"emma" poems
My eyelids seem
to be the strongest part of me.
When the rest of my body
falls
into the ocean
of blankets they
float open upon the white water
atop
the waves of sleep.
This is when you come back.
In this mattress I am a piece
of clay and I can still feel the deep indentations of where your fingers
wrapped themselves like Ivy around my hips.
Hips, that stuck out like white flags of surrender and
fell to the ground in a straight line.
I can still hear
you.
I am a broken record,
and your whispers are the only track that plays at this hour.
“You are fat”
“Look at how flat you are Emma, no boy will ever look at you.”
“You are ugly.”
These are the nights when I can
feel the spiderwebs your words wrapped around my ribs and
listen to the way my heart beats constricted
in its cage, your hand still clenched around it.
Can’t you see me bleeding?
Safety lies
beneath my eyelids but you pull them open
I can feel
your icy touch behind my eyes as I stare
coldly at the ceiling.
you demand to be heard.
Did you mean to put your words
in my pocket when you reached in to steal the sleep that was nestled there like crumpled dollar bills?
Do you realize that you stayed with me?
Can you take your stolen midnight hours back and place them on your pillowcase?
Will your eyelids close?
Or can you still hear my cries of protest as your soundtrack plays into the night?
I don't understand?
Did you think it wouldn't hurt me?
Or did you want to live forever,so you put your
fingerprints where you knew they wouldn't fade.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
Hello Monster,
I don’t know what you look like here.
But I can feel you coming back.
I knew you lived in his hands
Because it hurt
Whenever he put them on my hips
You sharpened my inhales
and they cut my heart on their way
to my lungs.
I knew how you poisoned my name
when they came out of her lips
because it sounded
like someone who looks better
with cut wrists.
she was broken anyway.
I grew to know you quite well.
You let go of my throat
and seemed to hold my hand
We were friends you
and I.
Maybe all it took was
a change of scenery.
My hair grew longer
and so did your claws.
And now I can’t see you until
I’m already bleeding.
I didn’t know how his eyes
on me, would make me
want to be skinny.
Until you were cutting away
all the parts around the edges
that had grown soft since
we stopped fighting.
Bony is beautiful
you whispered.
I didn’t know
you were in her back
until you showed me
how it bends when
it turns away from me.
I didn’t know you were in my knees
that ache now as I chase
and crave someone's lips
on me in the dark.
Because maybe someone will
want me
when they can’t see me.
When they can’t see us.
You’re back inside of me.
I know you are.
And it scares me.
Because I’m starting to see you again.
You look just like me.
Sincerely,
Emma
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
She was a wilting flower,
Delicately fading
Into the depth of her sorrow.
Her eyes-pooled gossamer stars
Falling from constellation webs.
Bouncing on the tile before losing shape
In the atmosphere.
My soul was swallowed into
Her sorrow,
And stayed there.
And when I held her,
It was like trying to hold on to refracting light.
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
I’m not good at being forward
I have this habit of becoming disordered
I let my emotions change the color of my sleeve
In my aspirations I hope to find belief
I walk through jungles and rainforests
Once in a while I see through the canopy
Into the skies of my memories
And request that stars dance to the rhythm of us
I keep them alive to avoid the gathering of dust
My memories, caught in the Pensieve of your eyes
Have ignored all the times I told myself lies
I may not be your ideal Superman
But I’d accept Peter Pan if you’ll go with me to Neverland
I’ve rarely been so captivated by a girl
Sure, Zooey Deschanel is quirky in New Girl
And Emma Watson bewitched me from the start
Anna Kendrick was perfect in Pitch Perfect
Alex Morgan is the luckiest 13 I’ve ever seen
But I choose you! To fill my canteen
You quench my thirst when the loneliness dries me
I was not made to walk in a desert
My heart is an amphibian
Living like a Floridian in the ice-cold tundra we call Rexburg
You still need the sun, no matter how much it snows
I’ll trudge on in the jungle; dormant in the night
I’ll carry on with you in mind, until the time is right
Once I’ve faced death, or even a spider
Then, I think I’ll top the greats; George of the Jungle, Aslan, Mogly, Tarzan, Batman, Peter Pan, Harry Potter, Genghis Kahn, Michael… Jackson or Jordan
They’re all kings and I’ll be in their league
As I shake off the fatigue and find courage in you
To make it through the awkward moment of simply saying
“You’re a real kind of gorgeous”
In that chorus, played on my rhythm of heartbeats
I found my way out of the back streets
From deep in the jungle I’ve come to know as Fear
A jungle that disappears when your presence is near
Sometimes I have to stop walking, stop thinking
I feel like I’m on the verge of something spectacular
Anything normal might ruin that
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am a chameleon
Black, white, red or blue I’ll be whoever you want me to.
