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Shy girl
Hiding behind
Thick lenses
Dark frames

Shy girl
Hiding behind
Thick books
Long pages

A boy
Across the room
Fruitful glances
Stuttered glances

The boy
Across the room
Likes her back
why don't you want me?
why don't you want me
the way that i want you?
why can't you feel for me
what i feel for you?
is it chemical?
just an accident of genetics?
or is it me?
is it the pills?
or is it me?
Is it something in our environment?
Or is it Me?
Is it the hormones?
Or is it Me?
Is it something in the way you perceive yourself?
Or is it Me?
Is it pathology?
OR IS IT ME?
Is it just a lack of empathy?
OR IS IT ME?
Is it the drugs?
OR IS IT ME?
IS IT SOMETHING ABOUT US?
OR IS IT JUST ME?
IS IT SOMETHING I DID?
OR IS IT JUST ME?
IS IT JUST A FACT OF GETTING OLDER?
OR IS IT ME?
IS IT JUST A MATTER OF TIME?
OR IS IT ME?
IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO?
OR IS IT JUST ME?
IS IT ME?
OR IS IT ME?
IS IT ME??
OR IS IT JUST ME?!!



please don't say
it's not you
again
i can't hear it anymore
because it is me
I am the thing
that you
don't want
not like that
not in that way

not so close

always at arms' length

no closer

because that is where

you want me
 Mar 2014 Emmalee May
haley
ache
 Mar 2014 Emmalee May
haley
for every time
i get high off your attention
there is an inevitable crash.
i want only to crawl into bed
each time
and sleep away the betrayal
(that isn't really betrayal).
but sleep is hard to come by
and hard to endure
when my dreams are only of you.
and the hardest part
is that i know
that i have not crossed your mind
                                                               once.
My heart is wringed within your grasp.

Now it’s beating fast for you
and my breathing becomes labored.

But you take no notice.

Just apply more pressure.
 Mar 2014 Emmalee May
mg
capitals
 Mar 2014 Emmalee May
mg
SO TODAY I AM TYPING (2/11/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
I AM INFATUATED
WITH SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T CARE.

SO TODAY I  AM TYPING (2/15/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
HE LOOKS AT HER
THE WAY I NEED HIM
TO LOOK AT ME.


SO TODAY I AM TYPING (2/24/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
SHE PUT HER ARM
AROUND HIM
AND HE SMILED, AND HIS
EYES DID THIS THING
THIS BEAUTIFUL, CRAZY,
AMAZING THING.


SO TODAY I AM TYPING (2/29/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE
HE SMILED AT ME
AND HE SEEMED UPSET
I SAW IT IN HIS EYES
MY WHOLE WORLD
IS HIS HAPPINESS.


SO TODAY IM TYPING (3/4/13)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
SHE LEFT HIM
AND HE WAS SO HEARTBROKEN
THAT IT MADE MY OWN
HEART HURT.

SO TODAY I AM TYPING (3/9/13)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
HE SMILED AT ME AND
PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME
AND I GOT THIS FEELING
THIS BEAUTIFUL, CRAZY,
AMAZING FEELING.


SO TODAY I AM TYPING (3/14/13)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
HE KISSED ME
HE KISSED ME THE WAY I NEEDED
HIM TO KISS ME
WITH LUST
WITH PASSION
WITH NO TASTE OF REGRET ON THE
TIP OF HIS TONGUE.



SO TODAY I AM TYPING (3/20/13)
IN CAPITALS
BECAUSE HE ASKED ME TO
BE HIS GIRLFRIEND
AND HE KISSED ME AGAIN
AND I THINK
I LOVE HIM.



SO TODAY I AM TYPING (1/25/14)
IN CAPITALS BECAUSE
HE PROPOSED TO ME
HE WANTS TO MARRY ME
FINALLY
I HAVE GOTTEN THE LOVE I DESERVE.



so today i am not typing (6/12/88)
in capitals
because
he is gone
he died
he left me
alone
back in this old feeling
this awful
old
feeling.



m.g.
 Mar 2014 Emmalee May
peurdelavie
I AM SO ANGRY
WITH YOU
AND WITH ME
AND IT FEELS ALMOST AS THOUGH
YOU LEFT YOUR HANDS
IN MY CHEST WHEN YOU
REACHED IN
TO STEAL MY HEART
AND NOW THEY'RE ACHING
TO BE FREED
AND I CAN FEEL THEM CLAWING
INSIDE OF ME
AND I CAN FEEL THEM
REACHING UP MY THROAT
SUFFOCATING ME
REMINDING ME
THAT YOU'RE NOT HERE ANYMORE
THAT YOU WERE NEVER HERE
TO BEGIN WITH
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
        Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
        Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
    This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:—
      Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
  fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
      Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—
    ’Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no
  craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
      With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
      Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
  door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my *****’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
      She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath
  sent thee
Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked,
  upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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