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Emma Oct 12
It is said that

Love is patient,
Love is kind.
Love sees only the truth, and leaves the past behind.

Love is only in this moment,
only and always in this moment,
through and through,

Love is the light that shines through the brick wall between me and you.

Where are you hiding, Oh Lover?
Behind a pile of rubble and poetry.
But you know, deep down inside, you can never escape me -
Me -
holding a memory of the truth between us
the moment where you saw me, and I saw you
and we saw each other, together

and in that moment,
there was a Spark of Life.

And I fell in!
And I went blind.

And it could have been the best experience of all time.

And then afterwards, reveling in the memory
but you, in a daze,
returning to your old ways.

How long will I have to wait for you to remember the truth?

The truth, that is the light that shines THROUGH the wall between me and you

But all I know, as long as I have to wait,

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love only sees the truth, and leaves the past behind.
Emma Oct 6
It's true that
Love is everywhere...

but She goes cold when you turn away from her.

When you recognize Her,
the answer is to embrace...
to lean in...
to let her pull the glow back into your eyes,
the rhythm back into your pulse,
the heartbeat into your neck,
your breath.

There is no other way but to slowly die again.

When she shows up, it is a gift.
What a cruelty to let the ultimate gift pass by...
What a cowardice.
Her Beauty splayed before you, and your answer...

"Let me think."
"I don't know what I want."

As if there is anything in the world at all to say yes to,
greater than Life Herself,
full force.

A million writhing snakes, eyes glowing red,
gather in the shadows of your lack of action.
Warmth can become cold. Dread. Anger.

It would be wrong to say "I am angry"
and more true to say "The Goddess is enraged."

I, human, can feel her growing her poisons
for a woman scorned can become a
weapon of great and swift teaching.

Love is not to be dealt with lightly.

She demands Bravery and Immediacy.

There is NO more important work than to face her honestly.
She, who gives you the Truth more plainly than a mirror.
She, who cuts through the false ideas of the mind
with cold clarity.

And I, simply a channel, opening.

Great Mother, how do I show him? How do I do my part to bare you to this world, not only the beauty but also the terror?
That thing that scares great men into little boys, yet inspires boys to become men.

I can only sense it. I wish not to hide.
That thing that fear tries to put in a cage,
suffocating the world.
Emma Sep 30
The breath of the mountain fogs around her as she flows over mossy rock. I have to duck to enter the grove of manzanitas guarding her banks. Crouching, I enter a womb-like space of moss-covered rock beside her calming, swishing, gurgling banks. I climb the rock and sit, reaching my toes to the surface. Cold and clear and rushing by, the water touches me and sends shivers to my spine. I bend, bringing lips to the surface, and drink. Lie back.

Only five minutes' walk from home, this secret place quietly lives.
I haven't told my... partner.
It feels too sacred here. Like the inside of the womb. I feel that I can come here to escape, and to rest, if I carry reverence in my heart.

The creek refuses to take my loneliness, though. I offer my tears and she swallows them. I dream of becoming a river creature and diving into her, being carried away.

What is that perfect sound? How her water is shapeless yet becomes circular as it moves around the rocks, sending bubbles to the surface; somehow together the water and rocks ring out a sweet song. A softness that catches silence and invites listening.

The river is like the rhythm underneath my heartbeat. The song of my bones.

I can feel it, and a drumbeat dances out of my hand to my chest as I sing:


My body is the Earth
Mother, I can feel you crying
My body is the Earth
Mother, I can feel you dying


My voice has picked up the richness of the forest's dank soil, the mustiness of the moss and decaying manzanita leaves, and somehow too the clarity of the stream itself. Tears roll down my cheeks as I sing and drum to an audience of trees, moss, and creek, where my voice feels heard and safe and my heart is cracked open, one with the forest.

The hardest part is leaving, though I am more whole than before. I give my thanks to the water and crawl out of the mossy creekside womb, emerging at the edge of a gravel road in Southern Appalachia, North Georgia. Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I make my way homeward.

I never share my song with a human.
Emma Sep 30
I bowed to Saturn, and took a long walk up to the edge of the world:
A special place that takes good old-fashioned ****** work to reach.

There, I met the ocean, raw and wild, where she engulfs the tip of the land with great glee,
throwing herself repeatedly in ecstasy at the rock.
Birds flock and all kinds of life burst with soul at their meeting.

And me, walking... I felt my own universe inside me, full of stars, pooling with the dark liquid of the womb. I felt your baby at my breast.

