emmett-is-a-bad-poet

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

Are you going to watch the new beetlejuice movie?

Hi- just saw this lol! No, I did not watch that movie. Tbh I don't really do movies much.

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

I'm stood in front of

my kitchen freezer

trying to make meatballs

for dinner tonight

& I can do nothing but

sob silently &

mourn their death,

& curse the world as the freezer chill hits my face,

& feel what's not-yet-numb of the deeply-rooted

ball of Rage & Fear

that dwells within me

Rise,

and I know one thing for certain:

That We Must Live

Because Their Chance To Was

Stolen.

An Ode to Nex Benedict, & Countless Others by Emmett

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

https://www.reddit.com/r/fatlogic/s/PMWOXHeIRt

How do you feel about having your lunacy harvested for the amusement of the normals?

Uh thanks for the notes I guess? But yall are absolutely disgusting and I truly cannot believe we are still cyberbullying in 2024... how embarrassing

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

I got a head start to my 2024 New Years Resolution: explore all of the parks in my town, and then as many others as I can. I am trying to write in every location too. Today the weather was beautiful and I needed a reset so it was perfect.

Today I went to Scalzi Park in Stamford, CT because my friend said she saw wheelchair access ramps and it was pretty great. There was only one spot that I couldn't access but if I had gone around the trail the opposite way it would have been fine (the lip was too high to get over going up but going down I could have cleared it).

This is the poem I wrote there:

I found joy today

in the squelch

of wet leaves

under my wheels.

I felt at peace with ducks

and the frogs

and with the sound of rushing water from last nights rain

and

-just for a moment-

I felt like I was gonna be okay.

The moment was fleeting,

but it was there.

And I was there.

And I felt the moisture from the leaves on my push rims

and decided that

I am gonna be okay,

even just for one moment,

as often as I can-

ideally with the ducks

and the frogs

and the sound of rushing water.

[Image Description 1: a photo of rushing water with trees on either side.]

[Image Description 2: a photo of 4 ducks in the water.]

[Image Description 3: a photo depicting a paved trail with a railing along the water.]

[Image Description 4: a photo of Emmett in a park seated in his purple wheelchair manual with multi-colored spokes. He is smiling at the camera.]

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

To the woman who sought refuge for over an hour in my store's bathroom:

I hope you are safe.

You saved the domestic violence hotline number as my name in your phone to masquerade help among the mundane

And for that, I am glad, because you at least have a chance.

The last woman who hid in my store later became a hostage in her home,

The crime scene where her body was located cleaned up all too quickly,

And her death framed as an accidental drug overdose

Even when the whole neighborhood knew it was her boyfriend.

I hope you are safe, because you could be her next.

And I could be her too-

I already once was you.

You deserve better. And so did She. And so did I.

You aren't the first, and you sadly won't be the last. Neither was She. Neither am I.

But for now at least,

I can only cross my fingers and hope you are okay, that it will all just be okay.

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

I see you in the charred remnants of ashy gas station logs

And I hear you on a distant radio

And I feel you when my lighter flame burns the tip of my thumb

And I smell you in May, when the ground is wet and the morning sky clear,

My dear,

You consume me.

Untitled by Emmett

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

I re-worked an old poem a bit and put both halves together in a video if yall want to watch (my other tiktok content is pretty good too lmao of you want to follow me)

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

Lately I have been collecting poetry lines like autographs scrawled on receipts and napkins or scribbled incorrectly at the end of my shopping list

And I have come to realize that I spent some of my best days completely oblivious to how important those moments would become

And now I find myself wondering which moments I experience now will be important later and I wonder if there is any significance of it all beyond my own skull and I wonder if one day someone will find my lost poetry lines littered on the street

Will they realize that the end and the middle appear the same once the beginning is over and that we are no better than our bloated blunt tips floating in an ash tray, making ourselves take up space for the first time and the last time

Maybe one day those lines will find homes in poems like I have found home the mundane joys around me and in chaos,

And maybe one day those lines will bring someone the same peace they have brought me

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

your father was a prophet

spreading the word of god 

with clenched fists and slammed doors

god may be filled with love for all, but the prophet contained only violence

he wrote prayers in ink-colored bruises on your mother's throat and he shamed sin with your sister's shattered ceramics

i don't know of any merciful god who would allow a prophet to judge as if he were god himself, but your father did anyways,

going as far as to try and ban me from your presence to prevent my faggotry from infecting you.

your father was a prophet,

a force to be reckoned with,

because the lord was on his side…

i wonder what happened.

your father was a prophet but after awhile his gospel strayed further and further from god's light,

leaving your whole house encapsulated in a darkness unmatched.

he built a home and a life for your family with his calloused, carpenter hands and he destroyed it too,

forcing us to duck and cover and cry and just wait for the rapture to end.

we were not chosen to ascend to the heavens, and neither was he.

your father was a prophet who spread the fear of god like a virus.

maybe he did it because he was sick, or maybe because he was afraid too. 

maybe he was right to be afraid.

your father was a prophet, but even prophets die someday.

i wonder if his god forgave him in the end, and i wonder if i should forgive him too.

but your father was a prophet,

i'm sure he was prepared to meet his maker and repent for all of eternity.

after all, he prophesied millions of gruesome ends-

one had to belong to him.

