emspoemvault

[emspoemvault]

1 less drafted post.. 9 drafted poems left … aooughhg…

[emspoemvault]

together we drift apart

poem under the cut!

you drag me by the ankles

deep down into the pool

one moment we were playing,

the next, you dipped your head down

just to drown us two

your back faces me as you drown me

under the erratic tides,

their enclosure in tiles,

and oh, if it isn’t gorgeous,

the subtle clinical intimacy

of gasping and choking for air.

I blush blue, so do you

I’m shy, I can’t die if you’re looking,

so you won’t look me in the eye

undecipherable is the way your limbs,

curving about my neck,

they twist and stretch and decrepitate.

your whispered justifications come out in bubbles

rushing heaven-wards faster than I can reach

I catch a tiny one within my fist

hold it close and dear

release it into my ear, to hear

i notice it holds one smallest word,

but I can’t hear it.

and so, my ears fill with water,

as I instead hold a smaller hope

that it was, just perhaps

the goodbye you never honored me

well, this is mine.

and the sky is now clear,

and the white blinding lights

sing gospels that reach me, only wavy and distorted

as I sink,

or float?

all under true blue

sea of stars under an ocean of chlorine

muscles distend, your limbs untwist

we’re dead to be, and mindless litter

I see your mocking smile,

I wonder if you have tears to dissolve

into pool of the likes of it

as vast as a pool can be,

[emspoemvault]

i have so many poems in my drafts but theyre all so ass.. ouughh…

[emspoemvault]

your breath smells perpetually of rot and blueberry-bullshit, and I finally admit to myself your laugh is mildly annoying (the admission feels like a hug)

this is also kind of like a continuation to the last poem i posted that was titled like “sort of like an overly biased art critic…”(i forgot the rest it was too long) but its not necessary to read it to get this one theyre just abt the same situation

(poem under the cut)

you spew healing outwards,

but I know the black rot behind your teeth

and your twisted smile

I’ve tasted that spit before

I know of the blood sitting in your glands

it reeks of decay

and I know you hate me for locking you away

perhaps we’d be happier

if you kept your disdain with shame

skin to clear air out you’re fine,

so am I

but I know that you think of me,

late at night, in the bedroom whose window you kept open to clear out the air

and through whose lips our conversations slipped out under the stars,

and I know you think of me

when no one but the gentle cold

the moon drags in

to your spine and mine, crooked

like a wave to the naked shore

and your oh so very own

personal, ever-satisfying virgin-whore

can lick your wounds

I’ve always wondered if you hated me

but kept me like a secret under your bed

inside of a tight-locked jar

because I knew my words,

and you liked my fuck

but who is to worry about that now?

the next hardly-a-teen you’ll acid-melt inside out

the years are after you

I dropped you in the middle of the ocean

and it was murder, maybe

and I don’t want to pretend I hope you don’t drown

you can swim, but the lights you stole

weight down at your ankles

I made sure of it

my guilts, I pluck them out one by one,

like I’ve been stabbed by your spine

I hope we both die

alone, like we deserve

i vow to think of you when I take my last breath,

coccooned in the core of the earth

while you’re dissolved by the tides

I hope they tear you like you tore me apart

[emspoemvault]

CW mild gore implications, kind of explicit. mention of suicide, though metaphorical

sort of like an overly biased art critic, i tried to draw out the love in my eyes when you made me look at the blood splatter paintings on yr bedroom wall, courtesy of ur razorblade for a brush & petroleum acrylic limbs or whatever

(poem under the cut!)

It is oh so predictable of me,

unintelligent to fall for it

yet I’m seething with anger

at the way you paint me;

you swear you’re better than ever

yet I saw you begging—

put down the paintbrush you grip

in those sweaty, bony, trembling hands

which you kept close to my crooks

to then shamefully hide upon prying eyes—

stop painting me, and take instead my seat

become the muse of your mirror, and tell me:

Do you truly believe,

it didn’t hurt me?

