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Emma Katka Oct 2022
Do you ever dream so vividly
It feels like a real memory
Emma Katka Oct 2022
obsessive
compulsive
distracted
explosive
redundant
forgetful
abundant

I feel lost in a lull
that I keeping humming along to
wondering if you ever feel remorseful
but that's like wishing on a star
and expecting it to come true
admirable, but ultimately delusional
I wanna move on gracefully
but I don't think that's how I operate
I'm a little messy with good intentions
not always open to cooperate
with anyone but my own conscience
autumn dives me under the surface of my nostalgia
and I stay underwater, I like the drama
but I can only take so much
before I start to sink in too deep
help me find the surface
before these depths start to speak
Emma Katka Oct 2022
I've got things to say about the leaves. Every poet does. Every artist. Or maybe the leaves just have things to say. They're letting it all out. Letting it go. Crunch. I wanna strip down my darkness into individual leaves of memories that I can let the wind take away. Crunch. Crutch. There's some memories the wind just never takes away no matter the weather. They're seemingly staying forever. Perpetual states of their imprints exist like a leaf pressing that was preserved in a stone. And all I'm thinking is that I need a rake. And perhaps more strength for all the leaves I need to shake off.
Emma Katka Oct 2022
You assume you know me deeply
from what I post on social media accounts
while I'm behind glass, pins in my sternum,
like a butterfly you decided to mount.
I'm the pretty thing in the corner
that gets dusted off when you're lonely
I'm talked to behind the glass
while you think of new tricks to show me
You want validation and attention
so you put quarters in my ear
you wind me up for a few hours
and then you disappear
I'm so tired of the patterns
I'm tired of the empty plot
You want to wade in my waters
just to freeze over if it gets too hot
You want to tell me about your demons
but you really just want to whine
you want to tell me about your darkness
and how you think it's just as dark as mine
But you know nothing of my darkness
and you know nothing of my light
You don't know what keeps me rested
or what keeps me up at night
You don't ask me what my dreams are,
don't even ask me about the weather
You don't ask me about anything
but tell me you'd like to know me better
You want me to be vulnerable
but there's never a moment where that feels safe
You're a claw machine on a frenzy  
grabbing hands thirsty for my embrace
and you make sure to hit me up late
so there's no evidence to trace
your actions have become so transparent
it's started to make me feel sick
every time I see your messages
I immediately get the ick
I'm so easy to romanticize
when I'm an aura behind a screen
men tell me they love me
but I don't think they know what that means
because I know where I exist
in your little world that I don't fit
you decided a long time ago
I'm too much work, so you quit.
I'm a layaway lover
and a bucket list ****
You have none of my respect
and I wish you luck
Emma Katka Oct 2022
The house was white, paint chipping away, of course, with a wrap-around front porch with moss lining the edges. It can be seen from the road distantly... but to get to it is a little complicated... needed to park on a side road about a mile away.... only way to get to it was by hiking 1/2 a mile to a creek where there is a broken "once was" bridge that is broken in half that you have to jump across to cross the creek, and once you cross the creek, around the corner moving right, or west in this case, up the hill.... is where it sat surrounded by trees. It was beautiful approaching the home.... I have nostalgia about the smell of the air and the walk through the grass up the hill to get to it. I also remember my first step on the moss. I can't explain it rationally, but almost immediately upon my foot touching the moss on the porch, anxiety flooded through me, like a sudden panic... you know, as if you've fallen off your bike or bed, or tripped on a rug that was curled slightly from someone else tripping over it before you were there... I brushed it off and considered it to be the adrenaline I seek by exploring these houses and continued through the front door. I entered the kitchen first. There was a mirror on the far wall with a small sink under it. There was a very old razor with a bottle of shaving cream next to it. They were both rusty. I kept walking. I entered the living room. The walls were salmon. The sun shining through the windows and bouncing off of the salmon colored walls and floor and ceiling made horrible lighting in my photographs. I tried for a couple self portraits and wasn't satisfied and couldn't focus. I was anxious. I kept exploring. I found the staircase to go upstairs. More anxiety. My chest hurt at this point. But I continued up the stairs slowly and with shaky legs. My friend behind me was whispering that she didn't want to go upstairs. I can barely hear her. I feel like I'm underwater. She's still afraid. I'm still anxious. The walk up the stairs feels like it's taking me an hour to complete. Everything is in slow motion. She is gripping on my sweater and I'm still shaking. I make it to the top step. I'm facing a window immediately. Everything outside looks black and white but I know in my mind it's green. I keep telling myself "that's green" as I stared at the grass out the warped window and it wasn't changing color. I feel like I am walking through mud as I turn around to face the upstairs room. My friend is walking back downstairs. I'm hearing her in slow motion screaming "**** this, something is ******* weird here i'm going outside". As she is leaving I'm seeing what I'm seeing.... the far wall of the room is covered in black mold... beyond reason it is covered from corner to corner seeping to the connecting walls like they were hundreds of outstretched dark arms waiting to pull me into an abyss. Everything is still black and white. I feel the warmth of someone breathing heavily on my ear. Distinctly, I hear a growl. I feel the vibrations of an angry, sinister, evil growl, and I can't explain it. I can't explain a **** thing. But it was there. It was felt. It was real. And it was ******* crazy. I ran down the stairs and fell on my way down and scraped my knee up pretty bad. After that, all I remember is that the very moment I put my foot on the grass, and was off the mossy front porch, I was seeing color again.
Emma Katka Sep 2022
Fixer upper
Flipped and tender
Wondering where we're going
Home feels like forever away
And they say it's a feeling
Well then that's distant too
Emma Katka Sep 2022
I'm not feeling
very familiar
I've got an itch
on my brain
that moves linear
bruising on a foreign bed
tongue tied
and in my head
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