Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
14.4k · Sep 2018
Leaving 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 May 2019
what have they done to you,
dear girl with the rainbow hair?

have they saddled you with their insatiable thirst for perfection,
my sweet girl with the rainbow hair?

have they demonized the ground you dare stand,
fearless girl with the rainbow hair?

have the non-believers tore you piece from piece,
my messed up girl with the rainbow hair?

the world will always tear you down,
tender girl with the rainbow hair.

you were never supposed to use your voice,
my deafening girl with the rainbow hair.

do not let them defeat you,
sweet heartbroken girl with the rainbow hair.

whilst machismo is still alive,
the girls will never be safe.
Emma Apr 2019
There’s a little coffee shop
Down an avenue, I like to walk.
It smells like I imagine you still do,
Inside that little coffee shop.

That little coffee shop is where we used to go
When life was good and happy.
We didn’t have a care in the world,
Inside that little coffee shop.

Looking back on that little coffee shop,
It still amazes me how much things have changed.
I would never have imagined that you could hurt me like this
Inside that little coffee shop.

That little coffee shop still feels like home to me,
Its warm fire still makes me glow.
But it will never be the same without you
Inside that little coffee shop.

In that coffee shop is where you first showed me
How it truly felt to be loved.
I would never have realised that your love would lead to this,
Inside that little coffee shop.

As I walk past that little coffee shop
I am hit, again and again, with the familiarity that our love is over.
I walk past in the knowledge that I will never see you again
Inside that little coffee shop.

That little coffee shop will always be my home for you,
Its where my memories of you
Have laid to rest. It will always be
Inside that little coffee shop.
2.7k · Oct 2018
Emma Oct 2018
As I walk through your museum,
I admire all the art.
I admire the postcards and love notes
carefully stuck the home of
your beloved.

As I walk through your museum,
I wonder what time She comes home.
I see how everything in her existence
has been tainted by you,
as I quietly reassure myself it won't be soon.

As I walk through your museum,
I see you turn to face me;
and I feel my heart flutter so hard
that it must have flown out of my chest.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself,
He only wants you.

As I walk through your museum,
into your venereal grasp,
I feel your certain hands
pull away at the little modesty which remained.
You do it as surely as
a bee follows honey.

As I walk through your museum,
into that place where everything changed,
I can't help but see how
lovingly you gaze upon Her.
It's in all the frames affectionally placed
on the walls of the place, She calls home.

As I walk through your museum,
and I feel your hands begin to empty me
like a pumpkin on hollows eve,
I see Her. I see everything I knew I would see.
I see the  pain at what you are doing
and I know that I have made a girl like me.

As I walk through your museum
towards the door with a choir of screams and tears following,
I remember how it felt to be a girl like me, on my first time.
And I smile,
peaceful with the knowledge that
I am not the only girl like me.
2.6k · Aug 2018
The Blue Skies
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.
1.9k · Aug 2018
A morning.
Emma Aug 2018
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.
1.6k · Jul 2018
I’m sorry
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.
1.3k · Nov 2018
Train Stations
Emma Nov 2018
A train station is like a second home to me.
It’s where I last saw you, as you walked away
For a train that would take you so far astray.
Tell me, did you ever look back
to see me standing there on that platform?
Did you ever have a last glance, my friend?

I did not realise then that that would be the last time
That I would see you, my friend.
Even though you exist still,
You’re not at home anymore.
You are not my friend that got on that train.
Does my friend exist at all?

Since you turned away to that train,
The world has changed you, my friend.
You’re no longer the innocent one
That once held my hand through it all.
The world has turned you as cold as an icy winter
Since I last saw you, my friend.

Train stations are now a familiar echo to me.
I travel to them,
One after the other,
Searching for the person that I once knew.
They do not spare me of the knowledge
That you are long since gone, aren’t you my friend?

Standing on the platform so that I could watch you go,
I could never have imagined how much
The world would change us.
You no longer exist in the sweet hue of my memories,
But instead, lie in the barren desert
Of my depleting mentality, as you’re no longer my friend.
949 · Sep 2018
A sister
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."
840 · Aug 2019
Emma Aug 2019
My resting ***** face is my superpower,
That and my ability to survive.
But you can’t have one without the other,
My survival and my superpower walk hand in hand through the valley that is
“Sweetheart” men,
Kissy face men,
Will shout at you in the street men
And will say you were asking for it men.
You thought I wanted it?
Look at this ***** face,
And tell me I wanted it, *****.
I have learnt that the world will throw knives and snarls in my direction,
And a simple smile will not end this affection,
And so a resting ***** face ends that sort of *******.
Because suddenly, when you look like a woman who won’t take ****,
Men won’t give you ****.
When life gives you lemons,
Make a **** orange.
You won’t be given anything.
One day, I’m gonna tell my baby girl
“Remember, a resting ***** face is your superpower,
And you can do anything you put your mind to.”
I have survived everything that has come my way so far,
Me and my resting ***** face will rule this world.
820 · Mar 2019
"Which part do you mean?"
Emma Mar 2019
I am always asked
"Why have you changed yourself?",
To which my reply must always be
"Which part of myself do you mean?"