I stabbed you with a double edged sword

a mercy kill,

the blade left your stabbing wound,

but it’s stuck in my hands;

your blood dried off, but mine keeps pouring

I know what you thought of it—

of all the affection you hide, but beg for

when you want me to water your plant;

it craves for the salt in my tears when you need the pity,

or the moist, greenhouse warmth of my inner side

as long as we keep down the lights,

and my body glitter and your teeth remain the only aftermath

and when I bled, no I didn’t

that’s not the job of a mannequin,

that’s not the job of a whore,

that’s not the job of a mother,

enough spit dissolves the blood

but the metal lingers on your lips

I am your haunting to keep.

It is— was prisonary

you made me afraid to sleep,

I was your guardian angel

you made me afraid to sleep

I kept you alive all these years,

but corpses float in the water,

your lifeboat finally realizes

as she sinks into the sea;

it took her a suicide to be free

[emspoemvault]

[CW: vaguely mentioned/implied sexual violence!!!!!]

Please please please put a paper bag on my head and close your eyes and turn off the lights and don’t look at me when you tell me I’m pretty

(poem under the cut)

I held my breath

dropped to my knees to escape

the smoke that tantrums spirals in the air

I lift my shirt, safety-net my airways

to clear out the air I breathe

yet your eyes burn a hole through the exposed

that small nibble of skin on my abdomen

you’ve seen me more than just that glimpse

but you’re into the clandestine of it

your hand on the back of my head

shoves, presses down

if I don’t open my mouth

you won’t stop until I shatter on the ground

part your knees to make room

for my skull fragments sprawled across below

for you’re into the violent of it

the blood beneath your soles and fingernails

it gets you off

I’m just lucky to be wringed, slit and drained

I’m just lucky to be the dried blood

that scales in splatters

for you’re into the forceful of it

the degrading of it

you’re into the tyrannical of it

all I can do is let you dig the dagger in

cut me open like a pig at the slaughter,

tactical vertical incision,

you hang me upside-down, tied at my ankles

just please hurry up, and take what you want

and do it in silence, if you have to touch me

I’m just lucky you keep me

even if just beneath your soles and fingernails

and I’m emptier every time

hoping that the next time you rip me apart

and dig your claws into the cut to carve out my guts

I’ll be a full girl

the way I’ve never been

but you’ve taken all of me

I scale in splatters

you keep all of me

beneath your soles and fingernails

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

[emspoemvault]

microplastics

(poem under the cut)

stole the stars from deep underground

I crush them into fine dust

spill and sneak it into our blood

it does nothing but glitter loud

and it rushes into the mind

obstructs and twists the cables

and it does nothing but glitter loud

I built an empire with the stars

I stole from deep underground

I made a big castle

and a thousand houses— not homes,

I place a living beating heart

fleshy, bleeding onto the chair

plastic painted like wood,

I sold them an empty core

and snuck stars into their blood

they do nothing but glitter loud

they eat the stars

dress in the stars

live in the stars

pay for the stars

using more stars

they’re in their blood, and glitter so loud

you can barely make out

any other sound

stole the stars from deep underground

now we’re back to dust

on their spot now we rot

soon we’ll glitter loud

[emspoemvault]

cw i dont even know at this point. slightly subtly gorey implications but not even

“I am hopelessly addicted to LED lights and the impending doom of all the knowledge in the world resting on the small radiation box in my hand behind a thousand paywalls and curated by machines”

(poem under the cut)

I’m running out of chances

the machine they built,

it works its engines flawlessly

I’m tossed inside and they suck me in

I’m shredded to a paste with the flip of a switch

save my eyes and my fingertip

burn the rest, I don’t need it

you can feed it to the pigs

lubricate the cogs with what is left of me

the ultimate consumer is all i hope to be

—

tell me all your humanities so I can

brand your brain

encapsulate it;

sell it back at you,

and spoon-feed you the idea that

you’re just oh so worthless without me

and computer-made humanity is

just so alive

and so smart

smarter than you

and it’s so alive

so fucking alive

we’re building God

and it’s so good,

and so cheap

and alive

you’re fuel for the fire of progress

you’re burning in the name of progress

watch me dry you out,

and wither you away,

lick the plate,

you want it again

we’re building God

you’ll never make it out

spend all you got

always hate yourself

it’s easier if you all hate yourselves

we’re building God, and He’ll build us hell

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

[emspoemvault]

being skinned alive never felt this sexy!