In therapy I’m told it’s because I don’t know who I actually am, but the thing is there I am also a chameleon.
While sitting in that uncomfortable leather chair I’m a girl unsure- broken by the weight the world places on my shoulder but outside of that room I’m more sure of myself then I am sure of the laws of gravity.
I am a chameleon
Most days my name is Emma, other days its Emilia and on the rare occasion its Ellie. It may seem a little odd to you to have so many different names but I think it’s because I truly am different people.
See Emma is serious, but she has a fun side, while Emilia is fun with a serious side. Ellie is that broken girl from the uncomfortable chair while Emilia is always smiling never feeling an ounce of pain. Emma, well she’s broken too, but in a different way- that dosen’t matter much though because there is no way in hell she will let anyone see that.
I am a chameleon
But not in a disingenuous way. I’m not trying to lie or make you like me. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to like me, but I learned long ago that no matter how hard I try there will always be someone who doesn’t.
I am a chameleon
Because I love you so much it hurts, that’s why I want you to have a version of me you flel in love with. The person I truly am changes with the tide- she is far to disconcerting. So for you I will pretend that I find “Grey’s Anatomy” enjoyable or that I like eating eggs because you deserve some shred of consistency.
I am a chameleon
I hide from the world by blending into the background- it’s safer that way. Not just for me, but for you to. That way I can only show the parts of me that is safe for you to see. The heaviest pieces that have caused so many people to run will remain invisible.
You tell me you want to see. You tell me that you want to carry my burdens. The thing is, others have tried but, eventually, they are all crushed under the weight of my brokenness. So, I am not afraid that you will leave, I am afraid that you will stay.
I am a chameleon
Because I choose to be. See if I blend in then you can’t get too close to me. The farther away you are, the less it will hurt should I disappear and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.
So…
I am a chameleon
Because I haven’t truly decided if I am going to stay yet.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
This is just so all of you know,
I appreciate all of the support you’ve shown,
Helped me regain a positivity, helped me to grow,
Relit the fire inside me, allowing me to once again glow.
The caring nature you all completely have,
I know you’re all genuine; it’s not just a job to get cash,
You really want to help, give us the skills so we know what to do if we crash,
Help us see the good inside ourselves, the true facts.
So thank you again for everything you’ve done,
Because now I can hold my head up, I can see the sun,
You helped me unlock a lot of my skeletons,
Once again I can start to enjoy life and have fun.
Keep up the good work, especially when it’s tough,
Even if you only manage a little, it will be enough,
To help us deal or unravel some of our stuff,
Just a smile can help when we’re feeling rough.
So I want you all to give yourself a hug and pat on the back,
Maybe one day we will meet again, (minus the hat)
When my life is going somewhere, back on track,
Thank you all, from the hard nut to crack, insomniac.
© Emma Johnson
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 2:40 AM UTC
Bottom feeders flourish
When the economy's a bust
When bad times are the norm
And good times turn to dust
When neighborhoods go south it's sad
But a sign of their demise
Is when a bunch of pawn shops open up
Before your very eyes
When stores close down or move on out
After years in the same place
Their memory is a radar blip
They leave without a trace
But as fast as they lock up their doors
Another shop moves in
It's the local pawn shop dealer
He's a shark without a fin
Like dollar stores and boarded doors
The pawn shop shows the way
That business has moved on out
Or closed or moved away
They prey on peoples hardship
They broker deals without a care
They don't need to know your history
They just know that you're there
The street has three new pawn shops
Palaces of buy back stuff
It's bad when there is one around
But, three...well that's enough
One opened by the Jeweller
Two doors down across the street
Now he's buying up possessions
Of everyone he meets
Folks who purchased jewellery
From Old Cy at his old store
For each twenty of it's value
The pawn shop gives you four
Cy can't afford to buy back
He doesn't have much money left
And besides his store insurance
Doesn't cover much for theft
The people at the Pawn shops
Took jobs and live in town
They trained two counties over
They succeed when times are down
It's a sign of the recession
Downtown dies and fades away
And then the bottom feeders surface
Their the ones who're gonna stay
You can look in the shop windows
Know who bought what and from where
You know the candlesticks were bought at Cy's
And you know who bought them there
The guitar that hangs beside them
That was pawned by Emma Rose
She needed money for the bills
When the fresh fish plant had closed
