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Been working so hard
at keeping my vulnerability from escaping
I can feel my resistance pitching tents in my chest
sighing, "we're not doing this again"
Because it still doesn't feel safe
there's canyons of heartache in my memories
that I wish I could fill with cement
still writing so many poems of lament
and it just doesn't feel fair
I'm a lover girl turned ice cold
once had passion that burned
so hot it could make you blister
The girl who loved bravely--I miss her
And maybe I'm just not as naive
back then all I did was believe
falling in love was always so easy
there was no way you'd hurt me
And maybe I just miss the naivety
required to fall in love so easily
Heartache feels like pollution on my psyche
that never brings climate change
I'm tired of this ice age
Working retail can be quite the catalyst into unintentional eavesdropping. Which, let’s be honest, is often intentional at a certain point. You overhear all sorts of conversations. They change in-between mere moments passing, and the range is staggering. Nothing is off limits. Now, one could argue that I’m invading privacy, but my retort is that I simply can not silence my curiosity. Not to mention, these conversations are willingly being had by their participants in a public area. But, I digress.

This morning, there was an elderly woman in my store with her daughter, out for a shopping trip. I didn’t eavesdrop on everything, I stayed busy amongst my work, and they were walking around visiting for quite some time enjoying their quality time together. On their way towards the exit, the elderly mother tightly grabbed the fabric of a pair of bell bottom jeans covered in wildly colorful print with flowers, mushrooms, and other foliage. Very woodstock, very retro. While holding on to the leg of the bell bottom jeans, she proudly exclaimed her deep love for the fashion of “hippies” and that it speaks to her soul. She paused for a moment, admiring, before letting go. As the fabric was released from her passionate grip, her voice spoke softly “but I can’t wear things like this now. I’m too old.”. Hearing this, I felt a powerful gust of heartache wash over me. I thought to myself, “Why? Why can’t she wear these things now?”.

It’s easy to simply say to myself that I will never be like that, held down and held back from expressing myself authentically with the fabrics and accessories I decorate my body with as I walk through this life. But I deeply mourn for those who don’t feel safe, encouraged, or brave enough, just to be themselves; to follow their interests and wear what they think is beautiful or makes them feel beautiful. My heart hurts for the art and creative expression of so many that are lost to fear, shame, and societal pressures. Unspoken rules of our society, telling them it’s embarrassing to stand out, telling them they’re too old, too fat, too skinny. Pressures that I still fall victim to, that I still work hard every day to deconstruct from my psyche.

Because, the way I see it: self-expression through fashion can be a powerful tool in grounding the mind, and helps you to feel like yourself. Even if it’s just a little bit. Sometimes just getting dressed into an outfit that makes you feel a little more like yourself, even without leaving your own home, can be a bright light in a season of darkness. Having access to the freedom of being able to express ourselves through our clothing and accessories, it is a privilege, and it is also an art. Art brings us closer to ourselves, so how could personal fashion not be an art as well?

Before the elderly mother and her daughter walked out, I gently interjected, making it clear that I heard her comment, and said, “I promise that you absolutely can wear those things and anything you want”. She smiled, let out a sincere laugh, and thanked me.