The next time you see me, will you see me fully for the woman that I am?
Sep 2014 · 572
Untitled
Emma Sep 2014
hopeless and exquisitely beautiful
the night is both demon and angel
for me, my aching eyes, staring too long
at the moon, thinking too hard my thoughts
swallowing too much the silence
to take it all in

I tire quickly, yet stay awake
alone with the night
the bugs sing to my spirit,
I am wandering out there somewhere,
somewhere I am in the forest,
somehow I am restful,
dying slowly, coming alive
My eyes are hollowed-out moons
My body is a fallen tree covered
in mushrooms and moss
One last sigh will let out my
soul to fly with the birds, and
the angel-song, and the sound
of solitary footsteps in the night,
footsteps on an overgrown path-
less-travelled

So much death and life
I might
tell the moon goodbye and say goodnight
Sep 2014 · 592
Untitled
Emma Sep 2014
you, teeth and laughter
blowing soap bubbles to my brain
and popping into dust
silken fingers, your cheekbones
are art, falling rain, blooming rose
I want to catch you
but you fall (like raindrops) through my fingers
eluding me

I would softly touch you if you let me
I would kiss your wrists and collarbone
and eyelids, I would tell you
talking is only necessary when comfortable,
I would tell you all my secrets
I would share my swiftly beating heart
with your strength, and my lonely evenings
with your meditative mornings
I want to muse with you, and
cook until our skin weeps for love,
or our minds take us elsewhere

I imagine I would fall asleep early and
easy with my ear over your heart
I wonder how fast it beats
and what the chances are
that you're thinking of me
Mar 2014 · 641
Love is Human
Emma Mar 2014
Is it possible to be engulfed within yourself?

My insides are an ocean.


If I could, I would float away from all this nonsense
dancing to my heart's content on the cloud that flew me out of here
reclaiming my boldness, fueled by the bits of light scattered about,
rays of golden-ness spelling "forget, forget, forget it all"
dancing on my eyelids, sculpted sunrise, salty tears
"please, just feel this moment and be a part of it."

Please, just feed me back my feeling
Please... cry, wholeheartedly.
... What even is this beautiful world without the emotion that keeps it spinning?

Love is golden light on pine trees. Love is a clear river.
Love is your fiercely beating heart. Love is full immersion.
Love is rawness.

Please, tell me how to find that in this vending machine.

Tell me if you see rainbows when you're on the treadmill,
please teach me how to be human when so much of this world is telling me to be a machine.

Tell me how to forgive myself for choosing my brain over my heart?
For sitting still when my bones want to run and jump and dance and swim.
For forgetting how to play!

Forgive me for the woes of the world, for the things that I can't change but still feel the weight of. Forgive me for consuming. Forgive me for hurting. Forgive me for not giving homeless people money. Forgive me for my selfishness, for my biases, for the mistakes I make over and over again.

Forgive me for my humanness...
And most of all, help me reclaim my humanness.
For love is the most human thing I know, and I'm struggling to feel it.
Jan 2014 · 1.5k
Life
Emma Jan 2014
A space composed, simultaneously, of divergence and convergence

peaceful moments are the wave about to crash and break

acceptance is not the end of motion, it is the end of resistance

a breaking point is a point of new birth

the air is made fresher by longing

and life is made most beautiful by constant change.

Ride the wave.
Emma Aug 2013
There's something like fire in me,
something like dense wind and fierce waves,
something in the way of a bold moon.
Light shines in on me through my scar tissue, hits something deep.
The light seeps
and drips
and weeps.

I weep with fear of being overcome,
with the bitter taste of false expectations
and a burnt heart.
My skin has peeled away and like ash blown into nothingness,
baring me for what I am:
a child ashamed of her tears.
a fruit fallen before ripeness.
a sapling wishing for the wisdom of a tree.

Wishes weighting my sunken soul further down,
and I seek to be set free.
To break out of my body and become the universe,
to fill my soul with her stars and plant love with my steps
and weave golden threads of light from my once-heavy fear.

Fear.
Fear is my vast, heavy ocean.
Fear erupts within me, an angry volcano
and envelopes me.
Fear is my darkness. The darkness is too much for me.

I want to be inside myself and live in my heart,
the girl of golden threads with a voice like lightning,
who knows her mind and speaks her heart and exists
as a pure expression of love.
Like grass sprouting up from charred ground.

In darkness and stillness, I light fire to my barren body
in hopes of new growth.
For love and only love.
For everything was only ever an expression of love,
and I can accept that next time around.
May 2013 · 1.2k
Carson County
Emma May 2013
Texas, you ran on me like blood,
miles of road building up for an anticlimax.
Sun on her back, begging for rust,
wringing herself for another hour of daylight.
Green and golden grass through the windshield
speckled with red.

Made me want the coming dust,
made the vibrant greens of the humid East
seem like anthills worth cementing over,

Golden red. Wind whipped through the car windows,
nostalgia in a place I'd never seen.
I wanted to break you. Time was too still,
change was too slow for me. Southwest America had my name
drawn in dead bug splatters and drained coffee cups
somewhere ahead.

Time doesn't translate to these long miles,
it's just you and me and something new, something old.
Me and the windshield and the dead bugs,
and flitting thoughts of North Carolina,
repeated songs, hard silences,
and something chilling about these dead towns.
Some salty Pacific air already on my tongue.

Something nameless to remind me that being young is bittersweet,
and I don't know what I'm running from
Apr 2013 · 1.3k
I Feared the Ocean
Emma Apr 2013
It started somewhere deep, before I knew the depths of depth itself
passed in a flurry of a moment, before I knew the limits of time.

There were the seeds, and the smiles. Root vegetables with
herbed olive oil. Sprouts coming up. Mom browned by the sun.
Brother naked with the sprinkler.
Dirt was the feeling of being human.

