Emma - Hello Poetry

Emma Sep 2018

Love you.
Love you?
The **** is love anyway?
I care about you.
My fear for you makes me cry sometimes,
when you can’t see.
You have to be here.
You have to be here.
I don’t need anything from you but that you’re here, walking this earth.
I want you, all of you, every flawed thing that makes you who you are.
I want you in my arms where I can keep you safe, protect you from the world that makes you unable to breathe.
“I love you.”
The words sound true,
Even if I don’t know what they mean.
Do they form an anchor, holding you to this plane?
Then they might actually mean
Something.

#love #fear #worry #comfort

Emma Sep 2018

Noise

You are quiet.
Not when we are outside, then that becomes mine.
But when you belong to me.
All I can hear is the sound of your breathing, and of my lips on your skin, the press of our clothing in the front seat of my car,
Knees on either side of your waist
Knees on either side of your waist.
Then I tease noise from you,
With less than others have asked,
Or taken,
And my spine is gripped by electric hands, nerves lighting up that are threaded beneath my skin.
Because I teased noise from you
And I want to hear you make it again.

#*** #poetry #poem

Emma Sep 2018

Polar Opposites II

Polar opposites, polar opposites, polar opposites.
Because you wouldn’t date someone like you.
In your self-loathing, what feels like an indirect compliment, the first I can remember you giving me in 134 days.
And you admitted we were dating.
Which nearly made me blush.

Part 2 of 2. What was meant. Both parts might be less poetic and more journalistic, but I appreciate the outlet.

#opposites #feelings #complimentary

Emma Sep 2018

Polar Opposites I

Polar opposites, polar opposites, polar opposites.
The words ricochet around in my head, repeating as I try to parse out their meaning.
Yes, different, our shared thread the secret sign language of the unhappy.
But there are other things for me.
Aren’t there for you?
I love your dumb differences, what you are.
And me? Is what I am not enough when it’s so contrary?
Should we die then?
Accept defeat as inevitable when we are impossible?
Do we attract, volatile and painful and strong while we last?
I have always known this would end badly for me.
You are worth the risk, worth the pain.
I knew this too, instantly.
Didn’t you?

Part 1 of 2. What I assumed.

#assumptions #opposites #poetry

Emma Aug 2018

Home

I have moved in on your front lawn and called it home.

You let me stay, climb in my tent, and spend nights in my arms, the world outside muted by the glow of where our skin touches.

I don’t need anything from you, capable of standing on my own two feet, carving out my own curve of the world, but I want you, hope for you, long for you, think of you.

You need someone to stand, balanced and still, a beam holding up your house. But me, the individual?

Your want seems so much less than mine, but then Anhedonia holds you too close. You don’t want anything, not even yourself.

If I could pry her fingers loose, if I could fight your war, but I’m incapable, can only stand outside offering what I am to you.

My feet bleed from walking barefoot down your road, and I know that even if you decide to love me, so much worse is yet to come. But I can’t turn away, when you feel just like—

#home #comfort #love

Emma Aug 2018

Clasped

“Please let go of my hand.”
That’s what I say to you.
“Please let me slide into the blue, let my head sink beneath the waves, let me drown, let me rage and scream and break myself and dissolve into so much nothing that I can never be recovered again, and Godwhycan’tyoujustfuckingletgoofmyfuckinghand—“
But I’m the one holding onto you.

#together #depression #hurt

Emma Aug 2018

Grief

I am quiet. Not silent.

It might be hard to understand the difference, but there is one.

Believe me, this once.

I have spoken, screamed, begged, prayed, all of it raw and angry and loud, and it has been too unpalatable for digestion.

Ignored and left behind on plates.

The suffocation of having words lodged in your throat, words that choke you to swallow, choke you to try to speak, because they are horrible.

And then they dribble out of your mouth, leaving behind the foul taste of their wretched shapes, and the putrid stench of those horrible words makes heads turn away.

The words unheard, the wounds unseen.

Except neither of those are true, because I have spoken them within your hearing, I have shown them beneath your eyes.

So not unseen, not unheard, undigested and ignored for your own rotten convenience. Sometimes worse. Questioned and made less of.

I burn brighter than any pit in hell; rage hotter than 5,779 K searing me from the inside out.

The fire could peel me apart, my skin clawing away beneath my fingernails to expose the flames that would set all before me ablaze, the flames that are hidden beneath my bones.

And wouldn’t it be fair? For consequences to finally exist?

I am no longer the same, irrevocably different from that girl who might once have existed, who believed in fairness.

I am hate, and anger, sometimes only this red burning fury, no more. Red that crashes down upon me in unending waves that erode me further each time.

I swish it around in my mouth, considering the taste: defeat. Injustice I must make peace with, rather than repay. Because I can’t. How?

I spoke. You didn’t listen. You didn’t believe.

I feel like this is sort of melodramatic and imperfect, there are parts that clunk, but it was really true when I wrote it and it’s become sort of hard to change. I’d appreciate any feedback.

#grief #anger #abuse