Too Young To: 2013

Friday, May 24, 2013

Real Talk

A Letter or Two

Dear Self: I thought you said

you knew better.

i’ve decided to write you for the purpose

of mending the bones I broke

in attempt to make you stronger. 

it's my job to look out for you;

so I guess we should get to know each other. 

p.s. - you’re doing well.

and your hair looks healthy

and your smile looks genuine.

Dear you: I hope with all my heart

that you can remove the hatchets

buried into your ego,

and throw them into an ocean

with a depth

as questionable as your

sanity. 

I love you every day,

but each time you choose

liquor and nights away from us

over the conversations we keep

trying to have,

you become less and less easy 

to forgive.

Dear old friend: you never did understand

the way I could not stop saying ‘i love you’

every time I saw you.

you'd say the words lose their meaning

if you say them too often;

but what if i meant it,

every single time?

what if each time i meant it

more and more

than the time before;

what if saying it often

was the only thing reminding me

that it was true.  

Oh god, I hope it's true

sincerely,

Emma

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Bad Bad Love

i dreamt
of words on lips
lips on skin
skin on selves
and happiness in breath.

when i woke
i forgot to remind myself
that it was a dream
and began living each day
as if i were loved.

I Remember

I remember all too clearly skipping down the streets of Paris.

I was so obviously loud, and so obviously American.. I remember a group of locals taking pictures of me from across the street,

and after that, I kept my voice down.

I remember that rainy night, walking with linked arms,

and laughing at the little things.

Laughing at all our worries, because they we're 5,000 miles West of us.

The lights reflecting on the wet cobblestone were almost as beautiful as the men passing by us.

We'd make audible comments about them, because we knew they couldn't understand anyways.

And I remember more than anything, how well I slept in Paris.

You suggested it was the jet lag, but I think I believe it was something different entirely.

There was something ethereal about sleeping with the windows open

I guess it was a mixture of the falling rain, and the party across the way

Warm light came in through the open window, almost as warm as the faint laughter

and music.

I drifted off to it every night, and haven't slept the same since Paris

Sometimes i feel like I haven't slept at all since Paris.

(me, Paris)

Don’t expect your fingers to be able to detect the dull heartbeat and don’t expect your hands to color her gray and brittle skin.

Don’t expect human decency, because just as you expect your coffee to jolt awake your senses, it will instead just burn your tongue.

Instructions: How to Murder Somebody

According to google,

the fastest, most efficient way is to kill a person is to break their neck

according to my grandpa,

it's to grab a rifle and aim for the left quadrant of their chest

But i'm most certain of a way that will surely knock them out.

It won't be fast, it will be slow, and long, and agonizing

But it's very simple, so listen closely:

Tell them you love them,

and never talk to them again.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Dialogue

"And then it hits me: You are smiling, you are laughing, you are happy. But it's not because of me."

"See you tomorrow?"

"No."

Friday, May 10, 2013

Perspective

“Do not fall in love with people like me

we will take you to
museums and parks
and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth”

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

BLACKOUT

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Definite Daydream

Friday, April 26, 2013

SIXERS

Six 6'ers
1. So Good at Being in Trouble
2. Nothing Pro found, Just Sat Around
3. I Want to Hold Your Hand
4. Under The Table, And Dreaming
5. Now Our Lives Are Changing Fast
6. Over the Hills and Far Away

One Night Stand

walked down the strip of lights,

lonely people talking outside

of dance clubs and Irish pubs

Thursday, April 25, 2013

One Liner

The only love letters I can write, are those to cities

and all I really remember of Lido Di Jesolo is the sunroof in the hotel, climbing out,

the city lights on the right, and the ocean to the left.

Singing into our blow dryers, delirious from the Triazolam.

Racing each other to the beach at midnight. I stopped running so I could look up at the moon.

Seeing who could hang upside down from the bunk beds the longest.

I still have a photo of me jumping up and down on that yellow velvet ottoman, although I don't fully remember doing it.

Every moment spent there, was lovely and bewitching, yet accelerated and abrupt

For everything that's lovely is but a brief, dreamy, kind of delight.

And before I knew it, we were speeding away,

and the Italian Riviera became just another place to write love letters to

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

The Hottest Night of Summer

How All Of My "Someone Else's" End

Vicariousness

I'm laughing because i'm me, and you're you.
And the contrast is so striking that I can't help but find it amusing,
in a sad way.
Vicariousness.
My love life seems to be just a series
of being "happy" for the people
I wish loved me.
The pictures in my head seldom correspond with what's in front of my face.
Even when i'm out of my mind,
slurring my speech,
you find a way in, and you dominate my thoughts,
then break my spirits

"I was hopelessly boring, and he was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and he was a hurricane."