There's a snapshot of the township
Sitting inside on their walls
They pawn shop is successful
While the economy still falls
You can see a piece and start to cry
For you know just why it's there
There's no one here to help them
There's no jobs and it's not fair
They open up each morning
While the nights dregs still sleep outside
They have done two hours business
Before lights on at Cy's
It's a sad and constant story
Of just what a town's become
But when asked if they've been in there
The inhabitants go "mumb"
They never seem to close up
The town's never make it back
While most places lose money
Pawn shops make it by the sack
The bluesman has some stuff there
The bartender has some too
Even though her bar's still going
She did what she had to do
The street, it is it's own world
Jewelly shops, banks and bars
But inside the local pawn shops
Are hidden all the scars.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
My Godmother being Emma Williams
A woman who died at 98
A God fearing Godmother to whom I truly appreciate
I still remember her even to this date
Mrs Emma Williams was more than a Godmother as I always called her Aunt Emma
My Godmother was a woman of true love
She was born in Barnwell, South Carolina having hospitality to think of
I remember going to her house, she would always cook me a meal
At one point, we lived in the same Brownstone in Brooklyn, New York
My Godmother lived on the Second Floor
We lived on the First Floor
What happy memories I have and remember
When my Godmother moved away to another location, I still visited her
I remember one afternoon she pulled a bag of laughs out, and all I could do was laugh uncontrollable
I also remember when my Grandmother died, and I called my Godmother for encouragement, I told my Godmother I wanted to cry
She stated, “Don’t you cry as you are never alone”. I felt inspired, and saw a world that I never known
Now my Grandmother and Godmother were good friends
But my Godmother is being remembered, and will never ever be forgotten
“My heart extends into Heaven, and my focus being on my Godmother. The joy you gave me here being on Earth. You enriched with my life full of goodness and blessings beyond. I will remember you now and forever more.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
He wore a purple knitted cap.
He had a carrot nose
This snowman figurine wore skates
with black buttons on his clothes.
His cheeks were daubed a cherry red
His bootless feet looked cold.
His smiling was perpetual
His was a hopeful soul.
Yet now he lay out near the curb
He was destined for the trash
His mistress found a figurine
that had a bit more flash.
He looked back sadly at the house.
The only home he'd known
His colleagues, perched on windowsills
looked out at him alone.
The trash-men came
and grabbed the bags
hydraulics crushed and smashed
One trash man took the figurine
and put it with his stash
The trash man and his little girl
since Spring had lived alone.
It was hard since Emma's mother died
but he tried to make a home.
With no insurance and one salary
his house this year looked bare
Where once they'd had a festive Spruce
now a pitiful fake stood there.
Such decorations as they had
were pilfered from the trash
of folks with little sentiment
and too much spending cash.
In his workshop in the basement
He made the snowman shine
His silver skates were polished
He repainted every line.
Little Emma loved the snowman
When she saw him near the tree
He is no longer called unwanted
since he found a new family.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
When, in disgrace that I myself despise
And all alone do I lament my fate
I think upon my sweet love’s steel blue eyes
And doing so my troubles dissipate
In my philosophy I do declare
That in all heaven and all earth
There is no one so wond’rous fair
I have not a whit of her worth
In wallowing in thoughts of pity springs
My perfect songbird from solemnity
As the dove from the ocean brings
Green sprigs of hope from land to sea
To the ideal you lift me from my spleen
I am, forever, your earnest faerie queene
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
Up very early on this particular morning
couldn't sleep not unusual.
Trillions of thoughts racing in his brain
leaving his lovely wife in bed!
knowing to well the problems he'd created
met another himself he hated.
Nine months Jamie had been having an affair
his wife asking why he was late.
On numerous days his mistress wanting him
easy to say it just happened!
How could he let his fling get out of hand
he knew it was underhand.
Couldn't rest his conscience nagged him
no children with his spouse.
Practically one less worry for him to resolve
now his mistress was pregnant!
The usual cliche he still loved his wife
aware this situation was rife!
This didn't help sort out the mess he was in
what was the solution?
None of the answers were fundamentally good
but could not escape the truth.
It would break her heart to if he were to leave
who he never wanted to deceive!
With a deep breath he prepared for honesty
it had been a long time coming.
Prided himself in being an upstanding man
not noticing how low he'd sunk.
Seven thirty approached he heard Emma stir
he had to go and tell her!