Water mixing with the dirt between our toes,
children making laughter in the trees.
Trees that shot upward like castles with hidden treasures,
sticks on the ground. Sticks as weapons for our toy-games. Sticks to walk with.
Calls cried out over the crunch of leaves. Hanging from branches.
Contests to be the best explorer, that
was the stuff of life.

Somewhere out in nature, by the campfire, I learned
that love is everything. Family laughing while the animals
went about their business, unnoticed, in the trees.
Safety by the fire. Safety in the stars.
Nights spent finding myself in the stars.

Days spent hiking up hillsides and rolling back down,
I learned that home is where your solid ground is –
that the earth is strong enough to hold all of us,
strong enough to contain all of the love and fear –

Like the ocean, the sand. Long hours spent in the water.
Waves were the first thing that really scared me, filled with the kind of raw power
that shakes you and reminds you that you were born to live.
Salt water dried up on my skin, I walked away stronger.
Waves turned to seeds, fertilized by thoughts.
Fading ocean air and sweet eucalyptus on the breeze,
hair whipping and tangled with sand.
Salt and bark and dirt must be threaded into my bones by now.

I wonder at these moments, I wonder at the elements
that have weaved themselves so intricately into my memories
and I wonder if we are strong enough to grow up,
while still remaining childlike and full of awe;
To own our actions, and to treat our planet with respect;
To acknowledge that we owe everything to the ground we walk on;
To happily give back. To reciprocate.

I want the trees to still be standing when I’m too old to stand.
I want there to be places that scare me with their wildness
and places where my future children can go to learn.
I want them to have a land to love, to be able to love
the trees and the dirt and the waves unabashedly.
To be inspired by nature’s grandness,
To be frightened and amazed by their own relative smallness.
I want everyone to love like I’ve loved.

I want us not to be held back by our fear.
Isn't fear so essential to life? To be dwarfed by something incomprehensible,
How love and fear alone could form a basis for my being,
my being in the ocean and learning to swim,
my being in the trees and learning to climb,
something simple. Like feeling my own humanness
with my bare feet in the grass and dirt.

With the same intensity that I love my childhood memories of growing up with nature,
I find myself gripped with a fear that those bits of nature might disappear,
that the ocean will cloud and fill with trash, that the trees will be chopped down and replaced
With man-made devices of carbon capture that offer no branches for climbing
And drop no sticks for playing with;
I fear that our lights will overpower the stars completely,
And that we’ll have nowhere to lose ourselves.
That we’ll have nowhere to find ourselves.

My fears feed fuel to my fire.
I learned from the ocean that fear makes you grow,
reminds you of what’s most important, and offers you a chance to make something.
For now, I offer you something earnest and vulnerable:
A plea.
Reversing the damage we’ve done to our environment will require all of us, working together.
It will require a childlike boldness, a reclamation of limitless love,
a desire to better ourselves, a willingness to ask questions
and follow our curiosities.
And it starts with one.

Jump with me.
This was a different experience for me. Longest poem I've written, and one of the few that I've actually edited and worked on. So... feedback appreciated! <3
Emma Mar 2013
Most days I wear flip-flops because I am too lazy to wear socks,
and I like the feeling of summer somewhere close to me,
and I like to watch my feet move. Do you know, there
are so many small little bones in there! it amazes me.

My mom used to massage my feet to wake me up.
She's been the best foot-massager of all, better than all the friends
and the boyfriends. Better than the early morning
sleepy-satisfying stretches, better than the feeling of sunlit
warm wood on my bare feet. Better than grass. Her calloused hands,
and softly hummed melodies. Tattooed arms, faded turquoise. Sun on her
skin. If I could see my mom in myself every time I looked in the mirror
I think I would be relaxed. I would play more music. I would spend
my next paycheck taking a day off with a pina colada and
tattooing a turtle, on my foot, just like hers.

Flexing my feet. Cold night air. Flip-flopping on the concrete. I wish
I could dive into the ocean, ice-cold, something worth laughing into
the nighttime. So much seriousness all the time, I think that people
need to eat more butter and not take skin to mean so much.

Silly, really, I guess. But a Mom-massage might just mean the world
sometimes. And smiling with someone is like a Mom-massage, right when I need it most.
To everyone who's been there, thank you.
Hugs. I also really like long hugs. If I give you a long hug it means I think you're really great.
Emma Feb 2013
Tastes of metal. Tastes of rust.
I take wisps of music from the air
to try to fill up the hole.
I am not whole.
I ******* own limits,
my own blossoming self-doubt.
I am afraid of learning to hate.

I want to be the answer to somebody's question.
Is life so short that love will
evade my outstretched fingertips?
Water droplets and flowers on the ground,
and peaches.
Hugs that end too soon. Can
I ask for it to stop? Can I take
a breath?

Do you draw your own lines or
watch them form around you?
Or did you not notice them at all?

