The past is safe where it belongs,
Gathering dust between my brain and skull.
It has no business in the present.
Recent publications are now on the shelves,
Sharing space with crisp HD shots.
Keep it from invading tomorrow,
Which belongs to the kids,
Who'll have their own burdens and joys
That need no comparisons with past lives.
Their present is in the forefront.
We'll be rightly blamed for this unpredictable world
Of warm Gulf streams, war posturing and threats.
Troubled places belong in the past, safely stored,
With warning labels,
Away from the twelve year olds.

In 60 seconds-
I could miss a train that I was supposed to board to visit my grandfather, when the doctors said there was no hope left
I could slip a step on the staircase and fracture my arm, the very arm that refused to help a stranger due to fear
I could listen to my best friend pour her heart out and plot a plan to ****** the very guy who broke her heart
I could miss a step of a dance routine and mess everything that we've ever worked for, for the past 3 months
I could set foot into the grocery store and be looked at differently just because I was born with darker skin
I could be left brain dead due to the reckless young teenager who thought it was hilarious to drive without his license
I could stand on the top of a building hoping I find the courage to fall off it, only to be stopped by the very stranger whom I ignored two days ago
I could understand that the world is in fact a never ending cycle-we are related to people in ways that didn't have to be physical, or by blood
We are bound together by the one thing that is common between you, I, he, she & we

We are bound together by the presence of - the heart.

I met the devil the other day
you wouldn't believe
what he had to say.

Said I'm tired of always leaving
without a chance to believe
deceived by all my lying.

My fate is tied to my sin
death caused by a tree
to meet a fiery end.

NOT IN MY NAME
As your bombs **** children who tonight will be tucked in for the last time
NOT IN MY NAME
As you karma watches you burn in hell
NOT IN MY NAME
The world cries as you play into the hands of the devil within
NOT IN MY NAME
As you hang that last Angel upon your Christmas tree

This Christmas can pass by silently
Mothers cry
Women die
Children crying for freedom in rubble laid graves

NOT IN MY DAM NAME!!! ...

Among'st a non-judging expanse,
Creative clouds dance.

Through fields one might prance,
Find a tree and sit
Or take a different stance.

See it fully or just give a glance~

The clouds, they form in multiplicities,
Reflecting simplicity;
Expanding creative form explicitly.

What'll it be?
How'll it grow?

Beautiful sky of freedom's form,
Modify your figure and break the norm.
Show me what never dies and is forever born~!

And reveal to us in time what is on the inside,
Usually hidden when worn.

I saw this in the clouds today, when I was bored..

Sometimes, you haunt my dreams
I wake up, barely able to breathe
Maybe that's why I find it so hard to sleep
I can't help but keep the door locked
It's like I'm being mocked
Your shadow is stalking my routine
Every daily thing holds some bad memory
I really just wish you'd die in that cell
After everything you did to me
You deserve to go to Hell

Lady Macbeth washed her hands
cleaner than Pontius Pilate
with a new improved, bio-enzyme
oxy-bursting, 99.9% germ-scouring
recommended by dermato-logists
scented with rose attar
oils from Arabia
and spermaceti soothing
unguents from long dead whales.

She’s going to the nail bar
for a manicure and application
of semi-permanent, diamond-
tipped, acrylic base-coated
in red blood enamel.

She’ll scratch
and etch rich tattoos
on her husband’s back
with every ******, he will shudder
with pain and delight
He’ll soon forget long, dark nights
bewitched by ghosts and ambition.

© M.L. Emmett

I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.