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Astrid Ember Dec 2014
Don't **** me hard
enough that I forget
my first name,
or even my last name,
or my mother's name.
**** me hard enough
that I forget his.
Astrid Ember Dec 2014
With all of this resin coating
my lungs I'm surprised
I haven't been charged
with possession.
Astrid Ember Dec 2014
My 1 bedroom
apartment with 3 people
living in it is kind of a
metaphor for my heart.
Astrid Ember Dec 2014
Your rotting lungs
and your decaying
smile pull me in
like the lassos your
eyes have hooked around
my waist.
Pulling me closer
with your blinks
your chest and
heavy breaths.

Maybe I don't want to
treated like a princess.
Maybe I'm scared of
what I don't know.
I feel safe with him.
And safe isn't a feeling
I'm familiar with.

Maybe I don't want
to be at ease.
Maybe I want to get
into car wrecks,
hold your hand walking
back to our point A
as the sun shined
brighter and we had
a new appreciation for
life.
leaving the scene before
the EMT's showed
you got whip lash and
I got internal bruising.

We shook in our
boots. but just seeing you
I feel more passion
than I feel making
out with him on the couch.

We live in different dimensions.
Empty embraces,
hormonal rides home,
hopped up on dope,
but it's all empty.
And he says he loves me.
But maybe it's just
infatuation, baby.
And....
I wonder what my
touch feels like in
his dimension.

He says he loves me
but it's the kind of love
that never hurt anybody.
this is the same car wreck I wrote about early on xD
the one about how I was happy to be alive or whatever. Ugh.
Astrid Ember Dec 2014
Get high with
your boyfriend.
Realize he's an ***
as he ignores you for
3 hours playing on
his phone.
Realize you don't love him
as you sit in a McDonalds parking lot
for those 3 hours
writing someone else's
name on the foggy window.
Realize you like writing
in pen because it's more
permanent than you'll ever be.
Realize you can't tell your
mom your dream occupation
because she sees writer and
failure in the same hand.
Just because my hero is Allen
Ginsberg does that mean I'll
grow up to be like him.
Tons of people love Superman
but none of them can fly.
And I love you a **** ton
but that doesn't mean I can
have you.
He says he loves me
But he never hears
the hollow echo as he
knocks on me at night
His ears are not tuned
to the belly flop
of my "I love you too"s
"too" because I'd be too much
of a liar if I said it
first.

He wonders why I whisper
to him in Cherokee.
It's so I can pronounce
the last syllable wrong
and the foundation of
the word crumbles and
it now means nothing.
So I can whisper sweet
nothings in his ear and
it still sounds sincere
because he never
hears me choking around
the syllables.
Because he is still deaf to
the dead pang of the words
as they fall and shatter
around us.
My words are counterfeit
and he somehow still doesn't
see the light catch on the
false foggy lies falling out
of my mouth like stones.

My tears spelling out "liar"
in my running mascara
and he is still
blind.

He keeps saying that I've
been "quiet"
It's because I know
if I opened my mouth
my entire being would
spill out and he'd see
all of the disguises.
I am made up of
empty truths and
stuffed to the brim
lies.
And if he could /really/
look into my eyes
I'm sure he'd soon
be able to hear
the heavy echo
of my mind screaming
someone else's name
as my body screams
his.
But for now,
my little moans
cover the emptiness
and clearing my
throat will have to do
for covering the false
"love you"s
And the poorly lit room
will just have to work.
Because if he saw my eyes
screaming "I'm sorry"
He'd go running too.
  Dec 2014 Astrid Ember
Sam Knaus
You are the farthest thing from perfection
which must be why I think about you
when doing the most mundane things,
making coffee or washing laundry,
playing guitar or scrolling through tumblr.
I look over at my computer screen,
the FaceTime call we have open 24/7 (literally),
you're biting your nails, intently watching a video
and then you look over and smile at me,
call me your sweetheart.
Taking in the way your lips tighten and curl around your teeth
(especially the one shark tooth you don't like)
when you grin,
the way your eyes crinkle and your hair falls into place
around your jawline,
You're the farthest thing from perfect,
but you're perfect for me.
  Dec 2014 Astrid Ember
Sam Knaus
(I saw a piece titled "5 Things I Will Tell My Daughter" and I decided to write one, too~)

1. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what about the hearts that hurt stronger, or grow colder? Do not let your heart grow cold... Dream, darling. Dreams can melt the ice and soothe the pain, their dreams of you gently wrapping your arms around their neck, and, speaking softly, as though they are afraid they will wake and you won't be beside them, the words fall from their lips, “I love you.” You reply, “I love you, too.” But then, we must remember: although all dreams end, the fire that is their soul cannot be put out by any force other than their own lack of will. Your soul will not lose its flame unless you stop pouring gasoline into your heart, until you stop gathering firewood from your limbs. Remember that it takes time to become the person you want to be. Do not, under any circumstances, give up.


2. You needn't believe that love is limited, for hearts expand endlessly. Remember that some women will call you a sinner, and some men will call you a saint. Love them both. Love the way that although goodbye means going away, going away does not necessarily equal a forgotten promise to return. Love the notes that you keep in the bottom of your dresser in a shoebox from 7th grade, love your favourite shirt, love your first video game, love your first romantic partner and love your last. Love red flowing dresses and sweatpants and above all, do not be afraid to love deeply, messily, and even predictably, because sometimes, predictability is okay.


3. You are a raging hurricane, an endless forest fire, a light autumn drizzle, the flicker of a candle flame, a brilliant lightning bolt and the house-shaking clap of thunder that follows. Do not allow anyone to undermine your worth, your being, your sentience, your magnificence. You are the world, and the moment you believe otherwise (because you will) is the moment when, if not I, then somebody else you care for, will be by your side with a can of gasoline and a few extra logs.


4. Do not spend your life in search of a place to call your own; instead, mould your skeleton into a home and place your soul behind your eyes; house galaxies, constellations, and all the infinities that you can hold inside your being and never let them go. When your skin starts to crack, pour grace into your wounds and brush the kinks out of your wings; find faith in yourself, at least, if not another omniscient being as well. Just remember: If you have faith, have it when the miracles don't happen, just as much as when they do.


5. Live for the experience of breathing deeply and loving carelessly.
9:54 p.m. is when I finished this. I listened to a fuckton of Shinedown while writing this and I started out hating it, but I ended up in love with it.
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