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Emma Sep 2018
I am the sister
of those women
who stood in their
"once upon a time"
and demanded that their true stories
be heard.

I am the sister
of those men
who demanded that their trauma
not be forgotten
by those who wished
to silence them.

I am the friend
of those who suffer,
whether it be solitude or
in company,
and they shall know that
they're not alone.

I am the child
of those parents
that can't understand
how their child suffers,
and I am the child
of those who do.

I am what embodies
every soul in creation.
There may be no god,
but they were never needed.
We are the ones to decide
when the stories cease.

And I am one
of those who say,
"the stories will end
with me."
Emma Sep 2018
The best part about you leaving
Is forgetting you.
It’s as though the sugar you injected into me
To keep me sweet for you,
And only you,
Is dying off;
Slowly but surely,
Until the only part of you that will
Remain in my body
Is the notch in my heart.

You will always own that
Notch in my heart.
It will always make me care for you,
And make it like my heart always beat for two.
It will always skip a beat
When I see you in the streets.
The smell of burnt tobacco
Will always make my hands tie knots into the bedsheets,
All for you.

I used to believe
That with your sweet honey
Injected into my heart,
I would never be able to forget you,
Much less let you go.
But now, I see that lovers will
Come and go.
You do not own the sweet tune
That makes me undress for you;
And better will come after you.
You leaving hurt, yes,
But without you I am whole.
Emma Aug 2018
The blue skies are coming.
This has always been my mantra,
my calling card,
my peace in this crazy world.

I do believe that the blue skies are coming.
I do believe that I will once again sleep,
without waking,
and without screaming.

I do believe that I will once again
be able to walk down those streets
and not feel fear
at the thought of seeing him.

I do believe that I will be able to drink,
and not feel every person
that has ever bruised me
touch my skin.

I believe that the blue skies are coming.
I've been saying it since I was a child,
ruined by an eating disorder
and chronic depression.

I do believe that the blue skies are coming for me.
Depression stole my love.
Anorexia stole my childhood.
But, still, my blue skies will come.
Blue skies are an expression of a time when my mental well being is finally ok, and i am at long last happy.

It will come for you too.
Keep fighting.
Keep breathing.
They will come for you too.
Emma Aug 2018
Mornings
Are like sitting in
A dew-dropped sunrise.
Everything is fresh,
And new,
And glowing.

I love
To just sit
And exist in the morning sunrise.
I love to feel it’s warm
And loving embrace
Surround my lifeless body.

The beautiful melodies
Of the sweetly singing sparrows,
The elegant beauty of the summer hue
And the bustle of the breeze
Remind me of a place I once called home.

As I sit in the dewy morn,
I remember what was once home,
Where my cold and empty bones once laid to rest.
A place filled with comfort and hope
Long since drowned in tears and fear.

I love to watch the sun rise.
It reminds my silent heart of what once was.
But, I know that come sunset
My soul will once more return to its darkness.
Emma Jul 2018
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I know we have been down this road before.
But please know that I’m trying,
Like I have so many times before.

I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I didn’t mean what I said before.
I’ll love you like I always have
Until you’re not breathing anymore.

I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I didn’t want to relapse once more.
But sometimes I’m holding the knife
And I can’t see straight at all.

I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I know you hate to watch me bleed.
I hope it’s for the last time,
I pray, for you and me.
To those who have never given up on me.
Emma Jul 2018
They bite us.
They beat us.
They throw us off buses.
All in the name of teaching us a lesson.  

They ****** us.
They brutalise us.
They protest in their defence
And blame us,
All in the name of teaching us a lesson.  

A young girl returned home from a movie,
And god did they hurt her for it.
There were protests for her,
Thousands of women chanting for her.
Every woman felt pain for her,
All in the name of teaching us a lesson.

But still,
They hold us down.
But still,
They contort our bodies to their will.
But still,
They force us to endure such agony,
All in the name of teaching us a lesson.
For Jyoti Singh.

We remember you.
Emma Jul 2018
It’s sad that the first time I speak to someone,
Their opening line is
“Thank you for telling your story, it has helped me.”

13

It’s upsetting that I have so many stories to tell;
Like the time four boys pinned me to the cold pavement
And they took it in turns to force me to kiss them.
I remember how the onlookers did nothing,
They wanted me to learn the meaning of boys will be boys.

17

It will always remain one of the stories that I will never tell,
Similar to the story of my childhood where
Boys would run their hands down the body that came to be my carcass, to claim
What never belonged to them.

7

The story I tell is the assault of an older girl,
A girl who knew what the assault was,
A girl that will never admit that the **** happened more than once
And a girl that suffered incredible violence.

16

I hate how I have so many of these stories to tell,
But what is worse is how there’s so many others that
Need to hear them to feel less alone in their pain.
It is worse that I am not alone in my pain.

14

I wish they could see what remains of us,
The victims of the violence that they have left behind
To suffer in their misery alone.

6

I wish they could see the meaning behind the numbers,
The ages I’ve been throwing throughout this poem
But they’ll never mean anything to anyone but me.
We need to become the leaders of a revolution, no more numbers.
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