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blogspotlightEvery once in a while, if you’re lucky, you will really be staggered by a poem. You won’t be distracted by work, the kids, the dog, your own existence. That poem will make love to your mind until you’re left aching for more.  This poem is that for me.

Emily writes great poetry, but this poem is from a place in her that most of us could only dream of having. If you don’t take 5 minutes to read it, you certainly don’t deserve it. Sorry, but it’s the truth.

Poet Girl Em

prone cold on forest floor buried
in a ratted nest of torn pages

crumpled, tossed
in bloody autumn shades of pain

stale air hushes
— gusts the death of words

arboretum canopy covers
tucked in a winter wild with chaos

fabric shreds hang off limbs
dirtied hiding from time’s abuse

fucked by wealth of words
— errantly used

stung by false love
crash-and-burned

reaching out a hand
a skeleton in thin skin

picking out refrains
from rotting teeth

spitting out prose
that failed

bonfire wails
of voices killed

from inside
spilled

~ Emily C.

2.22.17

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