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 Nov 2014 Emily Rogan
Kasey
If she could grow up to be anything in the world,
She'd be the last thought on his mind before he falls asleep at night.
Or maybe the last person he danced with to the sounds of the winter evening.
Hers would be the last lips his taste,
The last goodnight he whispers as she drifts to sleep on his chest,
The last hand he holds onto
She'd be his last first date, his last first kiss, his last first dance
The last, greatest love of his life.
If she could grow up to be anything in the world,
She'd be his last choice.
Staring at a citrus wall
My head feels heavy with alcohol
My lips taste glazed with
fermented grapes
But nothing is as sweet as
breathing your name
Light hearted free verse written under the gentle influence of wine
 Jul 2013 Emily Rogan
em
When your cigarette doesn't ash and the cherry keeps on burning, and the way the smoke looks when it's lost it's way in the air,
and how people inhale the fumes like oxygen even though they know it's killing them.

The look of tears flowing from your eyes that match the red ribbons flowing out of your wrist,
and the look of healed scars,
and how behind each one there's a story that might never be told.

Empty people sourrounded by empty ***** bottles, and the way the alcohol burns their throats,
but they keep on drinking it anyways.

The dead looks in people's eye when they're advoiding something they don't want to talk about, and the way screams feels when they crawl up your neck.

The way the moon hides behind the clouds because it too cries sometimes and wants to be alone.
Old photographs that show your process of losing your inncocence,and your process of slowly dying.
The sharp keys on the piano and how the piercing noise hurts your ears and rings in the air.
The feeling of letting go.
Old heartbreaking love letters.
The calls for help no one really hears.
The feeling of kisses when they really don't mean anything other than you're lonely.
The clock that makes every sinking second sitting in the hospital room feel like decades.

The way I can find beauty in everything around me, but I can't seem to find an ounce of beauty in myself.
Today all the linden trees shrouded in black, no flowers only death, so quiet crept
killing summer bees, that can no longer sing - of honey flowers afield
death crying at the door, their silence praying to be heard
and still unthinking man poisons our fragile world
Today I attended a memorial for the 50,000 bees that were killed last week at a Target parking lot in Wilsonville, Oregon.  http://www.organicconsumers.org/articles/article_27792.cfm

Pesticide and Herbicide use needs to stop, we are killing everything, bird, bees, bugs & us!
No round up either, that stuff is bad, bad news, lots of horrible health issues linked to it
 Jul 2013 Emily Rogan
Jessie
Any relation is translation for complication
of the heart
You looked around and then you found
a place that is in the dark
You did not care of the burden to bear
from sharing a hollow one
But a heart is a heart and right from the start
it felt like what's done is done
And so I say time is taking me away
and I am growing older
So why not come with me today
and stay until it's over
I'll never get tired of your big maroon shoes
if you won't get tired of my wild curly hair
I am in love with everything that you do
and I always smell your scent everywhere
I just hope I did everything right
At least I know I did today
cause you're holding me tight
And I won't ruin the day
so I'll discontinue to write
So we can enjoy on my driveway
the ever so lovely night
One of the many super old poems I found in my old notebook.
My mother is the reason I am on this earth
For nine months she carried me, then gave birth
But this flesh and skin that you now see
Is not the only thing she has given me
God honored me with her curly hair
And the eye shape found in her own stare
But she'd insist it ugly until I would cry
For "Men don't like curls and froggy-eyes"

My mother gave me two siblings to love
And, for them, everyday, I thank the heavens above
But those two young siblings of mine,
Although they are hers by define,
Once upon a time,
They called me mommy
For I cared for them, not she

My mother picked, for me, a father who I treasure
To his parenting, love, and devotion, there is no measure
But since their marriage went South
Only piercing screams have left her mouth
Of her cursing me for being his daughter

My mother showed me how to be strong
She taught me to rise above and continue on
Since I was young, I carried her through hard times
Even though she was absent for all of mine
And so I learned to shoulder the burdens of two

My mother taught me to be myself
And to never walk the path of anyone else
Because upon me she forced her own self
And I was never happy being her

I owe her for the very blood in my heart
But she was never a mother, from the very start
She was a child, scared of being alone
Afraid of being abandoned in a cold empty home
She hated herself and the world too
And I was her crutch in this life of blue

But although it was hard, I forgave her
Although she was wrong, I thank her
And although it hurt, I love her

She was the biggest part of my journey
For she is the reason I am me
All that she wasn't, she taught me to be
And so I am grateful for all she gave me

No matter what,
I still
and always will,
Love my mom <3
fallen sun rays
a yellow ballet
as her feet hit the pavement
raw soles against hard concrete
the slight scratch to send shivers
that follows each step
calluses forming
healed by the heat

flowers he had picked
reflect white next to chocolate hair
the bokeh golden light
turns muddy eyes emerald
as she looks with despair and excitement
upon his crooked teeth
and tousled hair

hands held hands in rough embrace
and yellow and red bandannas
hold sliding fingers together
graphite tattoos and cotton words
engraved on fair skin
bleeding ankles
and scarred knees
the collection of their mementos

fringe tickles eyes
a curtain of weeds
of rough fallen doors
as smooth finger pads touch soft cheekbones
and for once they close their eyes
to see fireworks
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