society. I had a class last semester about Marx, Nietzsche and Freud. Those men amaze me. There was a time where there were people like Karl Marx trying to change the world. Forget whether you agree or disagree with his opinions. Whether he was right or wrong, he was convicted. It was his true beliefs. If you don't understand what I'm trying to say, think of Adolf ******. Some people agreed with beliefs of ******, some people didn't. People to this day are still agreeing and disagreeing with the beliefs of ******. Forget about all that. Even he, someone who was considered an awful man, did something. He tried to change the world. Yes, maybe he ended up changing the world for the worse, but the point is that in HIS MIND, he thought he was changing it for good. And after the existance of these people, all that stuff just... stopped. Who do we hear of nowadays who's trying to change the world (regardless of the outcome)? NOBODY. And the people who are doing things to change the world, nobody gives a **** about because people are too entranced with the more important things like What Not to Wear, the Kardashians, Honey Boo-Boo, and people being famous cake-makers. How many great philosophers, poets, psychologists who really care about the public do we hear around in this era? None! Of the few people who do try to make a difference in the world, none of them get recognized. Well, that is besides those celebrities who ***** a school in Africa because it's a good photo opportunity. I want nothing more than to even do the tiniest thing in my life that will make even a slight impact on the world; write a book, publish a philosophical transcript, but I'm starting to feel like there isn't even a point in doing so anymore because despite my efforts, in this shallow society, nobody would even take a glance.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written December 23, 2012

I know it sounds so typical, but I'm misunderstood. I mostly don't express myself the best I know I could. My age does play a role in how I'm taken as a joke, how people who don't know me well think I'm of common folk. My mind's a little different. It's eccentric and it's odd, but if I were to be normal I would surely not applaud. I watch the world around me: young and immature. For I'm not made to be nineteen, and that is for sure. I should have been born 200 years ago when people stopped to think, were intelligent and logical, and people made the link between the things in life that bring them down and the direct reason why they frown, and that you're only as happy as you choose.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written April 12, 2012

I think I've been going crazy.
I think I've been going crazy,
spending evenings jittering,
and spending days sick.
Spending nights restless,
just passing the time.
Not actually living.
Just passing the time,
until I stop going crazy.
I think I've been going crazy.
Even the doctors agree,
but they don't say that.
They just use other words
to make me feel normal
but in the end, all those words mean
are that I'm going crazy.
Sleep comes late, and leaves me early.
Food goes in, but doesn't want to stay.
The doctors think I'll get better,
the doctors think it'll go away,
but I think I'm just going crazy.
Don't you agree?
--> I wrote this at the beginning of a depression I went through that lasted a good 6 months that I can say I'm mostly out of. I had just lost a close family member, family friend, and the love of my life in the same year. This was what was in my mind. ~£mma,
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written September 6, 2012

Love, I tell you, is not real.
It's a temporary figment of our imagination that seems so real we truly believe it's there.
But what is it really? It is no more than a reaction of chemicals inside our brain that we cannot touch, cannot see, cannot feel with anything but our hearts.
Love is not a thing but a way for our brains to put us in line. To control us. Without it, we would do unspeakable things. But can you hold love in your hand? Is it even really there? And when you feel you love one and will never love another, fret not, as it is not so.
At times it feels like there will be no end to the pain, but there will be. Love is only something we can't control unless we realize we have the power over our own hearts, over our own brains.
Our brains are a smaller part of us. They do not reign us but in fact the opposite.
It is when we tell our hearts that we're in control, we're the boss, can we begin to tell our **** emotions where to go.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written May 8, 2012

So he stood there and held her like there was ever something there.
So she stood there and held on not wanting to let go of anything there.
So he told her comforting lies.
So she listened and cried.
So they exchanged a couple polite smiles and he said some civil words,
so as to not look like he was in the wrong.
So he told her he was sorry for what he was putting her through
so he could feel a little better, like that would make the slightest difference.
So he made sure she knew he didn't want to hurt her, although it's what he had to do,
so she could feel a little better, like that would make the slightest difference.
So he went on and partied, like everybody his age should do.
So she went on and sat alone, like everybody with an old soul like hers does.
So he spent time with all his best friends who he loved so dearly,
so she watched from the sidelines knowing none of them care about his well-being as much as she does.
So she offered her heart and was shot down, offered her help and was shot even lower.
So she ever so slowly started realizing it was time to give up.
So, she picked her heart up off the floor, (her heart being on the floor because he chewed it up and defecated it right there) and she told the world she was going to be okay.
So there she was standing tall and she emanated confidence. Everyone knew she was going to be okay.
So she knew herself she was going to be okay, and she was sure.
So she wasn't okay.
So that was the last time she saw him.
--> Trying really hard to get over my ex.
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
November 3, 2012