“Have a good day!”, I say. And I really hope she does.
Emma Katka Jan 3
Layer after layer
I'm scraping away at you
I've got blankets of my good intentions
soaked in paint remover
Every day I lay them over
your thick coats of shame and fear
that suffocates all your thoughts
that you continuously refuse to share
They've eventually gotta go some place...
but where?
They get buried under your growing resentment
that's coated over all your shame
which then floats in insecurities
that always have someone else to blame
And arguing, for you, is like a sport
that you'll do anything to win
I can't ever find a way out of this
when there's not even a way in
I keep running away
but only in circles
that lead right back to you
cause I'm not ready to choose
I'm not ready to lose
so I'll grab another blanket
and soak it
Emma Katka Dec 2024
Too cool to suggest anything to
I understand not wanting to waste your time
But at a certain point
you're just moving through life
with a closed mind
And too much pride  
How are you able to have a god and victim complex at the same time?
I'd tell you that you should be studied
but you'd smirk and whole heartedly agree
Then go on and on about being the person who is the most interesting
But you're really so exhausting
Not everything needs to be so serious
If a woman making music and showing her body distracts you so much
then just stick to audio recordings
instead of making it her issue
that you fall victim to
all because you have no self control
Because which is more pitiful?
A brain that can't see a woman without thinking about ***?
Or a woman who openly admits she likes it.
I can assure you it's not the latter
What a woman is wearing while creating shouldn't ******* matter
Your narrative is weak and outdated
And while I'm at it
what the **** have you created?
I'd like to see you be half as creative as the **** you complain about seeing
when you're not even listening
You're just too cool
aren't you
Emma Katka Nov 2024
Lately I've been haunting my ghosts back
just as much as they haunt me
visions of silhouettes against stain glass
crisp autumn air in our mourning
I keep an iron grip in my mind
of every texture, every scent,
every feeling, and what everything meant
The darkness of November always sneaks up on me
and even without light, it's blinding
November always rips away at me
sometimes in a way that hurts me
other times, in a way that's healing
I don't always have the time to dissect it
I don't always find a way to understand it
I just feel it
and let it wash over me
because there's always art waiting
on the other side of the misery
Emma Katka Nov 2024
Land of the free, land of "me me me"
when it should be "we";
it should be community
with a priority of protecting
your neighbors,
your daughters,
your sons,
mothers, and fathers
and their right to choose,
their right to live,
their right to freedom,
and their right to give
to any cause, to any God,
to have autonomy of their bodies
that don't bear the weight of laws.
Land of the free, only if you can afford it
and if you need help, don't ask for it,
you'll get shamed for it.
Land of the free, unless it's asylum you seek;
you'll be called dangerous, lazy, and weak.
I want to see acts of kindness
I want to see acts of peace
I so tired of this narrative
I'm tired of the collective grief.
This rollercoaster is never ending,
with constant spinning, turning,
and worrying
about the safety of my body
the safety of my peers,
the rich getting richer
and politicians mongering fears.
And then using it to their advantage
using it to get ahead,
no matter who it might hurt,
no matter who it might leave dead.
Land of the free, collectively screaming
but only ever at each other
at our neighbors, our children,
our fathers and mothers.
And for what? To feel glory?
To feel holy?
Are we really so lost
that we can't recognize repeating history?
Because saying "it could be worse"
means you think the loss of freedom for others is fine
you only hear their stories as complaining
and their terrified voices as a whine.
I don't know where we go from here
I don't know where to put the pain
I don't know how to make people understand
the importance of caring...
about a fellow human's well-being
beyond your own carcass
about the light and life in others
being swallowed by darkness.
Because I believe that freedom for others
doesn't affect any freedom for me
It isn't always about equality
it's about equity.
Oppression of other's freedoms is abhorrent;
why be so afraid to swim against the current?
Land of the free if you've got the right skin tone,
land of the free if you've got the right "parts"
yet the folks who know true oppression,
are so often the ones with the biggest hearts
who continue to believe in community,
who believe the oppressed and their stories,
who care for the well being of others
and no need for personal glory.
Give us liberty.
Emma Katka Oct 2024
water rings collecting
from the condensation of my beers on your end table
no air conditioning, summer sweating
water rings reflecting
in the glow from rope lights draped across your ceiling
I remembered every single moment from that night for nine years
and it's those small moments
you tell yourself you'll never forget
so you study every shadow
every sight, every dusty beam of light
but time passes and you still end up forgetting
when you never thought you could
you just keep getting buried
but I'll take whatever I can get
I'm glad I had my camera strapped around my neck
it's how I trapped those memories for only me
back then it was for love
now it's for tragedy
good intentions are fleeting
because in mere moments passing
they're already transforming
you're the cat making biscuits out of my brain matter
years ******* later
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