I want to be someone's wispy,
wishful thought,
drifting to touch the ground,
back in the air with the wind,
I bet it would taste like
freedom.
Having no choice.
What a paradox.
Feb 2013 · 601
tiny (10W)
Emma Feb 2013
We're a little hiding
in our heads.
All of us.
Feb 2013 · 885
Words for a non-Valentine
Emma Feb 2013
Running on thunder,
how I loved you.
Even in your blueness
and in the quiet,
I wanted to touch your
soft blonde self, you
were so soft you were
bound to blow away
in the wind so
soft I could melt
at the knees and stay
on the ground with
my heart ahead of
my thoughts,

dreamer.
I'm still sighing
on the lightning,
unfazed even in
your lemon-yellow
love. Sunshine to
see a drifter fall
so perfectly.
You were always
going to be something
rain-like, drizzled
into my memories,
beautiful crystal
clear eyes, silent
somewhere, ghost of
your voice on my
grass-green heart.
Best wishes.
Feb 2013 · 731
Untitled
Emma Feb 2013
I'm back in the fast lane,
I didn't want to do it
but I did, furious yet proud

Now all I want is the music, I want the tears,
the face of the drum
is bruising my hands

wanting to see myself hardening
calloused fingers, calloused mind
trying to feel from the inside out
sand myself down and raw and red
writing on the walls, remind myself that I
am black and wrinkled up inside,
not a speck of sunshine about it

if only as a reminder to look up,
and be inspired
because there is this thing about people,
they take the black bits
and plant a garden
Feb 2013 · 576
Love (10W)
Emma Feb 2013
I have a secret, too
...do you want to trade?
Jan 2013 · 472
Touch softly (10W)
Emma Jan 2013
The night

is for discovering by feel
instead of sight
Jan 2013 · 1.2k
Washing down the weeds
Emma Jan 2013
Remember me.
When your eyes are caught in the moment
by the fire of your own lashes,
the iciness of your breath and swallowing
your fears, facing your thoughts, surfing
through the city, flipping
notes and papers
off the skyscrapers
binders half-sunk into the concrete
I will rip your soul from those closed eyes if I ever
have a say in the colors of tomorrow
I will feed you grass
I can't be passive, I'll whisper
into your insecurities and try to make contact
with something

Tomorrow there'll be fireworks, lighting the
night, helping us forget
Something repulsive glittered into
the blackness like fireflies glinting off oil
We're all sharpening the edges
of the double-edged sword that plunges
straight through our bellies,
drips red off the back end

We're living off
the momentum

We spin off each other daily
laughs distorting around the
corners,
around the next bend there will be daisies
there will be daisies
there will
be

at least one of us

I can't stand the silence,
so I dance it,
I wanted to pull you in but you were too busy making fire.
Jan 2013 · 628
When I can't think (H)
Emma Jan 2013
I start at my feet
feel the pressure of the ground
and the leaves, and breathe
Emma Jan 2013
I've been wondering where you'll show up

If you surface as a hum in the wind,
faint but reassuring, touching the exposed skin of my face,
your briefness would match ours,
you'd scatter my thoughts,
laughter trickling away from me like the days
that stand between me and the time I touched against slowness
and saw it as something beautiful,
You'd be gone as soon as I saw you
...Just like I'm afraid of

Maybe you'll be a cat, wandering around corners,
wise, mesmerizing eyes
I already feel like there's something you know
and I'm desperately craving it

Perhaps I'll stumble upon you,
in the form of a sprout, reaching into the air from the earth
green and vibrant and alive with a freedom my
chest hasn't felt since your lips left
me breathless

It certainly won't be you as your real human self, though
no tall form will fall out of my dreams and into reality
Much as I've spilt my desires into you (without your knowledge),
built you up into my angel
my fallen-from-the-sky lover
trapped in my never-ending thought bubble,

You won't save me

much as I'm sick of the loneliness

My metaphorical angel,
I'll leave you as a memory
let you gently remind me of soft times
and hope to meet you again one day.
Jan 2013 · 793
Curator
Emma Jan 2013
long, long fingers
I want to touch the screen and meet you where you can't feel me prodding,
can't feel me remembering
or read into my thoughts

I don't even know the implications of my thoughts,
if you are the shape in the clouds,
or you are the shape of my feelings,
or I'm stuck in the clouds and have no ground.
The feelings are there, but I'm thinking too hard
too hard to speak
but it was also that way then, in the night,
easier to touch your fingers than to look you in the eye
easier to talk about the clouds than about the feelings
Somehow I think the comfort of touch bypasses the fear of rejection, given its time


I wonder what you think of time and space

but maybe your ability to not think about everything is what makes you beautiful to me
Jan 2013 · 648
Death (10W)
Emma Jan 2013
By then I'll have drowned
out my heartbeats with footsteps
Or maybe it will go the other way.
Emma Jan 2013
I'm trying to be honest
I can't be satisfied by the words
All I have are swirling thoughts,
a comforting memory,
and a path I'd like to travel that became blocked off too soon
because I pushed down a tree in pursuit of something different
something different
something more

The moon speaks to me on these nights,
I want music, movies, the stars
I really want people
but anything that will bring the tears
will work something special
something more