Some children are playing ball in the street. The ball rolls around behind a car. One sweet kid saunters over to get it. All the other kids are too lazy. As soon as the ball is brought back, one kid kicks it again and it rolls down the street and down a hill. No kid makes an effort to retrieve it. A kid goes inside their house and gets another ball.
Sofia Emma Oct 2013
-After not writing poetry for several months, ones' writing would tend to be emotional, but I seem to be approaching that in the next step. The notion that I would be pent up with emotion seems to have me surpassed. One would assume I'd cry and thrash but quite right in fact that I'm closer to feeling numb. And yes, I guess, a little dumb. When a husband beats his wife, no one in the world could possibly deny that abuse. Why, two black eyes is quite sufficient proof. But there's no shiners you can see from pain that's deep inside... Your psyche, your mind. You can't see therefore it's not hurt, not abuse and no one has been wronged. Love, care, sorriness and guilt are more than words, they're emotions, so why is it that when people claim they love, they take for granted, claim they care, they still act selfish, apologize, yet reoffend, and do it over and over again?
Sofia Emma Jan 2015
He looked into my eyes, deeply, and seldomly blinking. His body was trembling, as if the very earth herself quaked within his veins. He was breathing heavily; the intake shallow, the output, shallower still. His skin was damp from the nerves, of course, not the heat. For it had barely begun. He reached for my hand and held it tightly and a part of me, for but a moment, enjoyed the fact that he needed me. He clung to me with his face pressed against my chest occasionally emitting a quiet moan. Eventually, I felt his wet warmth soak into my shirt. It hurt me, but I didn't make him move. I stayed still and held him until the panic attack was over, until the wet tears dried. This is how I defined my love; how I make love. Acceptance, compassion, guidance, and a friend.
Some out there might not catch onto that this is not a poem about ****. Don't be dull.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written October 20, 2012

Tonight I got to thinking. Once, I knew someone who shaped the person I am today; the ever-changing, constantly learning, but already quite changed and learnèd since, person I am today. My shaper ended up being bad news. As soon as I learned this was when I began the change. And it's funny that I have to thank the bad influence of one past person for being the thing that changed me for the better. And although I'm not completely happy, I'm ultimately free. I'm free because I have something my shaper does not: insight into my own psyche. When, in the future, I'm entirely at peace (and this day will come), my shaper will still be caught in the part of life where you're just figuring out who you are. My shaper will always be stuck there, as will everyone else who lives a backward life. Dearest shaper, enjoy the little things in your own life. Being the type of person you are, it's all you'll ever have.
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
Written August 31, 2012 (the day after my birthday!)

It actually baffles me, how the human heart works. As a species, us humans enjoy believing we're the best species, we're far more advanced than any other animal, we're so much smarter, we have technology... and opposable thumbs! But in reality, though our inventions and creations are the most advanced, really we're just like animals in the wild. In the end, it all comes down to instinct. Recently, I found this fact in myself to be remarkably true. We have someone in our lives we care about, for example. Instinctually, we want to protect them, so when they do something bad, naturally we want to defend them, especially after seeing them going through hard times. Your defensive instinct skyrockets and you make excuses for them and defend their right to make mistakes after what they've been through but there comes a point when your instinct to protect yourself overpowers your instinct to protect someone else separate from yourself. Especially after finding out you had been defending them for nothing and all this changes in a couple days.
Sofia Emma Aug 2017
You said you had the song "***** Little Secret" stuck in your head all day. It's been in mine now, too, for two days. It wasn't supposed to be this way. We're friends now. Friends again. Of COURSE I never stopped loving you but it was six years ago I've moved on! I really have though. I'll always love you, but I have moved on. We're friends now! It's just a couple drinks and then you go home. A drink among two friends who used to be in love. We've seen each other over the years since then! It was fiiiine! ... in a bar surrounded by ten of my friends... why wouldn't it be fiiiine!... to have a couple drinks with your ex while his girlfriend is out of town it's INNOCENT. But then you missed the last train and we were both kind of drunk and I'm not sure at what point I found you mostly naked in my bed and I asked you "what color are your eyes?" as I looked into them when you were on top of me between kisses. "Hazel" you said. "I remembered them being blue." "This can't happen again, she can't know, you can't tell her." "I promise I wouldn't do that to you..." I really won't. But. Why did I remember your eyes being blue? While I was looking into them, for a brief moment, maybe I loved you again?
I made a huge mistake and wish I could go back in time but I can't.
Sofia Emma Jan 2013
August 14, 2012

When I see you, I will play nice.

