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Emelia Ruth Jan 2015
The jagged pebbles poked and dimpled my body
as I sat on the shore of Aleutian Alaska.
Each rock was dusted with patches of grass like an old man’s tangled toupee…
Not that the epic beauty of nature should be compared to
something so artificial and ugly.
The air was so cold and crisp that its fresh purity burned my peeling nose.
I am not a Native Alaskan.
I feel like an alien spectator, blemishing this astounding autonomous habitat…
But I am trying not to disturb the locals.
I haven’t seen any grizzlies yet, which maybe I should be happy about.
I wouldn’t want to be anyone’s meal-

What was that?
A puff.
An exhale.
A lingering ghost waltzed atop the water and faded.
Further down the bank I saw more dancing vapors.
Is that what it looks like when a whale comes up for air?
I have never seen how their breath shoots up the water like that.
The mist is like a ballroom dance class
swaying and skirting about the glossy, smooth surface.


Do you remember in elementary school how you knew everything about animals?
What was who and who was where and why?
I forgot a lot.
I forgot that whales are mammals, needing air just as I do.
Obviously, they can hold their breath longer… But I still try to hold on.
I guess those fun facts that you collected as a kid fade as you grow older.
All those little things get whisked away,
And waltz until they dissipate in the wind.
Against all reluctances,
We inhale.
We exhale.
And we forget some things along the way.
Emelia Ruth Jan 2015
Speak completely
Don't skip, you'll stumble, upon your words
And when you choke, you will turn
Away your face in shame and defeat
Speak completely.

Speak completely.
For when you hide your words
Your tongue will weaken
The life in your eyes will fade away.
And all you exhale is what you wanted to say.
Speak completely.

Speak completely
For your thoughts will crowd and collect
Inside of your head.
Swimming and swirling
Waiting to be said.
You try to ignore them
But they keep you up as you lie in bed.
Speak completely.

Speak completely
There are people who listen and care
And think and share your thoughts.
Please don't be scared to
Speak completely.

Speak completely
because the world goes on
While you remain reserved
Without ever knowing
Who you were.
Speak completely.

Speak completely
For your words are powerful, bright, and beautiful.
You could meet people
who find you fascinating and gifted.
Your words could carry you far and high
away from your dismal disposition.

But you are the one
who hides in a cave
And drowns yourself in echoes.

But you are the one
who hides in a cave
And drowns yourself in echoes.

who hides in a cave
And drowns yourself in echoes.

And drowns yourself in echoes.

In echoes.


Speak completely.
Emelia Ruth Jan 2015
I love the vintage crackle
Of a passive microphone.
Each warm hum captured like
Our campfire in a Polaroid.
Every lethargic pop sounding like
The raindrops on our car roof.
I am swirling and lost in your skin.
Your voice glides through the current-
Distorted and tinned.

I am drowning in the static.
It started with gentle waves
Nursing on my pruned feet.
But they soon tugged me away
From the sand beneath you and me.
I am soaked from the ocean!
I am burning from the fire!
The hiccups and coos of your voice
Is something I no longer admire.

My time was consumed
As I swallowed each lotus flower.
I forgot all that I needed to do.
I forgot all that I wanted to happen.
I burned all of my bridges
because you made me believe
you were my only dream.
But I’ve awoken from my hypnosis,
and it is too late to repair who I once was,
because all I have become
is the vintage crackle between your words.
Emelia Ruth Jan 2015
The Moon

She tiptoed through the mountains that night
hoping she could find a place to hide.
She searched the convexities and crevices for shadows
where she could whisper her knowledge to the owls.
Her thoughts overwhelmed her-
Sour. Swirling. Hissing.
They pulled at her loose skin like the aggressive hands of a taffy maker.
Each thought that came to her in the shadows
with its horrendous, grotesque honesty,
she painted a little yellow dot upon the dark blue rocks.
The dot’s vibrancy was cold and distant,
but each bright freckle she counted upon the rocks,
reminded her of the end of blackness
and soon arising illumination.

The Sun

He emerged on the crest of the hills every morning
as he came into town from his work in the mines.
His lantern rested in the crook of his swollen shoulders,
growing brighter and brighter the closer he got home.
The dewy grass wiped away his ashy clothes,
revealing his warming pastel colors.
Some days, the hairs on his chin were thick and dark.
Some days they were thin, wispy, and white.
But this morning as his colors arose,
his jaw was as naked as a blue-eyed newborn.
He smiled blissfully at all the animals and at all the trees
as he trekked his way down the hill.
But just before the bottom,
he disappeared behind speckled blue rocks.