With a burning guilt consuming his whole being
he made his way for judgement day!
The Foureyed Poet.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
It’s okay….
I'm just tired.
T-Torn
I-Insecure
R-Ruined
E-Emotional
D-Depressed
No amount of sleep can get rid of the tiredness I feel.
I’m really happy.
H-Hiding
A-Anxious
P-Pretending
P-Pained
Y-Yearning
My smiles are faker than the popular kids
When people try to ask what’s wrong and I tell them, it makes me feel selfish.
S-Self centered
E-Emotional
L-Low
F-Fake
I-Intolerant
S-Shameful
H-Horrible
All my friends look so perfect in my eyes
E-Encouraging
M-Marvelous
M-Magnificent
A-Astonishing
Emma
Q-Quirky
U-Unique
I-Incredible
N-Nice
N-Neat
Quinn
M-Magical
E-Extraordinary
L-Loving
E-Exceptional
Mele
L-Loyal
E-Empathetic
A-Amazing
R-Radiant
S-Supportive
I-Inspiring
And Learsi
I want to be as selfless and amazing as them but this thing inside my head says I’m not good enough to be.
J-Jealous
O-Obnoxious
C-Clumsy
E-Exhausting
L-Liar
Y-Yielding
N-Nuisance
These are more than just words.
j.b
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
We have a small sculpture of Henry James on our terrace in New York City.
Nothing would surprise him.
The beast in the jungle was what he saw--
Edith Wharton's obfuscating older brother. . .
He fled the demons
of Manhattan
for fear they would devour
his inner ones
(the ones who wrote the books)
& silence the stifled screams
of his protagonists.
To Europe
like a wandering Jew--
WASP that he was--
but with the Jew's
outsider's hunger. . .
face pressed up
to the glass of ***
refusing every passion
but the passion to write
the words grew
more & more complex
& convoluted
until they utterly imprisoned him
in their fairytale brambles.
Language for me
is meant to be
a transparency,
clear water gleaming
under a covered bridge. . .
I love his spiritual sister
because she snatched clarity
from her murky history.
Tormented New Yorkers both,
but she journeyed
to the heart of light--
did he?
She took her friends on one last voyage,
through the isles of Greece
on a yacht chartered with her royalties--
a rich girl proud to be making her own money.
The light of the Middle Sea
was what she sought.
All denizens
of this demonic city caught
between pitch and black
long for the light.
But she found it
in a few of her books. . .
while Henry James
discovered
what he had probably
started with:
that beast, that jungle,
that solipsistic scream.
He did not join her
on that final cruise.
(He was on his own final cruise).
Did he want to?
I would wager yes.
I look back with love and sorrow
at them both--
dear teachers--
but she shines like Miss Liberty
to Emma Lazarus' hordes,
while he gazes within,
always, at his own
impenetrable jungle.
3.2k
There's this mermaid girl I knew once.
She had long blonde hair,
and she smoked tobacco under water.
She defies the laws of the universe.
She had deep green eyes
that screamed the names of lonely sailors.
I hear they got lost in her eyes,
so lost no nautical device could guide them away.
Her ******* were covered by shells.
Sea shells that glowed their gratitude as they lay on her chest.
I hear she moved exactly like the ocean, or maybe the ocean mimicked her.
When I heard her voice,
it was like bubbles.
Like bubbles that begin at the bottom of the sea and run through the water to so delicately burst on the top.
But even delicate bubbles have capacity for violence.
We, they, you, have reverence for a voice they tell stories about.
Her face shone like the ripples of light at sunset that stunned the sailors in awe.
Her hands, smooth like pearls.
Her lips, tantalizingly terrifyingly beautiful as all the reefs the wrecked the ships.
I knew a mermaid girl once. She had long blonde hair and she smoked tobacco underwater.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
She didn't set out to be a seductress
Until she became a seducted
She was afraid of love
Not wanting to see her heart
Being devastated in stitches,
By a thousand cuts
You're a seducer, she said to him
Why do you say that? He asked politely.
Because the first time we met
You melted me like a mountain of snow
Melting away in the summer.
I must confess: I thought I built giant walls
To protect me from a man like you.
There you are, tearing them down altogether
without allowing me the benefit of a fight.
Really? he exclaimed
Tell me more.
you walked up to me
you touched my hands flirtatiously
you look me straight in the eyes
and compliment me with a calm, balanced,
Masculine and confident voice.
I didn't expect it,
I didn't want it,
I was blown away.
She continued:
I was a lost soul; you shelter me.