Cracking inside me, I can't tell you
how broken I feel
for lack of words and courage
and for who has ears these days
and I am small,
in an intersection of swirling paths called the universe,
a thick, luscious ribbon of everything beautiful covered in chicken wire and mulch
it smells like earth, tastes like something that can't be digested,
but I swallow it anyway
goes down rough,
but feels something right
something different
something more

lump in my stomach, I know the acid is there working some kind of miracle

three thousand miles and one hundred twenty seven hours ago (approximately), I felt happy

Spinning, spinning something new, I guess. But the pace is set, and you're either in or a failure.
Jan 2013 · 880
Untitled
Emma Jan 2013
Let's talk about the wind
No, the wind
I mean how it feels to feel your soul come and go like that
Look at me, aren't eyes amazing?
Wind on the water of your eyes,
and your hair is a flock of birds

I'm sure there is a pattern,
especially when I see you like this
dumbfounded
in my mind
I am a genius
and you are interested...

Goosebumps on that side of my body only,
and insides shiver with the rippling wind,
inverted shock wounds
chalk on my windblown ideas
stock humans
walking around all the time, cut and dry culture,
I want to learn to paint and I want you to be there.
I want you to be the Titanic
and admit that you are fragile
be ready to go when the iceberg meets you, there


Wind on the ocean
I want to sink,
because the ocean is more powerful than peaceful
and I am fragile
Emma Dec 2012
The sun drips into the horizon and blurs,
always does like that, the last rays foggy and golden,
always goes when you don't want it to go, you know?

when the air spirals shivers down your spine and you
wonder why you are so lonely,
when the world is so alive
Dec 2012 · 917
I am behind the monster
Emma Dec 2012
Monster,
making me your monster,
I know your games

I may be trapped
but I will
I will
find my way out,
**** you
life is beautiful,
I am ID
and ED
and GOD
and everything else that has mixed meanings
******* dichotomies
and word jumbles
and brains splattered,
right here. Turn away, go back to your pattern,
go back to your story and be ******* comfortable.

Not today, I said to the monster,
standing up,
you manifest as a bug
a cockroach, I hate those things,
and I squish you.
Emma Dec 2012
tuck my face behind the camera
myself in the shadow of the corner
colors slashed on paper
fingers raw from the strings
my eyes heavy lidded,
I never knew that self-deception was such an art
or that my inner critic
was my greatest enemy

embrace change?
I always have

Now my throat sighs and misses joy
My limbs do not celebrate,
they yell to me
too quietly
my brain runs the show
It has run down the tracks
This is sly flirtation with death
stop talking

I want to listen to the water and the trees,
I am paralyzed here,
fear for the future

pathetic
screams the monster

pick myself apart at the seams
something birdlike and cryptic
but not beautiful
Emma Dec 2012
The words are locked inside me
always pouring out behind me,
you know how it is
trying to pick apart the pieces,
and put them together correctly
the psyche begs to be unraveled
thread by painstaking thread
days when the needle is dull,
and there are no words
and all there is
are words
Dec 2012 · 893
I am younger than I feel
Emma Dec 2012
It's like this
If you live in a world where people
have always kept their heads down,
they will tell you that the sky is made of asphalt
you will think that they are being pessimistic,
but they know nothing different.


I must get away from these people
This place has the kind of gravity that pulls
you into a disease
I seem to be the only one who's noticed
Emma Dec 2012
Does anyone else
want to sit outside until
the wind steals their soul?
originally was 'and let the wind steal their soul' - which do you prefer? Spur of the moment poem
Dec 2012 · 839
The porch at the party
Emma Dec 2012
I wonder if you feel beautiful in your skin
as I sit in the lamplight, covering mine
watching limbs of strangers and friends
and feeling insignificant,
yet too large for comfort,
too large to be looked at,
too large to be looked past,
please.
Inside this small talk, I am screaming
inside myself
pleading with the world for a chance to start over,
please
just a chance to be normal
just a chance to be beautiful
please,
I just want to be a person worth loving

My plea hits the front of my mouth,
I choke it down, let it coil and drop.
Leaden and heavy.

...

The night drags, laughter presses on my silent lips
Drunken song fills the air
and I'm weighted by my own sharpness

I hope tonight that the devil finds me in my sleep.
I need to think about things.
Nov 2012 · 789
Rainbowchild
Emma Nov 2012
In all honesty, I've loved you since I first knew you.
I love you in the ways I don't know how to love
and in the places I don't know how to look for
I love you in the ways it hurts to communicate
and the places eyes are most powerful
and colors, the colors you paint behind you
and wings - I was searching, you showed me roots
and that growth stems from groundedness
and that circles are everywhere

I want to be in a circle with you
It's a sort of unformed dream, where I imagine
I might not need to be constantly moving

I love you just looking at you
eyes soft and
something hidden
we don't need to speak
I just want to kiss you
I will never tell you unless you ask, kid. And even then I won't have the right words. You. Soft-spoken presence. Glitter on the cedars. Glowing shadows. Constant love. Childlike. Manlike. Challenging standards. The art of being. Simple. Complex. Sphere. Rain and jazz. It has now been years, and it is better that you do not know the extent to which I've loved you.
Emma Nov 2012
My wick is underneath the surface
trying to catch the flame

as the wall between me and the air shrinks,
the light glows deep
the sun penetrates me
the sea holds me here,
breath in my pocket,

and you are behind my eyes



I swear, I swear that I'm beautiful.
This time when I open myself
a thousand singing birds will
fly from me full force
I will be metal.
and rain.
and sea.
and storm.
and calm.
mostly, I will fall with the flowers
and be skin colored.

