Falling - from 2019 (meeting him)

Something made of stardust

Cannot fully please

For it is so unearthly

You may not agree with what it sees

Your (fragile) human mindset

Has morals it has been taught

Has rules and rhymes and bylaws

Which don't apply to the celestial lot

You need something more than me

For my fragile human mindset is comfortable where I'm at

It's terrifying, exhilarating, and suddenly I can't breathe

Is that from my heartstrings or from lack of air in your galaxy?

Can I leave behind all I know to join you in the stars?

You beckon me further with the universe in your heart.

From 2019

 This gloom I'm in is a needy friend

And I try to tell it to go

But it moves right in and steals my grin

And makes my chest its home

Why does it feel 

that life is a hard pill to swallow

Why does it feel 

like this house I'm in is burning

How do I stop 

the incessant needs and yearning

October 26, 2020

Shiny white tiers of your sugar cake

Tell a tale that is delicious to the taste

Milk before meat but your meat is fake

Line upon line of sugared cocaine

Your fruits I taste give me stomachaches

Salty hot tears running down my face

The angels’ war in my head to seal my fate

You would have veiled my eyes to initiate

Easy to do since you numbed my face

Gluttony is a sin to partake

Unless it’s of your sugar cake

When I turned my back on your sickly glaze

The Son went dark for three whole days

I felt no man would know the time or date

When I would be free from your addictive haze

Why is it always men, anyway?

Like honey to flies you drew me in

What else to do when that’s where I begin

Well I’ve opened my eyes, and forgave my own sins

I give myself love without end

Without you, I’ll be born again

The Stop Being a (Sad) Bitch List

To Emily

 - What are you telling yourself this time? Are you the victim? Hero? Martyr? Somehow, both at the same time? Or are you aware you're wrong so you're aloof?

- HANDLE IT CORRECTLY. You're probably wrong.

-Why do you feel injusticed? Handle those emotions first, yourself.

- How did they ACTUALLY treat you? vs. What are you projecting? What do you know? (You're probably being a bitch.)

- The key to fixing it is a bit of humility and vulnerability.

-Talk to them kindly. Assume the best. Handle it.

-Jobs are just jobs. There is always another one. There are infinite opportunities and infinite people to love.

-You will be in the wrong. But does there really need to be a right or wrong at all? Handle it.

-DON'T TALK SHIT ABOUT PEOPLE. Nobody wants to hear it. It will always get back to that person. You usually don't mean it anyways.

-Are you tired? Are you hungry? Are you overworked? Fix this issue and you will handle the altercation better.

-Get out of other people's business.

-STOP BEING A BITCH. BE AN ADULT. HANDLE LIFE ACCORDINGLY.

Good job.

Love, Emily

Work sucks.

what if we went away and lived in a hollow tree on a hillside

where the air is damp and cool

where we don't have to remove our jackets in the afternoon sun

steam swirls from our morning coffee

and the last year shakes free of the trees

where your kiss tastes of blueberries.

from the archives - poems for my love

 I'm glad for the water stains

and the dryer lint

for the jokes you say

and the way we kiss

 How lovely to say goodnight

and good morning

and everything in between

I wish to be with you

just as much as I am with me

Soft words from a soft girl

yet my love for you is so strong

Summer Rain

 The first time I cut my hair short was against my will.

I was eleven.

It was the first time I felt fear about my appearance, and the first time I started silencing my heart from shame.

That year I cried in the basement and played in the summer rain.

The second time I cut my hair short was to make a wild decision for myself.

I was seventeen.

It was the first time boys were finally showing me attention, and the first time I fell in love.

I was desperately flinging my heart at anyone who would catch it, craving companionship.

That year I had my heart broken and played in the summer rain.

I have cut my hair short again, on a well thought desire.

I am twenty five.

I now know the names to my sorrows like I know the name of my haircuts. A blunt bob. Feathered layers. A shag.

I carry my heart with my now, as a guide and companion. It is the first time I can really hear its voice.

This year, I make peace with my body and write this poem while I play in the summer rain.