I was a lost ship; you seize me.
I was a lost bird; you cage me.
I was a diamond in the rough,
You dig me out and make me yours.
And what do you think of me now?
You're a happy man.
Why do you say that? He asked.
She replied:
You know how to give and receive pleasure.
Down memory lane,
If you elect to remember one thing about me
What would that be?
She answered:
You intrinsically love women.
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 9:50 AM UTC
I flip through the pictures some are so great
some are just dull and need to be thrown away
The ones that make me smile are of friends
they are not just any friends
They will love you
And support you
always tell the truth no matter how much it hurts
We have different personalities
and we see the good in everyone
With Macy the one who is always there
is not afraid to say what she thinks
With Grace and her Pride so perfect not to stretched
Without her life wouldn't be so far fetched
With Emma and her energy so crazy and wild
The barn is always dull without that child
With morgan and her loyalty thats incredibly fierce
She will laugh and cry with you
What I am trying to say is we have been through so much
we have stayed with each other and comforted each other
through too thick and very thin
Where friends leave us sobbing I will i will always know i will have you.
When i think of you guys you make me smile
I would die for you really
Because I've got your back Just as you've got mine
So while i bring this poem to an end i have one thing to say
after all the friends that have dissapointed me
I don't trust easily
I know i will trust you when i trust know one else
We will go from thick and thin and who knows what else........
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 2:33 AM UTC
Transplanted to these '...fruited plains...', grandpa,
One of Gaia's fruits, what was his twinkle among
The countless stars? Here, millions have come
To stay, imbuing us with their place of origin,
Their souls dancing, flying, in a universal way.
For over 60 years Americans to be came through
Ellis Island, headed to who knows where West,
My grandfather, Uru, which means hero, a Fin,
One of three who left a concentration camp that
Fifteen thousand entered, did too, to NYC, NY.
Following freedom's beacon, its first light he saw,
The Statue of Liberties still unscorched torch, thanx
To Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, and the French. Of
Libertas, the Roman goddess of freedom and a
'...Tabula ansata, a tablet evoking the law, upon
Which is inscribed the date of the American
Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776.'
The broken chain of tyranny lies at her feet,
Upon a pedestal, wherein etched words are,
From Emma Lazurus' sonnet, 'The New Colossus',
Which may rise again, only if we embrace them:
'...Her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she
With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'
Only 151 feet tall, she will ever stand taller, or
Be turned to dust with us, all of humanity and
Large mammals, as well as the Earth, tragic
Members of extinctions annals, if we don't stop
The permanent altering of weather cycles through
Overuse of fossil fuels, the degradation of the
Earth's orbit around the Sun. We can walk in
Nature's abundant balance again, humane beings.
Still, she gives hues to the vast canvas of what
The Big Apple, and its beautiful mosaics' art, can be.
I shine only because he, a Merchant Marine, did.
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
Dear Emma Watson -
Shall we make love
The object of
Our spiritual quest
Together?
Surely an altogether
Better option
Than pairing you off
In a commentary box
With one John Motson
Discussing twenty two
Pairs of socks
Chasing a piece of leather?
If spiritual questing
Is not for you
I will make do
With tightly tied pairs of shoes
Existential emus,
Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.
Whilst hoping you find
Your Sherlock Holmes,
Miss Watson
I will content myself with
Cataloguing my collection of
Black and white combs.
I also have plots on
Which I need to work -
Wednesday Addams's love of
Moon dried tomatoes
Or Erica Roe
Somewhere in Portugal
Growing sweet potatoes
For sale.
Don't let anyone tell you
There ain't no perks
To being an Omega Male.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
The first time I saw him, it was through the glass window of the space that he moved into right around the corner. I thought it was a weird spot to move into but shrugged it off because it was none of my business.
The first time I met him, he was wearing the exact pattern of red and black plaid that I’ve been looking for whenever I shop. I stared at it and felt a little defeated that someone found it before I did! But I made no comment.
The first time I spoke to him, I thought nothing much of him at first. the words I used to describe him were “ordinary, typical, run-of-the-mill”. He was…simple. he spoke like he would steal those cheesy catchphrases like “she was like a shot of espresso” — which is what Andrew Garfield said about Emma Stone. And so I walked out of there as if it was just another Monday.
Several Mondays and cheesy catchphrases later, that little place around the corner that was made of brick started to feel more comfortable, and I saw him more often. Slowly, I realized that there is some charm in simplicity. Eventually, I stopped using the words “ordinary, typical, run-of-the-mill”, and I started using the word: familiar. There is so much comfort in the familiar.
