emaye96-blog
Emaye
Poet, Musican, Composer, Lover of 3 AM.
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Quote
I never learnt to be okay.
- Emaye
#sixwordstories#sixwordshort#poetry#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#spilled words#pain#quotes#my writing#poets on tumblr#writers on tumblr#writers#poem#thepoeticsir#thepoetryhive#thepoetwillbetelevised
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I don’t post because I’m afraid.
My mind.
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I love #haikus.
#haiku#daily haiku#my writing#writers#poetry#poem#poets on tumblr#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#notes#quotes#quoteoftheday
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Quote
I’m out of touch. I’m
Falling into a void where
My screams are silenced.
Emaye
#haiku#daily haiku#poetry#poets on tumblr#poem#my writing#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#writers#writers on tumblr#quotes#quoteoftheday
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Quote
Place me with your stars.
Draw your constellations with
Brush strokes of my love.
- Emaye
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I am afraid of
Becoming everything I
Used to be before.
- Emaye
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Teach me how to hate.
How to leave hearts in ruin
The way you left me.
- Emaye
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I want to be there
In your hallways of thought at
3 in the morning
Emaye
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I’m sorry I wasn’t what you needed.
Emaye
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Quote
I keep falling for you and trusting you to never tire of catching me.
- Emaye
#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#quotes#love#she#poetry#poem#poets on tumblr#my writing#writers#writers on tumblr
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Text
The Sound of Silence
Silence is the loudest sound. The harsh cut of a full stop rings painfully with discordant resonance. Silence allows us to be alone with our thoughts, our emotions. Silence, no matter the length, is loud. Think of the silence after the loss of a parent. The pain rings out before we answer the call with our screams. Think of the silence after a loved one screams at you. Their words are quick stabs and, although the knives are gone as quickly as the verbiage, as quickly as the sound cuts, the cuts and wounds of the knives remain for God knows how long. Think of the silence after you said you don't want me anymore. Think about the fact that the only sound I heard was my phone falling to the floor as my world fell with it. Think of the sound of my hair hitting the floor because I needed to cut something other than flesh. Think of the sound of me falling into oblivion because "love is not a John Green book." It was deafening. God it still is... I still hear your words echo through the silence. They still resound through my empty walls and echo through my deserted paper towns. And I only look strong from a distance. Up close you can see my cracks and my faults and see that, I just may be as broken as I claim to be, if you could hear me over the silence. If you could hear the words I scream through this wretched void of silence. If you could hear the sounds trapped behind the prisons of my fear. If only you could hear me scream... But the silence is louder than I am. And a shout into oblivion is just that. And screaming at the demons of my silence is the same as clawing my way out of hell every time I want to say that you hurt me. And I'm tired of clawing and I'm tired of cutting and I'm tired of falling apart. But I guess we need to fall apart before fall into place. Silence is the loudest sound. And I'd know because you never heard me above it. -Emaye
#my writing#writers#writers on tumblr#poetry#poem#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#poets on tumblr#poems#silence#save me#alone
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Coffee
She always loved coffee.
She loved the smell, that powerful aroma that demands attention.
She loved the way you could walk into a room and sense it.
How its aura around the room and seduces all present with its sultry, aromatic dance.
She called herself coffee, for she wanted nothing more but to be that.
The idea of being an acquired taste appealed to her; the concept that, over time, someone could come to love her.
She felt as though she often left a bitter taste in mouths and that people could not stomach her.
She felt as if she needed to water down who she was so that she fit in.
Day in and day out she tried to become more palatable but it had never struck her that some people just don’t like coffee.
She hated herself.
She hated herself.
She hated herself.
She placed the blame on her heart at first, until it hit her that the skin she was imprisoned in was the coffee that was too black to swallow.
She was sure that her blackness was hated, so she added her milk to fit in.
Her blackness was too disgusting, it was too bitter for anyone.
Her nappy hair and her skin tone made her unpalatable.
So she poured her milk that became straightened hair and poured her milk that became skin bleach.
She sacked the holy temple of her body because she felt herself a taste too strong to bear.
She was afraid.
Afraid of being what she loved.
Afraid of being what the world hates.
- Emaye
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Another day, another haiku.
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A haiku.
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Quote
"Self-confidence is
A trait that I've never quite
Seemed to acquire."
- Emaye
#haiku#my writing#writers#writers on tumblr#thepoetryhive#thepoeticunderground#poetry#words#spilled thoughts#spilled ink
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