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emma jane Jan 2016
I wish I could say I was sand that slipped through your fingertips, but baby that's a truth for someone else.

You let me go.
You would rather be loved on hazy nights than for all the forever's I could promise you. You wanted love, you just didn't want me.

This is our truth.
Please help me improve this.
emma jane Jan 2016
My frail glass bones shattered with the windows.
We walk on yellow striped tightropes and dance
with impossibility until his grasp becomes to tight.
I fell into a river of metal droplets wheels rolling as
Mr. Impossibility connected two infinities.
Glass fingers tapped on a glowing glass screen.
Metal clashed, my scream was lost with sirens into a
echo of blue and red lights.
There was a silence that pulled me into the casket that
sat open in the passenger seat.
This is kind of all over the place but I needed to write something. I was in a car accident yesterday that has me quite shaken up.
emma jane Jan 2016
Lose my keys.
Lose my sleep.
Lose my thoughts.
Lose my pride.
Lose my lover.
Lose my mind.
This is a skill I've mastered.
What I am is a loser.

Trust me darling it only hurts the first time.
The pain?
You'll lose that too.
then I lost you.
The ocean is inside of me
It is turbulent and merciless
I will drown in these waters
I will choke on my own blood
  Jan 2016 emma jane
lmvm
One.** When you see her for the first time, you'll want to steal a glance at her, but you can't beat her at her own game. She's been a professional heart jacker since the seventh grade, so when she steals a glance from you, don't ever expect to find the composer she robs from your voice.

Two. You'll never need to go to a corner store again. Her purse is a walking pharmacy full of all the things nobody needs more than once in their lifetime. She says that she has stolen so much useless ****, that to her there is no difference between losing everything and losing nothing.

Three. When she stays over for the first time and you're cuddling in bed, cling to the covers for dear life, cause she will yank that **** away from you the second you fall asleep.

Four. Don't get too attached to any of your hoodies. Everything she snatches, she owns indefinitely. Whether it's the hoodie from H&M;, the candle stick from your parents' house, or the guitar she borrowed from the last boy she broke into.

Five. You're best of trying to blur the lines between theft, and sacrifice. So, give her your time when she wants it. Offer her your tongue when her skin is hungry. Give up your sleep, when she rather give you tongue lashings. Give her your Sundays and Mondays, maybe even you Mondays through Sundays. Let her cradle your world in her palms until it is small enough to run away with.

Six. When you stop keeping an eye on your grades, don't be surprised when they go missing.

Seven. When your mother ask why you don't write anymore. Tell her you can't think about poetry when your partner has the keys to your inspiration. Don't worry, she borrowed them a year ago. And you haven't seen them since.

Eight. She will pick pocket your self-esteem. Send you from fearless to feeble the second you leave your secrets on the table.

Nine. I wonder if she's the reason airports ask there passengers not to leave baggage unattended.

Ten. You are baggage she will leave unattended.

Eleven Your skin won't look thicker when it heals.

Twelve. Don't bother retracing your steps to try to find yourself. I promise, there's no point in searching for yourself in a break up, or a break down, or an orange bottle.

Thirteen. I'm starting to realize that love is the most sinister kind of robbery there is. Love is a slow motion stick up you can not get insurance against. Worst part about dating a thief is realizing that after they clean you out., you will never get yourself back.

Fourteen. One day she emerged from 7/11 concealing a bag of erasers, a sponge, and 12 packs of Splenda.
I ask her, "how do you even choose what to steal?".
She said when you're not sure what to take, just take everything.
tucker bryant
emma jane Jan 2016
A steady minded person might tell you that everything can be measured, calculated and converted into a language of black and white, solutions worked out with sharpened pencils.

How do I measure my heart breaking?

Tell me,at what rate did my heartstrings snap when he told me he was leaving?
How long until all of my broken bones turn into dust?
Calculate at what speed the tears rolled down my checks.
How many doctors will it take to sew my heart back together?
Was it when he crumpled me up like a wasted idea etched onto a piece of notebook paper that everything started to bleed?
What part of my brain did his gentle hands touch that woke my monsters from their slumber?
How many days until this aching in my swollen chest turns into a gentle throb?
When will I be okay again?

Takes this pain and your sharpened pencils and rip the numbers from the dead hands of his name. Do away with the emotion like he did away with me.
I'm temporary.
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