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Emma Sawyer Jul 2014
I am the child stuck in the mud.
Motionless and watching as time passes.
I am the star-shape surrounded by colourful blurs.
Waiting for the one to set me free.
Close my eyes and await for small hands, to embrace me.

I am the child playing hide and seek.
But I am the one who must seek.
30, 31, 32, 33
The numbers signify my time alone; the bitter reminder.
Search deep using the spy-glass of eyes to search.
Do not resist in finding them, the control set by the bourgeoisie,
Realise the only one who can find them, is me.

Duck, Duck, Duck but I am the Goose.
And now I run, desperate for the approval of others.
Big eyed and determined for all the wrong reasons.
Walk.
Why not be different, stand tall and be gutsy.
Dig deep and be bold, the only one who can is me.

The intense battle of rock, paper, scissors.
Predicting the enemies moves, reading their faces for the slight notion.
Rock? Scissors? But does winning even matter.
Enjoy the game. You may never know when you will play again.
Dive deep into the glorious deep blue sea.
The only one who can take a chance, is me.

Take over your life, your the one with the master key.
The only one who can change is me.
Emma Sawyer Apr 2014
I am the zombie that cries.
My eyes flood,
Blood pools grow in an infectious style.
I scrape along the floor, my knees are flaking.
I am the zombie, who is alone.

How paradoxical.
I am the zombie with no other to turn.

The dead brain stuck in my skull is telling me,
telling me to feed.
But my urge has gone, to feed is pointless.
The zombie with no purpose, no conviction.

Oh zombie with dertmination and purpose.
How do I return to you?
How to infect again, bite into another to feel
As I do.
How do I crawl among the other zombies,
For them to understand.

I must infect myself once again.

I am the zombie that cries tears for ******.
They are the tears of the ******.
Listen to them weep.
Emma Sawyer Apr 2014
I am naked.
My body covered in colours. Vibrant in disguise.

If cut me back, you'll see I bleed shapes.
Triangles above your head.
The squares of my world.
The prisim trapped inside a prison.

I am the font print you never use.
But I am document you always open.

Where do you stand?

I can't hide the roadblocks anymore.
The open road needs to be free.
I can smell the sweat of you stuck between my skin.
Moulding with mine.

You have seen me.
And now I am stained in you.
Emma Sawyer Apr 2014
I love him.
But secretly I adore you.

We are different.
But you and me are parallels.

He is complex
But you just understand.

He is all style
But you are substance.

He is all facts
But you are creative.

I don't know what do to.
But I know I'm lying.
Emma Sawyer Apr 2014
For years I have sat in this house,
Trapped in the cabinet of forgotten reminders.
I have gathered dust.
The iron in me has turned brown.
But I have not forgotten you.

The other knickknacks don’t understand.
I was always there for you.
You were always on time because of me.
To school, to work, to even your friends.
I never let you down.
The master of time, beside you always.

I still watch you as the years have passed.
Dancing around, falling in love, and getting undressed.
The way you towel dried your hair before bed.
The tears that have fallen from your face.
I was your constant in this life that time was on your side.

And then, the source of my feelings was lost.
You killed the battery in me.
You forgot about me.

After all I have done for you.

I hope time drags you; into endless impatient waiting.
I hope time forgets you! And see how it feels to be powerless.
You’ll lose your sense of time without me.
How will you know when you need to be somewhere?
You won’t; and I will laugh from the comfort of my forgotten brothers.

I hear the door bang and you are gone.
Your phone buzzing on the bed.
The tv stuck in standby.
You’ve left all your time behind...
Emma Sawyer Nov 2013
There is a time after busy schedules, warm hugs, cold tears and brave encounters my sweet.
This is the final gift I wish to share with you.
This is called the time of the butterflies.

When we pass from this world; when we can do no more on this plain of existence, we turn into silver butterflies
Who dance in the sky, swirling above everyone’s head, flittering and flying.
It looks like, when you see them, that they don’t have a purpose, mindless but beautiful.
But you cannot judge them, until you know what important role they play for us.

At night, these butterflies will glow and guide those who are lost
Offering a path that only a few dare tread.
For this path is usually filled with struggles and triumphs.
But for those who are lost, realise, they are never alone.
And when the butterflies cannot glow, they explode, elegantly; they become shards of light, so all may experience
Togetherness.

During the day, butterflies disguise themselves in the natural world as normal butterflies.
Their bright colours let us appreciate beauty, but remind us that like you and me, butterflies are born, they live as we do. But their magic keeps them alive for however long we need them.
There sole role is to keep us believing, believing that there is something better, always something better.
They restore the faith that society and the world have crushed out of us.

You do not have to call a butterfly when you need them my sweet, they will be there whenever you need them.
They will know when you need someone to hug or someone to talk too.
Or even if you want someone to play games with.

I will be there.

My sweet, I am your silver butterfly.
I will always be there when you need me.
You are never alone, because I will always glow.
Glow for you.

So during the day, on your way to school watch for the butterflies,
And before you go to bed, watch out the window.
I will be sat on your windowsill until you fall asleep.

Rest my sweet, I will see you tomorrow.

Love your silver butterfly (Daddy)
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Emma Sawyer Oct 2013
I am the shell.
Pushed and smashed against the bowl.
Where all ingredients are mixed together.

Consequences ignored; I am the fractured egg.
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