(poem under the cut) (this one’s in spanish! tried to translate it but it just wasn’t accurate and it pissed me off)

el corsetado de mi espalda se abre, se desprende

y me siento roja salpicando respirar

mis rodillas buscan el cielo;

una, dos, afuera

tomo mi piel y la doblo con cuidado

por la mitad, descansa en la soga

uno, dos broches la sostienen en alto allí

y me veo sin relleno colgada frente a mi

roja salpicando puedo respirar

a veces quisiera desprenderme de mi

la dicotomía de ser o no ser no me guarda

no hay algo más?

un descanso de ser humana, quizás

me veo sin relleno colgada frente a mi

roja salpicando puedo respirar

cual soy yo?

cielo arriba; infierno abajo

mujer arriba; carne abajo

vino y pan

hay un limbo?

cual soy yo?

un descanso de ser humana

me veo sin relleno colgada frente a mi

roja salpicando puedo respirar

[emspoemvault]

CW: not sure, actually. dysphoria maybe. just overall feelings of insufficientness

an inherent sense of softness and painfully platonic bathroom makeouts

(poem under the cut)

1.70, rectangular but not enough

cover with lose fabrics but they still shade in the sun

says there’s something in my eyes that is just too soft

says I’m different than them ‘cause i’m just…

she says I’m just— what is it about me?, well, I’m just…

safer

sorry I’m nobody’s son

sorry I’m nobody’s son

you’d like me if I was just a fuck

but I’m too “she” for a lover;

too “her” for forever

even if I got it all right

I would still be nobody’s son

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

[emspoemvault]

CW: suicide

“I have this really weird thing with the idea of wasting;”

(poem under the cut)

I can’t find beautiful words for this feeling

I think I just need to die

I think I fucked up my chances

The woman I was to become

took a train that left a long time ago

I think I just need to die

I’m too old

I think I was too old from the start

I think I had all the youth in the world

but I kept wasting time

but I think it was a choice

I did it awake and aware

I took every step towards hell

I did it awake and aware

hoping for a safe exit every time

I think I just need to die

I think my ruin was a choice

and I can’t find beautiful words for this feeling

I think I just need a restart

I think I just need a manual

I think I just need a warning

I think I just need understanding

I think I just need a punch to the face

I think i just need an exit

I think I just need a break

I think i just need a hug

I think I just need to die

I think I fucked up my chances

[emspoemvault]

okay i've decided that instead of putting a cw and stuff on each individual post im just gonna do one big intro post

hi, this is my poetry side blog. i originally made this to keep my poems in a place where I could access them anytime after selling my phone because the stuff in my notes app did not transfer the poems when i changed phones. I ended up not selling the phone bc i no longer needed the money.

That's also my half assed justification on why everything in this account is a bit rudimentary.

i suffer from a few mental health issues i will not specify; this is important to disclose here is because these things definitely influence my art, which also means that of course the poetry you'll see here is very personal, mostly on the gloomier side, and very straightforward about these things, also. If you're vulnerable to that sort of content, do not interact, I don't want nor do I intend to do any harm with this account. The poems will also have the appropiate CW/TWs, and i’ll gladly add new ones if needed.

i also would like to clarify that I am not at ALL a good poet or a good writer; I make grammar mistakes and typos and my poems are at times corny or just. not well written. idgaf

im also not posting these to get any kind of attention from them or claiming that my shit is good.this was literally so i could keep them somewhere in a way that was faster and more convenient than just emailing them individually to myself or taking pictures that could easily be lost

im nit even putting tags or anything in this or any of my other posts, so if u find it its fate or maybe you asked me on my main and i gave it to u

this account is closer to a secret journal hidden unlabeled in a huge library than it is to a proper poetry account. i dont care much to keep it updated properly or to make it pretty and I don't really expect people to find it or find interest in it

thats all i think

thanks for reading! have a beautiful day

[emspoemvault]

its a bit silly to think i did all this just to end up not selling 6he fucking phone .......

