ashes to ashes
dust to dust
from earth to sky
from love to lust
carry me out to a rainy sea
hide your tears and
set me free
you'll grow old and
I will rust
ashes to ashes
dust to dust

do you ever feel a scream
in your blood?

do you feel a scream
in your chest?

like a bubble of pressure
that feels like nervous laughter
building up in your stomach

almost feels like butterflies

but when you let the butterflies out
they burst into the air

they pop like balloons
and they turn into
a scream

Most people don’t know
That two halves don’t necessarily make a whole
Half a shoe plus half a butter knife makes something
infinitely more useless than either halves alone.
Or it makes something much more interesting
But still, whatever it is—it is not whole.

Most people want more
Than only half of things
I wonder: is it greed or just a desire for completion
And if something is complete, is it also whole?
And if someone were to search for long enough,
would they find the missing half to everything?

Unstructured Musings by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Hey, baby
sing me a tongue lullaby
I’ll dance for you if you would like that.
Twirling along the lilt of your sounds
as you utter them syllable by syllable.

I find you in the darkness created
by the infinity of
whatever it is we feel and you sweep me
off my feet—literally—and fly with me
away inside the music you created.

By then it’s only you and me,
although it has been all along
and it’s your body
and it’s nobody; my body
Entwined in the kasbahs of eternity.

An Adaptation of a (Love?) Poem by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

choices, we are bound by some
we are enlightened by others
some we make
some are made for us

we are all victims and champions
we are all empowered and enslaved

driven, but fearful
of a hope of something larger than all of us
of the dream of bliss

elusive, but available
just out of reach
just out of sight

i have countless scars
on my skin from a
battle with depression
i almost lost. twice.

i have twelve scars on
my leg from a car
accident that saved
my life.

i have tracks of stretch
marks on my *******
and thighs from growing
up too fast

i have a million freckles
on my face spattered
from too much time
in the sun

i have curves that
show my womanhood
gifted to me by the
devil: puberty

i have so many
distinctions that make
me who I am. These are
my marks.

Words with many colors and textures
laugh at the canvas.
Paths of green mossy thickness
reverberate through the glade.
Satin layers of magenta barely
stain the surface.
Pacing the magic canopy
up and out of our heads.
There is so much wisdom in knowing
too much education renders us
thoughtless.
The dance of time stands still
with the taste of freedom on our tongues.