A bio of Emily can be found here.
Am I Inside
I toe warily at waking.
You lie silently nearby, watching clocks tick from your
fractured flesh imprisonment.
I am a busy mother held idle; you are my last companion.
I make us both tea, dark and bitter shadowing
pastel blue porcelain,
silencing words still unspoken.
You dress in soft cotton, a light blue attire.
We move, slowly through crowds that fade into
vultures, affronting and speculating
yet preaching peace but being
apathetically unaware to the agonizing moment
when I will be deprived of you.
I watch clocks tick.
We idle in the silent sorrow,
as every next moment is a reminder of my loss.
Your hair cascades, like tattered curtains,
bubbling and roaring, uninterrupted,
a stray blonde strand attracted to the absent crimson of your cheeks.
In the inevitable search of the hopeful happy ending,
I mutter words you don’t understand,
a grin upon my face
as if I’ve told you a striking clandestinity;
I, in fact, mutter these words again.
My last companion.
Despite my efforts, I am very alone
stranded upon the open shores
that is the barren sea of humanity outdoors.
My last companion, pastel blue porcelain,
dark and silhouetted,
the blue a navy black,
the vultures a contemporary reality,
my daughter a cadaver.
Man In The Box
The golden light was the destroyer of dreams,
revealing those to be broken, dissected,
put back together and betrayed; I am the child
of the irresponsible and illegitimate, the fear of
what’s supposed to be right
He who is supposed to protect us and teach us? He is the one killing us.
He is the one who
puts us in a daze
pushing our silent f
to feed the inevitable death to our minds.
Forsaken by God, by Man,
roaming the wilderness thirsty for answers we don’t have the questions to
s h a t t e r e d
watching the world
blindfolded, indecent and narcissistic
pissing on the few decent things left in this world.
– but I’m still alive.
Remove this mask from my blinded eyes –
I see the derision and I feel the pain,
this hell that is our home;
But I’m out.
Heaven Beside You
Brazen and intrepid sighs, designed by
sunny days, feathered wings and butterfly kisses –
he left me like a smoking match falling into wet oil.
His evergreen nectar leaves me befuddled and craving,
his scent carried on the wind, born from
those wild, exaggerated dreams.
I am desolate and hopeless, watching smoke slip through my fingers,
trying to make it really feel like what it really seems.
I’d give him the jewels, and I’d give him the waters and the trees,
to give him everything; this thought is all of me.
Given a choice between rhyme and reason, I’d write him a sonnet to revel in,
or I’d pause this frozen season.
The birds to never return –
the ice to never melt –
to sing these songs forever against all our burdens and our odds.
That chill frost on my lips isn’t as bitter when it’s pressed against yours,
the very breathing enchantment of our cohesion.