"Do you mean my appearance,
Which I have complemented with metal and ink?
I did that to feel whole again,
To make my body my own."

"Or do you mean my humour,
Once light and happy, turned dark and damaging?
I did that to protect myself. If I am dark
Then you shall never know how I truly feel."

"Or perhaps you mean my being, once loving and trusting,
Turned cold and evermore hostile.
Do you believe, after everything I have endured,
I would allow myself to trust another again?"

"I have changed myself to reflect the environment around me.
I have changed to survive in a world
Of traitors and abusers,
Much like those boys were for me."

So when you ask me
"Why have you changed?",
Do not be scared of the answers which you may receive.
They will now forever be me.
817 · Sep 2018
“You look pretty”
Emma Sep 2018
“You look pretty”.
It is a cage I have adorned myself within.
In my nineteen years of living,
I never thought there could be a greater compliment than
“you look pretty”;
“you look beautiful”;
And, my personal favourite,
“I bet you look good
Under all that clothing”.

This is a cage that I have locked myself in.
The walls are made of crystal,
But no one who presses their hand up against it
To steal a glance in
Ever sees me.
I am what I will become,
But to the crows that surround me,
I will never be more than the pretty object
Waiting to be snatched up from the filthy floor.

In my nineteen years of living,
I have been conditioned to believe that my worth
Is solely based around
How pretty I am,
Or how good I look in that dress,
Or how I beautifully paint my face to become
Your doll.
I never have believed that I could be
Anything more.

When you gaze upon me,
With your starving eyes searching my body
For something that does not exist,
Do you not see me for my true worth?
Is my capacity for kindness and
My loving nature
Not something which is destined to be adored?
Will who I am
Ever be enough for your ego to coincide?

Whatever it is that you decide,
Your choices will not persuade me.
I know I am worth more than an idle compliment
Which holds no weight or denotation.
I know that I am worthy of a love
Which sees all of me,
And not just the crystal cage
That is shattering in my wake
Around me.
746 · Jul 2018
A story
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.”


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.
714 · Jan 2019
Someone Better
Emma Jan 2019
And once again,
My love betrayed me.
He found one better,
One that filled his soul in ways that I could never.
She’s not broken like me,
But neither is she kind like me;
Or selfless like me;
Or caring like me either.
So, when he stares at her
In the same way he used to stare at me,
I hope he sees everything that she is not
As well as everything she is.
She may fill his soul in ways that I could never,
But she will never fill his soul like me.
She may be the one he chose,
But she will never be me.
557 · Feb 2019
Haunted House
Emma Feb 2019
My mind is a Haunted House.
I live in it with
the abusers,
the non-believers,
the cowards
and the lairs.

I am haunted by
lovers who have come and gone;
traitors that took my skin and
made it a stranger to me;
and the ghosts that make my brain their home.

I am haunted
because I know that I was not brave enough.
I am haunted
by those who have come after me
because I was not loud enough.

I am Sorry, my loves.
I could not stop what happened to you.
But I will teach you how to cope
with your Haunted House.
I pray for you, my loves.
480 · Jun 2019
My mind
Emma Jun 2019
Do not be gentle with my mind.
I know that to move on
I must deal with my past.
My childhood.
The disorders.
The ****.
The trauma.
I know that to truly love
I have to move on.
Maybe I am not ready to love yet.
467 · Nov 2018
We Must Listen
Emma Nov 2018
For those who do not understand,
we must be the ones who listen.
We must ask our sisters
and our brothers
and our mothers
and our fathers
and our friends
if they are ok.
Then, we must shut up
and listen.

We must listen
to how yes meant yes
and no meant no
but that did not matter that day
to the one that betrayed them.
We must listen to everything
and everyone
as we may be the only ones who do.
We must be the voices
for those who will otherwise remain voiceless.
For those who think they are alone,
please know that you are not.
406 · Jul 2018
A Process
Emma Jul 2018
Healing is a process.
It takes a lot to get
Over what you have
Been through and
What you have seen.

