Ten years sat on her
with all the weight
of a century
But the things she
saw
prodded her brain like a
dull scalpel
looking for
love to salvage
There was plenty

Twentysomething Emo
looks at teenage Emo
and laughs.

It was something purely aesthetic,
with brain chemicals churning
and wiry bodies yearning

under the guise of straightened bangs
and perched beanies,

skin tight black outfits
parading the dusty grounds of Warped Tour.

Twentysomething Emo is the real deal--
lamenting over high school salad days
because real life is so unsure,

college degrees and full-time jobs,
watching friends and lovers come and go in our lives.

After a long day of responsibility and groveling,
we drive home (or somewhere just as distant)
with our emo anthems blaring through the speakers.

We scream the songs back at them,
truly feeling the words for the first time.

I'm the same age as William Beckett, Adam Lazzara, and Pete Wentz
when they wrote these songs--
and though the bangs have receded
and the jeans have slackened,

I am perpetually Emo.

The unrequited love and the nearing distant future--
it's come too soon.

I hope thirtysomething Emo looks back
on my meandering twentysomething Emo
and laughs--

as he plays the melancholy tunes pouring out of the speakers
with some more of life fading away in his rearview mirror.

This town gets smaller every day.

i keep my soul hidden now beneath scattered tattered notebook paper pieces in outdated shoe boxes & deep between the covers of books, crisply underlined & strong- strong there, only there, with those words. most days i wake praying for rain; that tender soft world which it provides me with, drowns out the ever constant hum of traffic, arguing, the war on television, the growing sigh of humanity.

here i am.

I’m driving down some typical road all the roads look exactly the same here the streetlights passing by one by one by one. counting patterns in the road & I’m watching the swarm of black birds hanging over the highway; they’re swimming in their own way; kissing the sky & diving back down. that comfortable feeling of breaking skin
my blood may be the most priceless thing i own & maybe it’s for that reason i want to ruin it.

I can't remember what time feels like,
Or how to form a genuine smile.
I've forgotten the sound of my heart hammering in my ears,
And the sensation of touch is a beautiful memory.
Gutted. Numb. Hollow. Lost.