[emspoemvault]

CW: foul language i guess

Daughter to a Dick

(poem under the cut)

what separates the girl from the hare?

what separates the deer from the son?

how different am I to the prey?

how much can you sell me for?

what is a daughter to a dick?

how little is a woman worth,

to the ego of a man?

my open eyes search for a semblance of mercy

I'm nothing under the edge of an axe

in his gaze I find his paralysis

and nothing scares me more than

the fear of a cub,

in the body of a bomb

tell me,

what is a daughter to a cock?

he looks up at the lion and drools at its claws;

gets off as the curse's flesh is torn

a baby girl's cries echo through the hall

how much can he sell them for?

a tingle in the back of his throat

tell me, father, please

what is a daughter to a dick?

[emspoemvault]

cw: religious trauma!!

I bled out in the shape of the cathedral where you last killed me

(poem under the cut)

an empty room

is my room

my God is gone

all alone all along

the absence of holiness

His celestial abandonment

and my martyrial freedom

depressive dependence

I claw at the walls besides an open door

nothing warmer than bleeding out on the floor

I cower, I shrink and shrivel

I hide in the corner He haunted

I twist and I shatter

bones are puzzle pieces

fit into His 90 degrees

flesh fills the void

of love that burnt

my nape with those eyes;

sentence me to die

and I miss Him sometimes

and all he left behind

is the empty room in my room

and my God is gone

am I no longer worthy of the shackles?

have you lost all hope in me?

I have

why don't you threaten me?

who am I if not your lifeline?

I cry

a cross is a wound

an open, bleeding wound

and a rosary is chain

please burn me again

there's no one outside

of my empty room

who can make me feel love

more than a wound

more than a chain

[emspoemvault]

not sure what CW applies to this but i'd say this could classify as maybe 13+, so yeah

"That's someone's daughter"

(poem under the cut)

Stayed up late last night

Enjoying the feeling of being sexualized

Morbid, misogynistic, self-loathing pleasure of being just what you can bite

And when you could no longer eat me away

And I bruised— bordeaux teeth marks; inner side of what should've carried me far away

when I first saw the preying gaze

I did a disgraceful bow goodbye and crawled off display

you cannot polish on the outside what's rotting on the inside

you cannot make me pure

I am no better than the dirtiest swine

I leave traces of oily hair behind

if you rip me open

maggots and sharp teeth are all you'll find

stayed up awake another night

looking for a way to be sexualized

Morbid, misogynistic, self-loathing pleasure of being just what you can bite

And when I was left with no one to sink

And they didn't gnaw away the rust

I laid on the pavement clutching the soul I couldn't throw

I stripped naked on the street, ripped off my skin

danced wearing nothing but my bones

does it turn you on?

does it turn you on when you can see my bones?

I ripped the moon off my neck and I cried

I ripped the moon off my neck and I cried

And you know I hate you when you look me in the eye

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

[emspoemvault]

Silver flowers on glass

the water inside the window

from the steam of drunken laughter

trickles down in the shape

of glistening silver flowers

with the brief embrace of the pale white lights

in the cold emptiness of the desert night

(this is the picture I wrote the poem abt btw. I was in a bus late at night for an end-of-high school-trip with my class, everyone was a bit drunk and it was hot as fuck in there bc of the crowding and also the AC of the bus itself and the windows were like steamy —I doubt that's the correct word for it— from idk the people in there and i was like Wait thats so pretty) (it really wasnt)