Comments Posted By Emma

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birdhouse

i was in the birdhouse this afternoon and a woodpecker said “hello” and i said “hey” and he was all “you be eating up on my cheese woman” it was rather hilarious but i was going to the movies that day to see a jean luc godard film and i didn’t have time for his nonsense! so i flew out of the birdhouse and swooped past the trees, bought some german ice cream and it was a weird pickle flavour, i enjoyed it though and it got me excited about visiting germany and eating their pickles.

» Posted By emma On 12.30.2009 @ 1:08 am

The birdhouse was all that remained of their time together. A little wooden structure, glazed over with memories, both good and bad. Sometimes, if she listened closely, she could hear these memories whispering quietly. But, as soon as she noticed, the sound would vanish into nothingness.

» Posted By Emma On 12.29.2009 @ 9:43 pm

clasp

I clasped his hand gently, afraid of opening my eyes, afraid of learning the truth. Enveloped in darkness, I sought the happiness that had evaded me all my life. But it was nowhere to be found.

» Posted By Emma On 12.28.2009 @ 9:30 pm

pumpkin

orange, halloween, jackolanterns. love someone. once upon a time

» Posted By Emma On 11.27.2009 @ 12:09 pm

mist

the word mist reminds me of twilight. all of the rain in portland oregon seems to be a mist. i spent half of this time backspacing… what a waste of life this is. mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist mist. mist mist mist.

» Posted By Emma On 09.29.2009 @ 9:48 pm

reveal

revealing is hard. There’s so much to say! Sometimes I open my mouth and the stuff sticks to my throat, and others it’s like I’m vomiting instead of talking. Usually, however, all the things I need to say don’t get said, and I have to turn and freaking walk away. Incredibly dissatisfying.

» Posted By Emma On 09.28.2009 @ 11:02 am

sugar

The sugar was white and weird. The ants took it away piece by piece, grain by grain. Mom didn’t really notice the sugar slowly disappearing, she didn’t really bake much. So, the ants were allowed to invade our kitchen.

» Posted By Emma On 11.15.2009 @ 2:42 pm

virtual

I like to listen to what other people

» Posted By emma On 11.13.2009 @ 3:01 pm

I like to listen to what other people

» Posted By emma On 11.13.2009 @ 3:00 pm

cone

“The pointy kind.” Sandra could never remember what the pointy cones were called, but she knew that pistachio ice cream went best with them.

» Posted By Emma On 11.12.2009 @ 3:06 pm

“The pointy kind.” Sandra could never remember what the pointy cones were called, but she knew that pistachio ice cream went best with them.

» Posted By Emma On 11.12.2009 @ 3:06 pm

an ice cream cone is a simple object, but one that makes so many children around the world smile each day. How can one simply object keep so many young minds in such a state of happiness, yet we cant find one single thing to keep each and every person happy without saying that it is our “differences” that make us unhappy and our unhappiness that leads us to war!

» Posted By Emma On 11.12.2009 @ 10:43 am

headband

It wasn’t beautiful. It was not a gift, a family heirloom, passed from generation to generation. It was not expensive, and had very little worth. It wasn’t colorful, or fashionable, or exciting. In all that it wasn’t, the headband was one thing. Her’s.
Just a headband, sure. But it traveled with her, through moves, and new schools, and new jobs, and new friends. Or the absence of friends.
From foster home to youth shelter, this headband was her’s.

» Posted By emma On 11.09.2009 @ 10:24 am

It wasn’t beautiful. It was not a gift, a family heirloom, passed from generation to generation. It was not expensive, and had very little worth. It wasn’t colorful, or fashionable, or exciting. In all that it wasn’t, the headband was one thing. Her’s.
Just a headband, sure. But it traveled with her, through moves, and new schools, and new jobs, and new friends. Or the absence of friends.
From foster home to youth shelter, this headband was her’s.

» Posted By emma On 11.09.2009 @ 10:23 am

It wasn’t beautiful. It was not a gift, a family heirloom, passed from generation to generation. It was not expensive, and had very little worth. It wasn’t colorful, or fashionable, or exciting. In all that it wasn’t, the headband was one thing. Her’s.
Just a headband, sure. But it traveled with her, through moves, and new schools, and new jobs, and new friends. Or the absence of friends.
From foster home to youth shelter, this headband was her’s.

» Posted By emma On 11.09.2009 @ 10:23 am

It wasn’t beautiful. It was not a gift, a family heirloom, passed from generation to generation. It was not expensive, and had very little worth. It wasn’t colorful, or fashionable, or exciting. In all that it wasn’t, the headband was one thing. Her’s.
Just a headband, sure. But it traveled with her, through moves, and new schools, and new jobs, and new friends. Or the absence of friends.
From foster home to youth shelter, this headband was her’s.

» Posted By emma On 11.09.2009 @ 10:23 am

towel

i got out of the shower, and i reached for my towel. as my hand reached to the left, it did not find what it expected to. instead of the soft warm white cloth i found the touch of another person. I screamed with shock. I looked over, and it was my mother. crying. She held out a pack of cigarettes and looked at me. just looked.

» Posted By emma On 11.07.2009 @ 8:58 pm

shield

a shield protects a warrior from getting hurt by the enemy. It is weilded with a sword as well to protect the body from flesh wounds. A shield is a necessity in times of war.
All warriors need oe

» Posted By emma On 11.04.2009 @ 1:04 pm

“Please”, she whisphered, teeth chattering. “Don’t do this to me, not here, not now.”