It takes a lot to wake
Up in the morning
And go to sleep in the evening.

It takes a lot to face
What you have been
To see your attacker
Grow and prosper
Whilst you still cry
In your sleep.

It takes a lot to deal
With the wolves
Whilst they howl
Outside your room,
Screaming obscenities
And proclaiming that you lie,
For they know the truth
But are too scared to
Believe it.

It takes a lot to deal
With the hours of sitting
In a dark room
With people drinking
Steaming cups of tea
While you spill out
Your mind and all the while
You’re wondering if they’re really listening.

It takes a lot to go
Through what you go through,
But boy,
You’re doing it.
For a friend,
I love you
397 · Feb 2019
the first time.
Emma Feb 2019
The first time it happened,
I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour.
I cried, desperately washing away at the blood that was streaming from
In between my legs.
I cried, desperately trying to put myself back together
With concealer for the bruises
And pantyliners for the blood.

The second time it happened,
I picked roses from the garden
And cried at the altar of Christ.
It was at this time that I knew there must be no god,
As no deity that claims everlasting love
Would allow for the heartache
You put me through.

I didn’t understand what had happened to me.
I didn’t know what my body was responding to.
I couldn't apprehend why I was leaving scars on my skin
And changing every aspect of my appearance to
Make my body my own.
I didn’t understand how you could do this to me,
To someone who did everything to protect you.

I still do not understand.
380 · Dec 2018
In times past
Emma Dec 2018
In times past,
I would see love
Where only rage and lust
Had made their home.
Until I knew you, I thought love meant
Bruised legs and
Vultures making a home of my skin.

I thought it meant
And empty packets of pills waiting to be
Swept up by a weeping mother
As she realised what had been done.
I did not know
How good love could be
Until I knew you.

But since knowing you,
You have shown me what
Love can truly mean.
It is by no means perfect.
It is not always happy,
But it is real.
It does not mean starving lips
Stealing innocence from unwilling souls.
It means comfort in simply existing.

And whilst we are not in love
I can honestly say,
With my whole heart,
I love you.
I trust you.
And thank you,
For showing me it didn’t always have
To be this way.
367 · Mar 2019
The boy.
Emma Mar 2019
As long as I am alive,
I will always see the boy,
Feel the boy,
Smell the boy.
It’s my nightly terror
And my daily reality.

I’ll be living
Halfway around the world
And the smell of him
Will find me
And drag me back to
His bedroom,
On my heads and knees begging.

It will bring me back
To the fear of this dusty town
And all the suffering he’s put me through.
I will always fear the boy,
And I will always fear you
For you could become the boy.
362 · Sep 2019
silently but sweetly
Emma Sep 2019
Silently, but sweetly,
you walked through the streets of my heart,
streets that were cold and abandoned.
It was somewhere no one wanted to make their home.
People came to visit for a while,
but nothing was ever permanent.
That is until you came.
You took those barren streets
and planted flowers in the graves.
You cooked in all the kitchens,
boiling foods that never should have been boiled
but all the while still making it feel like home.
You reminded me that I was whole,
and that I did not need someone to make my streets
their home.
I did not expect you,
and I certainly did not prepare for you.
However, you reminded me that there could be a piece of joy
in the unavoidable sadness.
You showed me that I could be loved,
cold streets and all.
You showed me that I am loved.
I am loved, and I can love in return.

Thank you.
336 · Jun 2019
Emma Jun 2019
I have known many men.
I have known kind men.
I have known sweet men.
I have known men
that scream 'not all men'.
I have known men
that are those men.
I cannot claim to have known all men,
but those that I know vary greatly.
I know good men.
I know gentle men.
But I have also known violent men,
Angry men,
men that make me want to rip my hair out
and men that did it to me.
So, while I know there is good,
I know all too well that there is bad.
I cannot change all men,
but I am sure that I will find a person
that does not need to change.
Until then,
I shall not be hurt by more men.
332 · Jul 2018
A girl
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.
307 · Jun 2018
A Bottle
Emma Jun 2018
Not everyone can recover
In ways which are deemed
I should know.
I have tried.
But the alcohol will always
Defeat me.

It’s gentle embrace will always
Wash away the bruises
Permanently etched into my

It’s caressing touch will always
Help me to forget
How he said my name,
How he touched me,
How he turned my life upside down.

I know the bottle is not the answer,
I have tried to leave it behind. But
No matter how hard I try,
The bottom of the bottle will always be my solace,
My safe place,
The only constant I have left.
It is the only way I know how to go on.
301 · Jun 2018
A Villain
Emma Jun 2018
Has always been a veiled villain for me:
A trickster,
A demon,
A thief in the night.