Blue Rocks and Yellow Dots

She panicked at the evanescence of her blue rocks and yellow dots.
They would return, but she always forgot.
Her blanketing shadows began to recede
as the sky turned to hues of orange and pink.
"Good Morning." he sweetly spoke.
He grabbed her hand before she scurried away.
"Oh, don't go! You need a hug!"
She groaned as the warmth ached her iced bones,
"Why must you always do this?" she said almost hissing.
She recoiled as his grip loosened.
He looked at her slightly offended, but his golden eyes softened as he told her,
"Because you are too lost in your head.
You scare yourself with the darkness
and hide yourself from others.
And don't even pretend that you don't treasure
these few moments we have together."
She looked down at her hands and started peeling off the yellow paint.
She could feel his lustful gaze burning into the top of her head.
She couldn't look at him anymore.
"Good Night," she uttered before she ran off to find the shadows again,
where she could be in the comfort of her
blue rocks and yellow dots.
This was copied and pasted so the format may have been compromised. My apologies.
Emelia Ruth Dec 2013
I heard a girl in the other room.
She whispered soft, choked sobs;
her exhales chopped,
and inhales stuttered.
Her moans were as sorrowful as a loon,
making my heart feel turned inside out.
I could not stand listening to her cry alone much longer,
so I stood up
and walked to her doorway.
I did not enter, just waited outside her framed room;
feeling numb and helpless.
Her eye lids were plump
Her nose was glossy
and she stood looking back at me.
Her tears rolled down her slumped shoulders,
and her wilted knees barely held her up.

I gazed at her golden tiger eyes,
her curly cinnamon hair,
her cocoa tinted skin,
and statuesque figure.

I frowned at her.
"Why don't you love me?" I asked.
Emelia Ruth Jul 2013
I open my window
and let strangers' breath flow through the screen
just hoping your exhale would be carried
from miles away through my window and onto my neck.
But I already know,
I'm going to be cold in the morning.

I leave my door open
so I can watch the shadows on the wall across the hallway
smear back and forth past my room,
just hoping your silhouette would walk into my doorway
But I already know,
the door will be closed in the morning.

I turn my music on
to drown out the quiet
to block the sound of plastic wheels on the pavement of the late-night-skateboarder
to slur the punctual tick of the clock
to wipe away the sounds of tears upon my cheeks.
But I already know,
the same sad song will be repeating in the morning.

I turn out my light
and pale in the absence,
hoping that when the sun rises in the morning
and its blinding blaze slips through the slits of the curtains
that your smile with be the brightest thing I see.
But I already know,
you wont be here to have your back turned to me.

I pull up my blankets
all the way up to my chin and past my forehead
baking myself in the smells of the sheets
trying to find the scent of you left in my fuzzy blanket from the night in the field.
But I already know,
I lost that months ago.

But I also know,
that I haven't lost you yet.

And I don't plan on it.
Emelia Ruth Jun 2013
The land flooded,
the sky was dark and wet.
I had reached the bottom of my jar
and there was no glory.
It was all drained away and swallowed up by careless mouths.

A pool had formed
in the flooded land
and in it sat two boys;
young like adolescences
yet humble and mature with knowledge.

I felt like I should know them,
but their faces were masked by their black hoodies.
And their voices matched everyone's
and they matched no one's.

One beckoned me to swim to them.
They were familiar
in a welcoming stranger way.
So I submerged into the comforting warm water,
and I slowly swam next to the boy.

The one who beckoned asked me,
"What is your story?"
just as easily as unzipping a jacket,
I spilled out my worries
he soaked up my loneliness and aches,
and I found myself
curled up in his arms.

He took my empty jar
and filled it with a glowing light.
The land surrounding
was still cold and dark
but the light inside was the one thing that brought me
warmth and renewal
and undying hope and joy.

He was the holy man.
Who welcomes everyone
and forgives everyone.
He is equal.
He is greater.
He is the one who sat in the flooded land
and waited for me
so that he could give me
a wholesome warmth
that I've never felt until now.
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