“Listen to me” I tried to be strong, to sooth her, to convince her it would be ok, she would be ok. It was hard to form the words I needed to get out, hard to make her believe I wanted to leave her, wanted to abandon her like this.

I couldn’t watch her struggle. I wanted, desperately, to turn away, not to have to sit, watching her pain, her sorrow, her confusion.

As I stood, the leaves crunching, dry beneath my shoes, I yearned to run to her, to wipe the tears that rolled down her cheeks, to wrap her in my arms, and sield her from the bitter cold. Instead, I turned. And left.

» Posted By emma On 11.04.2009 @ 10:32 am

identity

I often wonder if I was assigned the wrong identity by whatever power decides such things. I have never felt like who I am. Odd, that. But then, who the hell am I? And can I trade in this me for the right one?

» Posted By Emma On 11.03.2009 @ 9:35 pm

certain

How can I ever be certain? 100%. Positive.

I don’t know if I’ll ever know. There are so many choices, so many twists, adn turns. But I’m not so sure. I’m not sure it’s about being certain. I don’t think I have to know, for sure. Happiness doesn’t come in 100% or positive, it comes in sometimes, and laughter, and choices.

This is not a multiple choice test. I don’t know which bubble I’m supposed to fill in, in fact, my pencil is shading in more than one bubble. And I’m drawing way outside the lines, here.

And I don’t know. I’m not positive, or 100%. I don’t think I’m even 80%. There’s no answer key. I don’t even think there’s a grader.

I have to pick a college. I don’t have to be certain.

» Posted By emma On 11.03.2009 @ 6:46 am

amber

“Ready or not?”, Charlotte asked me, nudging me with a good luck jab. The lights were shining in my face, and I had to lift a hand to my eyebrows in order to see into the great beyond. I looked like I was saluting. Saluting who? Or, what, rather. Saluting the lights, I suppose. The lights shining in their beautiful hues, the deep purple, hot pink, and amber, blazing down and illuminating. There was no turning back now. It wasn’t that I was nervous, really. Just a little, excited, I guess. I took a deep breath, cracked a smile, and walked. I stood behind the velvet curtains, listening to the curtain speech, waiting. Anticipating. My heart was fluttering, a feeling I welcome, rather than despise. And, in one final glance at the amber, the pink, and the purple, I was ready. The applause began, the curtain opened, and I stood. “Ready” I whispered.

» Posted By emma On 11.02.2009 @ 10:17 am

spotlight

I am always in the spotlight. we are all in the spotlight of our lives. who can tell us when enough is enough… we are all living under the great spotlight that are our lives. why do we put ourselves through this? why? i miss the freedom of our spotlight-less lives.

» Posted By emma On 11.24.2009 @ 9:38 pm

stripes

The first time I held my baby, no tubes, no nurses, just us–he didn’t have a name yet. He was in a little onesie, the generic kind the hospital gave out to girls and boys, not pink, not blue, just stripes. He looked a little bit like a zebra, my zebra. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face or the salty tears from my cheeks. This zebra was all mine. And he sure was cute.

» Posted By Emma On 11.23.2009 @ 10:08 am

overflowing

The world is overflowing with bitterness, disgust, confusion. As if it’s not enough that we’re all at war, that war is made thrice as horrid by these random terrorists who decide it’s there right and their mssion from god to kill innocent people. Meanwhile the president stits in his office, overflowing with wealth, and soldiers die while he’s safe. really? get some help

» Posted By emma On 11.21.2009 @ 7:25 pm

weird

this weird feeling how i’m feeling… i want it to go, leave me alone but it won’t get out of my head… weird, how this happens, this weird feeling of weirdness in my head!

» Posted By Emma On 11.18.2009 @ 8:32 am

lane

A cold dusty lane lay at the end of Loretta’s street. It was barred off by a an ancient gate, and the was presumably a house on the other end. The land was barred in by a tall brick wall that went as far as the eye could see.

» Posted By Emma On 11.17.2009 @ 2:56 pm

lane, like a car lane. like the lanes on a highway, lanes that take us to places and people. dangerous at times, comforting, crowded at others. will we use them in the future?

» Posted By Emma On 11.17.2009 @ 12:01 pm

The community pool wasn’t as luxurious as the country club’s newly renevated “aquatic immersion facility”. Babies splashed in it’s luke-warm waters, and delapidated plastic chairs lined the rim. The lifeguards were not as attractive as the spray-tanned college students that worked at the country club, either. No nannies carted around J-crew-clad toddlers munching on gourmet chicken burgers and sipping mango acai smoothies, and no one recieved a pool-side cooling massage. The water filled the summer air with the scent of heavy chlorination, unlike the “organically-balanced” water at the country club. The lanes were divided by frayed rope and chipped plastic spheres. The sidewalks, baking in the hot sun, scorched the bare soles of swimmer’s feet, and tables, stained with drippings of melted popsicles and spilled lemonade, attracted swarms of bees.

It was, by far, not the greatest pool in town. But I spent my summer at the community pool. And I loved each and every moment of it.

» Posted By Emma On 11.17.2009 @ 10:21 am

we walked down a lane and saw five small birds. i liked these birds, and their chirping reminded me of Swedish poetry we read in Paris. once we finished with the birds, their dark feathers ony visible by moonlight, we came inside and fell in bed.

» Posted By emma On 11.16.2009 @ 11:52 pm

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