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essie Feb 21
lifetimes
of being plastic,
used and thrown away.
repeating the process

over and
over and
over and
over again.

discarded to
the nearest metal can (not even recycled!)
when i no longer serve my
fleeting purpose.

now
i am shiny and
washed by gentle hands and
placed on soft towels to dry

disposable cutlery
no more!
i am now
silverware
silly goofy little poem about being treated right for the first time. i realize i only write poetry when i'm sad, so that's why i've been gone so long. i am happy now more days than not, which is very new for me.
essie Sep 2021
I am scared to call you home

because home is not knowing whether or not you are wanted. home is 12 hour school days and long walks to the bridge to stay away. home is instability and harsh words and TV dinners at 10 pm. home is different people and different apartments and learning different ways to walk on eggshells.

but you are four walls and a fireplace and pictures on the mantle. you are Christmas dinner and game nights and fluffy blankets on the couch. you are bedtime stories and long hugs and kisses goodnight. you are safe and you are warm and you make me feel wanted.

you are home.
feeling a lot tonight and haven't written in ages but this is what's cooking up in my noggin
essie Apr 2021
i like finding stray brown hairs in
my bathroom sink or on
my couch or under
my blankets

little reminders of
you brushing your teeth or
you sitting beside me or
you kissing my face
essie Mar 2021
you fell asleep on my chest
and it scares me how much
i want you to stay
essie Mar 2021
She swims in tumultuous
water that churns with the tides
of melancholic rage

I scoop her in cupped
hands and drag her weary body
past the rocky shore to the soil

in the rich dirt I dig
a hole big enough for her corpse-seed
and plant her.

I am an anxious gardener
I ration my Sad Water carefully
and search the ground for decay

her roots grow down without
my eyes preying upon them
in damp dark clay.

growth is a slow moving practice.
I hope she becomes a tree.
another therapy poem bc I can not retain things if I don't write about them
essie Feb 2021
inside me there is
a red piece
and a blue piece

the red protects me like
a wildfire
but it burns and destroys the beauty around me

the blue grounds me like
a puddle of water
but it’s heavy when it pulls me under

i am water
i am fire
and i am constantly drowning and scorching

from inside out
my blues and reds
are labeled by others as crazy
kinda ****** and basic but i had an intense therapy sesh today and i feel kinda upset about it
essie Feb 2021
you've been so strong for so long.
I can see the ivy growing
on the walls you've built around yourself-
roots deep in self-preservation
and stubborn leaves stretching
to the alabaster sky.
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