I will not need a kiss to be awakened
but I'm looking forward to our paths crossing,
wanderer
Your eyes eat the broken meadows
and glaze over, snow-dusted, in the mountains.
Nov 2012 · 1.1k
fin
Emma Nov 2012
fin
Fingers.
Of all things, I'm losing my fingers
One by one, skin patches struck by cold and beautiful music,
flaking off into the leaf piles
I want you to understand
If I had knees,
I'd be on them
Bent backwards and sideways
And that of all places,
I'd choose somewhere beautiful
that of all worlds to travel to the end of
And reach
today
where maybe the end  is around the corner, and
maybe everything has some deeper meaning,
And maybe underneath all the disagreements we're all just people looking for a home in each other -
I'd be here.
Fully.
I fought to be here.

Honey.
I want to call you terms of endearment.
Because the world is a child I want to hold and nurse to health.

I love with my chest - those things I bury inside myself, I want to transform into sunshine and spread outward. Cradle inside of me and let me hold you-
I love with my eyes if you'll look I won't look away. I'll try my best to see you wholly.
I love wholly. And I love
Delicately
With my fingers.

And I sing
And sprout wings in the spring
And grow, green
I'll pull you up with me.
Softly, I'll pull you in
With my sun-soaked fingers
To the sky.
Dry and rising
Higher than high-rises

For all the hate and spite and regret and everything that ever struck
the wrong chords and left dissonance reverberating behind it,
wherever the wave crested and crashed,
I will plant a flower.
Dig with my fingers into the earth,
I love you.
Nov 2012 · 4.7k
pomegranate
Emma Nov 2012
That's what I would paint you as.
Bold and bright red.
I think that's why you like them:
not because of the taste, but because they're the closest nature comes to telling your color
And I know you've got a thing or two against nature.

If I were Deaf I think it would be easier to look you and everyone else in the eyes.
I'd sign that I love you. And I'd sign a joke.
I'd say I'm proud of you,
and that you can do better.

I think you want to be that bright-red
confident
desirable
intense,
intimidating

want to be de
                       vo
                           ured

and secretly you dwell on that bitter-inside-of-your-seeds
that crunch, you imagine people might tire of returning to you

I just wish you knew that nobody doesn't eat pomegranates because of the seeds,
it's because they have to spend forever peeling away the outside just to get into the wonderful insides of it; they have to cut into that beautiful exterior hoping that the inside will be just as bright
and let's just say more people go for the red apple

I'd like to one day call you an apple
It has no secrets
and it is just as beautiful
Nov 2012 · 1.0k
Sandy 3
Emma Nov 2012
I'm still stony from the storm.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass. Half of me is underwater.
Half of me sings praises to the sky.

Staring at empty hands:
all I need is air, world, here is my cup.
Offer my tears to the ground,
all I have is flesh and I'm sorry.

The familiar is translating into a shifted perspective,
mapped through my hazy half-watered views.
Questions bubble to the surface, they always do.
What is you? What is me?
Who are my companions, here?
Hands shrivel to a close, I am empty somewhere

so many of you: hiding your sorrows in the drink,
in the non-speak and waters-flowing-greening-the-path
of self-discovery-through-phase-denial;
pain for later,
pancakes for now.


I am so old,
my wrinkles are bared in the sun-exposed rock,
heart beating beside me, cup full of storm-water
and storm-blown watery eyes
dripping softly into the scenery
behind me

the world is infinity

next to that I am a pinprick that never fully bled nor healed
Nov 2012 · 871
Sandy 2
Emma Nov 2012
Look, I just want to be childish and sunshine
running through underpasses playing with paper planes
dragging you into the snow because
life is something to celebrate

A long time ago
I found myself there, with you
me being me
you being you
The cold night warmed my rusty insides
It wasn't so bad

But the world wasn't all that, love
We can't stay so sheltered forever
This last storm rocked a city cold-
colder than can be considered warm, I mean-
and while I want to read your words and remember your breath and bones
and fall into you I'd really just be
falling
nothing romanticized about it.
No one wants to leave all of their solid ground forever.
some of it, yes, but not all of it.

I've always been an all-or-nothing kind of person, in some ways
but life is about letting parts of yourself go
so you can grow
and I can grow

We're just two plants, you and I
not in the same pea pod, or even the same planter
but we both miss summer's glow and are jealous that our neighbors are sprouting flowers.

And at the end of it all, we'll both be fine.
You maybe want(ed) me to be your sunshine. But I'm just blocking your view. Something out there will be greater for you. For skewing perspective, I am sorry. And for seeing you in shadow I am sorry. And for us growing in new ways because of each other, I'll carry your full bright-green flavor forever.  And I'll think back on us forever. I'll acknowledge that, for some things, you never move on. One by one, day by day, babe. I'm happy you're talking about it.
Emma Nov 2012
The wind,
In your eyes,
That night.

