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 Nov 2013 Emma
Ellie Stelter
our culture preaches self obsession:
to always be looking at ourselves,
to always be editing, editing, editing,
photoshopping away our scars to look pretty
on a computer screen,
to be focused continuously inwardly,
focused on our own flaws.
our culture preaches self obsession
but not self love.

the things we are born into,
the things we grow into,
people tell us they're not good enough
somehow. there is such a narrow
margin for error. there is such a narrow
road to walk if we want to be thought beautiful.

it took me 16 years to understand
that I was not worthless: I hated
myself for all the things other people
told me I was:
fat because my ribcage didn't
shine through my skin
a ***** for my opinions
a ****, and ugly, because of my body,
because of my face.
is it any wonder
I was so uncomfortable in my own skin?

in the past they told you: love your neighbor
as you love yourself,
but we need a new mantra.
think of the most beautiful person you know
and treat yourself that way.
would you let them starve themselves,
would you let them cut away at their own skin,
would you let them wallow
in self pity, in regret, in fear?
think of the most beautiful person you know
and then understand, that person is you
to someone else.
you are so beautiful.
love yourself.
love yourself.
 Nov 2013 Emma
Sexual Pansexual
This a girl.

A broken, battered girl.
Held together by threads and glue, with wounds gauged into her heart.

This girl wakes up and sees a monster in the mirror,
with a grotesque face and heart as black as tar. Her eyes magnify every imperfection,
making them stand out like a single red rose among a dozen white ones. Still she puts on the smile that she is expected to wear. Fake it until you make it right? Stabbed in the back by her best friend.
The one person she thought would never give her up. The one she trusted and loved more than anyone. That’s what started it all.
A streak of deep set self-hatred. A girl who wishes that her weight was as low as her self-esteem. So down your drink broken girl, drown your sorrows with ***** and jack.
This is a girl.
With the word “Useless” carved into her arm.
Because that’s how she feels.
Useless. Ugly. Fat.
Because that was what she was told that was what she was. With every text that was sent to her she lost a little bit of her heart until all that was left was the space where it was supposed to beat.
Thump. Thump.
So she built walls around herself. Unbreakable walls filled with every word they ever called her.
She built them high and thick and made them of steel so no one could climb into her mind and see.
See what pain she was in.
See how she lived life behind a mask of fake laughs and smiles.  
So slice a little deeper broken girl, bleed the pain away because all those scars tell a story.

This is a girl.
Whose only escape is music.
The words engulf her.
Make her feel perfect even if just for about three minutes. Hitting her hard with a tsunami of emotions. Each word she clings to with all her strength so that maybe, one day they will be her reality.  A girl who loses herself in the crowd. The only time anything feels alright, when she doesn't have to hide or wish she was someone else. She sits alone and just listens. Listens to the ups and downs and analyzes the lyrics as they wrap around her and keep her warm. The only thing that can make it over her walls. So turn it up broken girl, and leave the pain behind.
This is a girl.
A girl who walks alone.
Because who would want to walk with a monster?
A girl who hates everything.
Especially herself.
Because that was what she was taught to do. Tongues as sharp as the razor she uses, eat at her brain. Like a flesh eating disease. Telling her how imperfect she is. And she listens. She soaks up the words and feels all of their fury. And what’s left becomes the salt in her tears. So walk on, broken girl, and don't you dare look back.
This a girl.
A girl who cries herself to sleep almost every night.
With a pillow covered in black stains from her eye make-up, as dark as the thoughts that drift through her head. Who is told not to end it because “It gets better.” That’s what they say anyway. The same people who, just a year earlier, caused her pain, who still cause her pain.
Their words haunt her.
They invade her dreams and turn them into nightmares that cut like a blade into her soul and into her heart. So take another pill and fall asleep, broken girl.
Leave this world behind, broken girl
Never wake up, Broken girl.
Because when you wake up your nightmares become
reality.
 Nov 2013 Emma
Soliloquy
I loved you when you were ugly
I loved you even when you cried
I loved you when you loved me
And I even loved you when u lied

My silly eyes grave to see your face
My stupid ears always want to hear your voice
My lonely heart cries out loud for your love
But then I realize AM I THE ONLY ONE????

I day dream about us being TOGETHER
I even dream about you being there FOREVER
Every single second I think only of you
And I just wish that you did the same too

It’s not my obsession to win you
I know I have lost the right to
But just want to ask
Did u ever feel the same too????

I loved you when I was angry with you
I loved you when I handed you to someone else
I loved you when I said I would live without you
And I still do love you
And there will always be a corner in my heart that will never stop crying for you
BUT at the end of the day I realize that I am fighting a lost battle
 Nov 2013 Emma
Mike Hauser
Have pity on me
all I ask is one day without poetry
Between you and the heart
do you think you could find
Some type of reprieve
from this constant rhyme

From the very moment
it is you wake up
You start churning out ideas
like you can't get enough
From your constant
metaphoric playing of words
Mind aren't you listening,
haven't you heard

I honestly feel
I need a break from the rhyme
Before madness sets in
and sanity takes a hike
If you'd use your eyes
I'm sure you would see
That all you think of
these days is poetry

PS.
Dear Mind,
could you see things my way
is that to much to ask
just for one day...
 Nov 2013 Emma
Circa 1994
I like him for his smile
and the way it has a way of traveling throughout his whole body.
And his eyes
like two hypnotic mood rings
that glisten with unspoken promises.

Maybe it's the way
he laughs
and I feel as though my heart is pinched
between his thumb and forefinger.

Maybe I love all the bits of you.
*Even the ones you didn't think I knew.
I do.
 Nov 2013 Emma
Schanzé
I Miss You
 Nov 2013 Emma
Schanzé
Its mornings like this,
when I wake up and the skies are black,
when the rain streams from the sky and thunder shakes the earth,
that I feel the heart wrenching ache of loneliness.

I miss the arms that used to snake around my waist at 3:30 in the morning after a terrifying nightmare
and the warm body that pressed snugly into mine during winter.

How you would lean into my neck
breathe me in like a summer wine,
and then sigh.
I miss the tear that occasionally fell to my cheek from your eyes,
when the thought of losing me crossed your mind.

How your fingers would suddenly intertwine with mine at the strangest of times
and you would look at me, not a word was uttered,
you said it all with your eyes.

The way you held me when we kissed,
the way you played with my hair,
the taste of your smile,
your sea green eyes,
your laugh,
the feel of your skin.

Your heartbeat in synchronization with mine.

I miss the colour in my life, the colour of you.
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