RF


on: bullets and battle.

i have lived my life as a series of pauses and sprints. go. dash. brake. break. these past three years have been a multitude of wars: emma vs. self-loathing. emma vs. resentment. emma vs. loss. self-loathing again, coming in like a grenade. emma vs. eyes, vs. lips, vs. hands, vs. claws.

i am ready to win each and every battle. i am ready to call it. 

Posted on July 22nd at 17:27:00 with 1 note

i am terrified that i am unable to be creative without being broken.

Posted on July 16th at 17:50:30

i) 
i wonder how many times it
takes to brush your teeth before
ridding yourself of the taste
of someone else’s mouth. i
woke up at two in the morning
knowing before you even said
a word that you had 
tasted her.
(my world is collapsing.
my lungs are following.)
i cannot bend my knees far 
enough into myself to disappear. 

ii)
you gargled an entire bottle
of mouthwash and told me it
meant nothing, but you 
needed to know. i made
you wash yourself three
times. if you scrubbed yourself to
the bone maybe you could get
clean enough for both of
us. 
(now you know the filth.
now i know the pain.)
i should have listened to the 
knots in my stomach at ten to 
midnight. i should have told 
you to come home. 

iii)
you fucking her was like
fucking an open door, a
corridor leading to salvation. 
your pathways to recovery were
guarded off by feelings you
created for me, feelings like
hellhounds waiting to bite. but
you figured it out:
love is not anatomy.
emotion is not biology.
(the dogs have left the building.
their red eyes don’t follow me home
anymore.)
we made love like an apology, like
a prayer, a cry of “thank you.” i
washed her body from your body
and brought you home
again.

Posted on July 14th at 23:06:51 with 5 notes
poetry  spilled ink  rejects corner  

"Stars are not small or gentle.
They are writhing and dying and burning.
They are not here to be pretty.
I am trying to learn from them."

Caitlyn Siehl, “Sky Poem” (via chocolatefrogs)

from my book, which can be purchased here:
http://wordsdance.com/what-we-buried/

(via alonesomes)
Posted on July 14th at 22:45:06 with 6,139 notes via , source

7.6.2014

i regret every mouth i’ve ever
kissed that was not yours,
every boy i’ve ever let feel
anything for me.
their teeth were broken glass
along my neck,
their hands grenades,
weapons in combat, allies in
a war against myself that they
knew nothing about.

i think about my nights
beneath their bodies and it
makes me want to burn. i
hide beneath my desk at work,
lungs filled with smoke, throat
scarred, a tornado happening
within me. and for a moment
it is dark and silent, like a 
womb. i leave this position
in hopes it would be like
being born again.

(it isn’t; set me on fire.
set me on fire.
set me on fire.)

Posted on July 8th at 00:30:35 with 7 notes
poetry  spilled ink  rejects corner  emma vs. self-loathing  

another reason

he was able to fuck me as
hard as i hate myself,
bodies held together like 
the earth’s plates and 
rumbling like earthquakes.

he kissed me quiet,
but his fingers along my skin
were like conversations being
held atop Olympus,
so exciting and so very loud.

he kissed me quiet,
but his voice was like rain
in june, 
thick, and warm, and heavy.

oh, he kissed me quiet. 

Posted on July 7th at 20:12:07 with 3 notes
poetry  spilled ink  emma vs. self-loathing  rejects corner  
Posted on June 6th at 13:30:10 with 6,668 notes via , source

"you said Is
there anything which
is dead or alive more beautiful
than my body,to have in your fingers"

E.E. Cummings, from “you said is” 

(via swankfuckerfables-of-the-reconstruction)

Posted on June 6th at 13:28:34 with 585 notes via , source

excerpts

i am stuck before the finding /// these past weeks have been a belly laugh /// i will never stop asking people what they are afraid of

Posted on June 5th at 18:47:51
personal  

do i wanna know?

i know that if i let myself, i
would run myself right into 
you like a bull, like a storm, like
a dive off a mountain into
mid-february water.

there are so many questions i 
want to ask you, but i don’t
want them to be traced. i
don’t want you to ever remember
them leaving my mouth.

(maybe i’ll feed you whiskey shots until 
      i get your answers. 
maybe you’ll forget ever wanting mine.)

you’ve turned me into flowers, into
lace, into something delicate. i
need to be powerful, intimidating.
turn me into a hurricane, make
me a tornado.

(maybe then you won’t want me.
     maybe then you’ll be too afraid.)

Posted on May 17th at 16:13:00 with 3 notes
confessions  poetry  spilled ink