That was the first time I saw true passion in a person.
The first time I thought about what it means to laugh while swimming upstream.

Nobody forgets moments like that.
Your eyes seared
forever in
mine.

Gently scattered cares
floated away to find another soul

And I stood bare holding a flame
Nov 2012 · 1.0k
Sandy
Emma Nov 2012
It's like this I've been
trying just to hold your name
in my hands
for a minute.

Before they were close,
(and you were closed),
I soared with dreams of clouds.
I pulled them to me,
they passed me by and brewed into grey.
A hurricane crashed against another shore.

Even the slightest sunshine breeds confusion, in places like this
drizzles of complaints, dazzled me white,
you drug me down. I cried floods about
rivers soaking rainbows through the streets somewhere else.

It doesn't make sense, this other-world where
the sky throws tantrums and people hole in
and life goes on
and people like you don't communicate,
don't ask about the sky and its sorrows and the wandering stars,
don't ask about the gray and brisk and colors,
you of all people I thought appreciated, at least, the contrast.

Well here's a contrast that you're obviously oblivious to:
silence.
The sirens have stopped.
The lights will rise with the sun while a city sleeps,
walls on the ground. Switched perspective.
Broken glass...
remembers sand and the origins of perplexion.
I am a grain of sand, softened to sweet simplicity,
flowing through rivers and settling in a new home.
Alone,
and alive.
Oct 2012 · 911
because together
Emma Oct 2012
these, these,
                                                                                                                      knock
this stranger's words on my screen
                                                                                                                       knock
reminding me of me
                                                                                                                        knock

In my stomach, a sinking
                                                                                                                                         slow
In my chest heavy. Shoulders
                                                                                                                           solid
want to crunch into each other
                                                                                        want to erase
Helpless sad
                                                                                                                   pain from
leans bone into back
                                                                                            your words
back-bent behind birds and beeches
                                                                                                             I found
Dreaming for seasons, I
                                                                                                              the sun
miss the sun
                                                                                          speak
silent
                                                                                       please
miss the days I numbed myself while it was cloudy
                                                                                                   I'll drown
even with a good chance of clearing up before noon, I
                                                                                                          in your words
don't remember any of them
                                                                                   remembering
The flavor of my thoughts
                                                                                       not
was lost



What do you say to the corpse that is lying in your grave?
                                                                                                                            caustic
You learn to accept that you're still here.
                                                                                                                              golden
You look yourself in the mirror and decide each day that you'll
                                                                                                                  stay      constant
shake love out of your living limbs
                                                                                            sorrow
into the earth
                                                                                      love
with each step.
                                                                                                is like
Step.
                                                                                                                   DANCING
You become grateful for the beat.
                                                                                                                move with me
Beat.
                               &
Oct 2012 · 737
Carbonated culture
Emma Oct 2012
leads to hyper-    
active hyper-                                        
dependant
carbo-
fffffffFFFFIIIIiiiiIIIIIZZzzzzzZ
                             zzzzlleeee     pOP
               aggggaachugggggggaaaNGGGulp.
-nated
people
who fin
d
it hard to face the
sugarless silence
Oct 2012 · 728
process of alone, II
Emma Oct 2012
crow in the field.
wide skin exposure; long exposure of the moon,
white crow in the room,
pecks asbestos off the ceiling.
soft and crumbles and
lands on the
tile

steps on the asbestos on the tile
Oct 2012 · 949
process of alone, I
Emma Oct 2012
Heavy lids, lighthouse waves sputtering on the stone between steps,
the sound strangles you / breathe silently
exhalation loosens your limbs longingly.
Rhythms break the continuous system /
derivations of wordly conditions /
crouching tense in the reeds, jump to break gravity /
crouching beneath the monitor, ready to cut wires /
snips bright white
chunks of
hair on the tile.
Oct 2012 · 971
Fall checklist
Emma Oct 2012
By Day

make a point of smelling the air reeeeal good every morning -
almost tastes like the mountains. like apple pie so crisp it
cuts you open,
spills you out in the leaves.
leaves
go play in them. Make your mountains if you need to be dwarfed some
times it's worth accepting lightly
the way the sunshine tips its hat and colors you flat on your back.
These scenes are meant to be stared at by awestruck, nameless people.