At this point in time I seem to always find myself back at that familiar little brick place around the corner. at the end of each day, I go there hoping to find solace. And I always do. If I was into those cliché phrases I would describe it as a warm cup of hot chocolate after a long, rainy drive. It’s a fireplace during a snowstorm. But saying those cheesy catchphrases would be really lame of me, so…
If I were to put into words how I now feel about this person… This must be how it feels when people are looking for a new place to move into. They have this image of their dream house or fantasy apartment. maybe they picture a place with a marble countertop, a dining table made of mahogany, and a ceiling high enough to hang a glass chandelier from. But then, just as they had given up on searching for that dream place, they come across this little cottage made of brick and hardwood floors. There is a leather couch in the middle. They take a seat. Suddenly, they can picture their life there so clearly: nothing but the pitter-patter of the rain drumming on the window pane, the sound of the coffee machine running in the background, and a slice of chocolate cake waiting for them in the refrigerator. It was the familiar feeling of comfort after a tiring day. It was so far from what they had first pictured, but they are absolutely certain that they want to make a home here.
That is how he feels to me now. So far from what I had pictured, but certainly where I want to be at the end of each day. But the funniest part of all of this is: He was the one that arrived there in the first place. He was the one who moved into that quaint little building around the corner. He was the one who found me. And I am the one waiting here; hoping he finds a home within me.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
Emma Watson without question is the most amazing woman that has ever existed.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
It has come to the end of my program everybody, Saturday will be the three month mark!
I am finally going home, to my mother, my friends, my old life. finally going home back to where it all began.
I'm going back to my old life. no more daily meetings or special routines, no more smoking areas or 30 minutes of being watched after I eat. no more non-usage of sharp objects or everything else they consider harmful.
saddest thing they cannot take is my fingers or mind. my hands or insecurities
I am so afraid I'll slip. I don't want to end up back where I was
but I'm hoping for the best and believing in myself for once.
I have a disease. Bulimia is my sickness and self-mutilation is my crutch
I've always been so hard on myself, always got into some new addiction or harmful habits.
but this just had to be the worse of all
everyday I carved at my body, leaving little memories
everyday I threw up my insides, wanting to be beautiful
Every **** day
I hated myself.
but I'm better.
it's not much, but I am.
I'm ready for my old life .
I'm scared as **** but I know this time it'll be different
~
I have learned so much while being here, and I'm so grateful to everyone who has helped me along the way. It's been a battle against myself and I will never fully be recovered.
I didn't have any friends while out here or my mom, it's surprising that I only had my brother and hundreds of people I never knew to lean on.
I've been so lost and selfish for so long and I'm finally realizing that I do have people who care. I do have people that I just can't let down
and most importantly,
one of those persons
is
myself.
I want to be happy and I'm willing to try.
I want to be independent so that I can show everybody that I can do this and that I'm ready to move on.
It will most definitely be a struggle, my problems will never go away; however this time, I'm ready to try and be the old me.
I want to be the happy Emma, the smart Emma, the Emma that everyone used to love.
not this sad, sick girl who has taken over.
I will never fully be recovered, but I'm ready to let go and live.
I can do this, I know I can.
Emma can do this, I know she can.
*I will never fully be recovered, but I'm happy and ok.
and that's good enough*
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
When you wake in your crib,
You, an inch of experience--
Vaulted about
With the wonder of darkness;
Wailing and striving
To reach from your feebleness
Something you feel
Will be good to and cherish you,
Something you know
And can rest upon blindly:
O, then a hand
(Your mother's, your mother's!)
By the fall of its fingers
All knowledge, all power to you,
Out of the dreary,
Discouraging strangenesses
Comes to and masters you,
Takes you, and lovingly
Woos you and soothes you
Back, as you cling to it,
Back to some comforting
Corner of sleep.
So you wake in your bed,
Having lived, having loved;
But the shadows are there,
And the world and its kingdoms
Incredibly faded;
And you group through the Terror
Above you and under
For the light, for the warmth,
The assurance of life;
But the blasts are ice-born,
And your heart is nigh burst
With the weight of the gloom
And the stress of your strangled
And desperate endeavour:
Sudden a hand--
Mother, O Mother!--
God at His best to you,
Out of the roaring,
Impossible silences,
Falls on and urges you,
Mightily, tenderly,
Forth, as you clutch at it,
Forth to the infinite
Peace of the Grave.
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