Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Emma Johnson Dec 2012
I am not a mess,
just someone who
occasionally falls apart
trying to find balance
in the stars
and in your eyes.

but there are places
balance cannot exist,
us two on a see-saw
the weight of unspoken
words
always lifting
one of us
over the other

or how the planets
might one day
get a little tipsy,
just like us,
and spiral
everything
out of control.

But I am no longer afraid
of black holes
stretching my cells
three miles wide

just of poetry
how it can never
stay inside me
spewing out things
I don't want to believe

and often of you
how I never know
what's what
inside your mind, and who
you've chosen to be,
half of me
or the empty space,
cold when you leave.
Emma Johnson Nov 2012
I've always been afraid
of spiders,
for instance,
of the dark
of

But I've never been consumed
by this kind of fear
that opens a black hole.
Tears apart my limbs,
rips skin from skin
creating perilous fractures
that let the life escape from me.

My bones are shaking,
they're cold.

This kind of terror
when you
callously mocked
the
"hopeless romantic"
saying that you
never should let
romance control
life decisions,

And it's so quiet now,
but I wanted to believe
you would do
something stupid for me

as I would do the stupidest things
for you.
Emma Johnson Nov 2012
i hate everything
except
tobacco
and nicotine.
you're
no exception.
Emma Johnson Nov 2012
She peered up at the moon

like it wasn’t even a mystery

just a pretty decoration

hung up on a nail in the sky.

The world was so simple to her,

nothing existed outside of

this suburban block.

The birds and squirrels were her play toys,

she was sure these endless trees

were made simply for her to climb on,

while the tops swayed

and taunted her with heights she’d never reached.

To others it seemed awfully callous

the way she treated this home,

like a hotel,

coming and going as she pleased,

but to me it was romantic

the way her whiskers brushed the door

on her way out,never promising she’d be back.

But,yet,she always turned up

napping on the loveseat

with a peculiar aura of aloof indifference,

often times a tiny,frail feather

nudged between her toes.

I’m glad she didn’t notice me watching,

glimpsing her life of simplicity,

as she watched the moon with great intent,

balancing atop a fence post,

on this corner of suburbia,

as only a cat could.
Emma Johnson Nov 2012
I have a compelling desire

to tell you every secret

I’ve ever held.

The ones I’ve

tucked away,hushed

in the crevices

between trepidation and faith

I want to whisper new words

I’ve never told anybody aloud before

into your ear,syllables falling

off me onto you,

so they can be said,

on my part,

and so you can brush them around your mind

if only just to humor me.

I long to tell you

everything that darts through my neurons

too hasty to catch on my tongue

too unintelligible to capture with pencil.

Because I want nothing more

than to utter every secret I’ve ever held

to make room to hold yours.
Emma Johnson Nov 2012
The optimistic existentialist

getting by on

the vapid knowledge that

nothing has meaning

but thinking it might

someday.

The shallowest

deep-thinker you’ve ever met

in a constant war

between vanity and philosophy,

drowning in mirror-hating narcissism

and my humble ego.

Introverted loud-mouth

socially inclined,socially incapable

assertion-loathing people-person.

Vengeful peace-maker,

violent pacifist

fists littered with deceptive,

fallacious,faint purple bruises.

All these things are the

drip drip drip

of drops in the bucket

of a level-headed psychopath.

I dare you

to dive into the water,

headfirst,

of my mind

where I constantly contradict myself,

like it’s a game.
Emma Johnson Nov 2012
my nails scratch the surface of the sun

digging to find a nest within

somewhere to hide from

the biting breeze that my lips kiss

until they are frozen blue

but i can’t tell whether

that chill is emanating from the clouds

or from me

so i peel myself back

remove all my layers

searching for the raw

the undefined, the genuine

me beneath my own skin

in order to attempt to grasp

the colors of my breath

the incalescence of my words

the petals in my bloodstream

and my need to

tear at the seams of everything
Next page