Your Father, Who Aren't In Heaven by Emmett

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

I turn the water on and closed my eyes. The whirring of the fan keeping me awake enough to blow the smoke from my blunt towards the fan and the flickering light.

Suddenly, I groan.

Or moan- I am not sure which.

I feel like I am being raped again.

My legs spread and body cold,

Blood rushing between my thighs no matter how hard I try and resist

But this time, I know the fingers that are deep inside me,

I am touching myself.

What I fantasize is so wrong,

But my God, the pressure within me is overwhelming

And then I go numb.

I am looking down on myself

Sitting in a cold bath,

My bruised opening burning

& blood diffusing in the bubbles

But my fingers keep moving furiously between my legs

And oh, I am cumming

And cumming

And cumming

And my God, cumming again.

And bleeding, bleeding

Oh Lord, I am bleeding

But it feels so good.

The bath water tints pink as the remnants of my orgasms send spasms through my pelvis,

I sigh and shiver, the water growing colder around me...

The heat from my ruined vagina the only source of warmth in the room.

I run my hand between my legs again and breathe deeply,

The words "I'm sorry" leave my lips as I dunk my head beneath the suds and plunge my fingers inside of myself once more,

Succumbing to absolute pleasure until my blood and the water become one

And I return to the earth,

Waking up under the cold water in a smoke-filled bathroom.

Masterbation Mutilation by Emmett

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

your grandmother gave you an eating disorder, not michelle obama😭 you smell like racism

How are you so close to getting the point of that poem and still so far omg

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

When I say that Michelle Obama gave me an eating disorder, I am not kidding.

Her “healthy eating” initiative in schools across the country acted as a gateway to body dysmorphia for me and probably millions of others, starting in the already uncomfortable moments in the elementary school cafeteria.

You see, my grandma is Thin.

She has always been thin, pretty, and privileged.

And she wanted me as her first granddaughter to be just like her-

Thin, Pretty, and Privileged.

I remember her shocked gasp in the Plus Size Girls section of our local JC Penney.

Back-to-school shopping was a misery, and she made it worse.

“That won’t flatter a girl your size” came out of her mouth so many times that it forever etched itself into my brain.

It was through shopping with her that I first learned to hate my body.

Then, Michelle Obama’s face was plastered all over my lunch room. The “Got Milk?” posters suddenly had company on the stained walls, and my lunch tray got much more pathetic.

If I ate what was given to me (or less), would I lose weight? 

I couldn’t even concentrate on eating most days between memorizing the food pyramid and calculating my BMI on the 7ft tall thermometer-style wall hanging.

I was 10 years old, and already in the red. Soon enough, I would get heart disease and diabetes and lung disease and then I would die from fatness.

Fat. 

I was fat.

I could challenge that a little easier when it was just my grandma and the Weight Watchers meeting host saying it, but how could First Lady Michelle Obama be wrong?

Even Wii Fit said I was morbidly obese no matter how many times I jogged with my Mii.

I may be bad at math, but keeping my calories under 1000 per day wasn’t too hard to track. Then it was 900. And 800. And 700. And 600. And then I stopped eating until I couldn’t anymore.

I stopped eating, but I did not get Thin like Michelle and my grandma. I stayed Fat.

And Fat was Bad.

So I started purging when I was 12, hoping that would be the hack that let me eat and still get skinny.

It did not work the way I had hoped.

Now, I am 23. I have permanent damage to my body from the years I abused it. My stomach no longer digests correctly, and my throat is scarred. I still panic when I eat.

And I am still Fat.

I wonder what Michelle Obama would think of me now…

Would she be proud of her contribution to my perpetual agony, or would she be disappointed that I never achieved Thin like my grandma?

Michelle’s Magic by Emmett

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

My blog has been restored!!

Yall!!! I got my blog back!!!

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

Hey folks... it seems that my main account @satanspersonal666 has been terminated by @staff ... I have no idea why, and I am destroyed about it. Please let me know if anyone knows of a way to get my content back, that blog was my diary for the last 10 years of my life.

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

Hey folks... it seems that my main account @satanspersonal666 has been terminated by @staff ... I have no idea why, and I am destroyed about it. Please let me know if anyone knows of a way to get my content back, that blog was my diary for the last 10 years of my life.

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

Hey folks... it seems that my main account @satanspersonal666 has been terminated by @staff ... I have no idea why, and I am destroyed about it. Please let me know if anyone knows of a way to get my content back, that blog was my diary for the last 10 years of my life.

[emmett-is-a-bad-poet]

Hey folks... it seems that my main account @satanspersonal666 has been terminated by @staff ... I have no idea why, and I am destroyed about it. Please let me know if anyone knows of a way to get my content back, that blog was my diary for the last 10 years of my life.