I won't tell you how, when we talked that Saturday four days after you left, I ran away from home and my mom couldn't find me for three hours.
I won't tell you how the first month, I cried myself to sleep most nights and I couldn't even bring myself to watch television because I couldn't stand seeing happy couples in shows because it hurt too much.
I won't tell you that now, no matter how badly I want to, I can no longer cry.
I won't tell you how I sought comfort in feelings that were never really there.
I won't tell you that the idea that I would soon see you completely consumed my thoughts since I found out.
I won't tell you I know exactly how long it's been to the day since you left, and that I still can't bring myself to delete the pictures of you on my cellphone, or how I saw that you deleted the ones of us off Facebook and that broke my heart more than it should have.
You might notice that I still wear your late mom's crystal bracelet, but I won't tell you how obsessively careful I am not to break it just because you asked me to be back when you still loved me.
I won't tell you how much it satisfies me that you're lonely and miserable. How your pain and regret is my personal revenge.
I won't tell you about the equal satisfaction I got when that girl who I was friends with told me you admitted it was about your mom, and the laugh I got out of the fact you said I was right.
I won't tell you how I see you slowly realizing I was the best girl you will ever have.
I won't tell you how sometimes, I ******* to my best friend, the one I told you I had no attraction to.
I won't tell you how the one day I had cuddling with him felt more right than the entire year I spent with you.
I won't tell you that, after you left and I ****** my ex, I always imagined he was you.
I won't tell you how I never forgave you for not coming to the hospital the day my Grandpa died and how I never forgave you for standing me up to go smoke up with your friend the day we had plans to hang out with mine and then lied to me about it, and I found out when I called your friend and asked if he'd seen you.

I might tell you that yes, you were a bad boyfriend, you're right.
I might tell you only a low scumbag of a person makes someone feel like their diagnosis is their fault.

But I definitely won't tell you that despite all that, I'm still in love with you.
Sidenote* - These were my feelings in August and are not anymore.
Sofia Emma Jul 2017
The first time I saw him, I was just barely 16 years old. The types of boys I went for at just barely 16 years old were soft, and feminine, with bangs in their face they'd flip back to look cute. At just barely 16 years old, he was a man. A 19 year old man with a beard. A man with a beard who smoked cigarettes. A man with a beard who smoked cigarettes, marijuana, and drank alcohol. His shirts had holes in them and his jeans were frayed at the bottom. He was the exact opposite of my type. Truly, I thought he was gross. At just barely 16 years old, a man with a beard who smoked cigarettes, marijuana, and drank alcohol was terrifying, and intimidating, and the exact opposite of my type, and of course I fell madly in love with him. I don't believe in one true love. Disney movies tried to convince me that I should and do, but, something always bothered me about the idea. I don't  believe in one true love, but I believe in soulmates. I don't believe in one true love, but I believe in love, and I believe that one of the biggest tragedies human beings inflict upon themselves is preventing themselves from being with someone they love. So then why? So then why am I doing exactly that? I still see him the way I saw him the first time I saw him. Except... less gross. I see you. I still see you. I see that you're sick, and I see that you're suffering. And I see that I am the reason that you're suffering, and I see that you're making me suffer in return. At least, I see that that's how you see it. So, now I'm suffering without you because I'm choosing to, because I keep getting told that I'm better off without you, even though better is a feeling and I don't… FEEL... better, and I know that you're better off without me.
Sofia Emma Dec 2012
Written October 9, 2012

Sometimes, I want to write. There are thousands of thoughts racing around up inside my head causing, and created by thousands of emotions, and I try to express the words in a creative way, somehow. I try to write a sort of my own style of poetry, and sometimes it comes out sounding alright, and sometimes, my grasp of the English language slips out from between my fingers and abandons me. It's kind of amazing how the mind can work; can't gather thoughts because there are too many, no motivation for creativity when themind is calm.

— The End —