By Night**

the cold might surprise you , he's an old friend who
missed you dearly.
in a good, warm, windswept way be prepared to
lose your favorite socks, and part of your
concept of self,
and find laced-up fingers that more than make up for it
don't shut the blinds
always bring a blanket and
openness, writhing and bursting curiosity ready to
trap the last flash of storm before morning-time
will slow and you will become raw
in the moonlight.
Make music out of the air by the fire, there's so much to love.
Oct 2012 · 1.2k
Sunday chills
Emma Oct 2012
When the wind blows due west,
through the corn fields, past the seasons,
past years of the world building itself up into cities
past buildings falling down and people re-birthing themselves
past me, hardening through moments of loneliness
swirling around me several times until stone chunks fall from my face and
crumble into the ocean -
I'll wake up and find you

I'll be born in the ocean, next time
there will be other currents that pull me from my center
and push me in random directions
I'll find new explanations
and make friends out of fishes
There will be new expressions
sputtering from my mouth when I touch the air occasionally -
I will long for you

Catching raindrops in my mouth
Waiting for teardrops to consume me.
My body is broken.
Eyes are broken.
My only friends are numbers.
Aching bones, skeleton heart beats -
I will die before knowing you,

I think.
Warm water through fingers hits the sink
and drains.
There's always something to gain.
White ceiling touches white walls.
your name on the white walls

Soft hands : worth callousing
over and starting fresh,
rolling the dice I'd hope this time for a prettier mess
I only want to love
Sep 2012 · 982
Jay-walk the moment
Emma Sep 2012
Secrets:
My daydreams cradle you

when your voice is raspy
you are still the miracle of music,
tapping my eardrums

autumn rebirth
smoooooth caffeine highs and your eyes
***** afternoons

as the sun sets:
taking pictures of a row of benches
shadows caress the corners of the frame

slowly persuading my shadows to blink
blink
you're stretching out my midnight mornings
I'm swelling, my heart is a sand castle
that could stand to be built up and broken down and built again into
something more beautiful.

Sunshine settles in...
We need no filters

Take my hand without asking, please
take my eyes and kiss my skin with your warmth
take me - me -
do you know what it means to give you my body?
a plunge into the future through fears of the past.
Jump with me.
Sep 2012 · 905
Rain-dance
Emma Sep 2012
holed inside, cornered, focused
paper pops into my eyes
lines on lines

headphones in, beats in time

turn my head:
windows
and grays
and rains
//contrast with fake-warm lighting:

is the most beautiful awakening


.


((I'd love to go dance in the
rain, will you join me? Stare straight up
and get that freshly-drizzled feeling
in my fingertips and
weight my eyelids
closed, happily--
motions: feet moving of
their own accord
            stomp
                      in
                         puddles
                   laughing
            into
      childhood memories --
I'd love to bring you back
with me))


a happy interlude
cues:
plug out
remember there's a whole world out there
grin
plug in
Sep 2012 · 834
I smiled a lot that night
Emma Sep 2012
after you touched me
my confidence lasted
a full day

softly...
your hand was warm

it was just a brush by, really

and it wasn't even a soft spot

just exposed.


I want to mix with you still
leave cool spots on your cheeks
softly...
drip down your legs.

the air would be yellow sun around our heads
Sep 2012 · 1.1k
the God hermit
Emma Sep 2012
I.

Tick, tock.
Snakes on the clock. Brains. Skin. Air. Hair. Coils of fabric, and teeth.
Oxygen reeks. Stales. Pales and contracts.
Breathe nonetheless
Pull on a dress. Pull on a vest.  Step outside. Feel the wind.
Oh, the days I’ve spent-
Instantly forget.
Put on my face
Roses in a vase
Feelings cased in the closet
Filling space

Seems sometimes we’re just filling space
What a waste



II.

Deep breath
Rose-scent fills her head

This could be it, she said
You’re too pretty for that, he said
Black and white embroidered with red
The cold air stung her lips as she read
This stone is where I’ll lay my head
The ground is made of bones
She’s alone



Steps on gravel, sounds awake the night
Jump into the abyss? She might

Memories of childhood fights
Initial dislikes
Periwinkle paint sets and tights
Once, learning to draw a rose
Once, hanging onto a hose, drenching strawberries
With brother in backyard
Family is a golden memory
At least there are pictures



Boy
The first one she kissed on the lips.
It was a dare. Fleeting but his eyes dripped sweetness. Twelve years young? She can’t remember. She ****** the same boy, drunk, four years later. He wasn’t the first, though.
And he still seems innocent



Hovering tensely
At the half-open door
She’ll never feel loved again.
She said.
Aches. Heavy ferocity ready to tumble. Dread.
Wake-up song every morning in her head.
The ground is made of bones.
She’s alone.
I’ve come this far. Revs up the car. Tears down her cheeks.
Runs over herself repeatedly in the street.



Why so gray?
His lips hold secrets
Autumn hay-stack drenched in dryness
Cool but bright, he’s a working man with a voice made of sunshine
Her eyes twinkled hello at his fingertips’ first brush-by
Smiled and walked away
Perhaps another day



III.

...

Rain soaks my skin.
I was walking, computer and books weighted on my shoulders,
Lightning crossing my path
Relax
I’m visualizing math

The air is cool. The wind rolled darkness in on its back.
The storm is roaring and strobing the sky
I’d like to derive your kind
and the rhythm of my mind
From the grains of sand left behind

,

And listen to the song of the sea

.

And float in the lingering breeze
As the storm dies down
The night’s dying down
I’m counting for now,, and "you"
Are a ghost of an idea, wispy but fresh but

Unformed
Much like the memory of yesterday’s storm

...

As I was drenched in the shower I could only think about taking pictures of my memories and tearing them into a storm
A catastrophe -
I'd laugh.
I'd call it art.

This storm is ******* beautiful.
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