I believed that love was pure.
I believed that love was safe
And warm,
Even after I met you.

When I met you,
I thought what I felt was love.
I thought love meant accepting
How you made me bleed.

I thought love meant doing
Everything to keep you afloat
While you drowned me
In your sea.

Until the day you left,
And for a long time after,
I did not know what
Real love was.

I didn’t know it meant
Arguments about all
The stupid ****
Friends fight about with no violence.

I didn’t know it meant
Finding solace
in pizza boxes and
Awful films that makes us laugh.  

I used to be heartbroken by you leaving.
But I know now,
That if you had stayed,
You would have broken

My heart until it bled for you.
You would have taken everything from me
Until I was gone
In that final packet of pills.
295 · Apr 2019
A Sky.
Emma Apr 2019
My depression was not a grey sky.

                     It was not a rainbow, waiting with a *** of gold.

                                 It was not even cloudy blue, yearning for
                                                  high wind.

                                                          ­            My depression did not even
                                                                ­                 have a sky.

                                                           ­                      My depression was
                                                                ­     an endless rabbit hole.

                                  But the rabbit hole has an ending.
                      I can see the blue skies up ahead.

My depression did not have a sky. But my happiness will.
288 · Jul 2018
A moment
Emma Jul 2018
What do you say,
When you want to say
“I miss you”,
But those words
Don’t describe how
You’re feeling?

It’s too small
To describe how I’m feeling.
When I say
“I miss you”,
When all I can think about
Is everything we once
Shared together.

All the cartoon noises
We would fire at each other.
All those nights that we’d
Stay up late watching all
The horrors movies
You like to make me squirm at.

Saying that
“I miss you”
Just doesn’t explain what I feel about you.
It doesn’t explain clearly enough
How much I truly
Miss you,
With all of my being.
274 · Jun 2018
A Mother
Emma Jun 2018
A mother is a god.

She carries the world in
The pit of her stomach
And holds the wonders of the universe
In her growing child.

How can a god,
Who holds these secrets inside of her swollen belly,
Create such chaos that is you?

You are the hurricane that threatens to erupt
And destroy everything in its wake.

How can such a loving god
Create such destruction?
250 · Jun 2019
My Death
Emma Jun 2019
They say at the moment before your death,
You will have a piece of life flash before your eyes.
I wonder if it will catch my baby’s breath,
Or my very first butterflies.
I hope I will see all that is good,
Not my first love, but my last.
I hope I do not see the horrors of my childhood,
Or if I do, I hope it goes fast.
When my time comes, I hope it is filled
With all the I love
And all that I have fulfilled,
Warming my heart like a woollen glove.
214 · Jun 2018
A boy
Emma Jun 2018
On the cold pavement,
A boy was once taught that
Everything could be his
At the expense of what was mine.
He was taught from then on
That no one would stand in his way.
That he could hold us
Down on the cold pavement,
Down on the rickety bed,
Down on the wet bathroom tiles,
And no one would ever stop him
From claiming what was never his.

Held down on the cold pavement,
I first learnt the meaning of
Boys will be boys,
And that my body is a sexualised attraction,
To be groped at,
To be bruised,
By the will of those who think they’re gods
At every opportunity.

Being held down on the cold pavement
Is where I first learnt
how to be treated by my beloved,
How to hold back the screams as the vultures clawed at my throat,
How to act during the ****,
How to smile sweetly
and nod when the vultures said it was nice to see me.

It is not a lesson that I have forgotten.
It is not a lesson I will forget.
It is a lesson I hope I’ll never be taught again.
108 · Dec 2020
What would it be like
Emma Dec 2020
My depression is like
Laying in a bed of thorns.
Every move will punish me,
Scratches matching every fear and compulsion.
I wonder what it would be like
To not have this burden hanging,
Like an executioners axe just
Waiting to be swung.
I wonder what it would be like
To not be watching over my shoulder,
With anxiety clawing at my every movement.
I wonder what it would be like
To be in a room full of people
And to know that I am loved.
To not need them to express it,
Because I had nothing to make me doubt.
I wonder what it would be like
To feel anything at all,
Except this ache,
This numbness that seems to cushion
My fall.
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, it’s been a while since I’ve had anything to write I guess
81 · Jan 2020
Plant mum.
Emma Jan 2020
I think I should be a plant mum.
Plants require love,
but not too much love.
Plants require the amount of love
that I am capable of giving.
So, while my heart is healing,
maybe I should become a plant mum.
Maybe that amount of love will suffice.

— The End —