She drives in silence, finally able to think without the noise of persistent voices Listens to the music pouring from loud speakers into her mind, penetrating her heart Aware of the tears building momentum, unable to stop their needed release Feeling the melodic lull of loneliness no ending within her sight. Emily C. Poésie ©…


Opening her oldest wounds feelings of uncertainty always looming seeking confirmation of another leaving so she doesn’t have to take the blame; regardless of her deflecting underneath the pain and anxious worry she knows she is the the one that leaves justified by leavers that made her bleed. Emily C. Poésie © 2019


When will I believe he loves me? After each test is passed and new ones created to double check? When will I believe I love me? After doubt is a distant memory and the urge to self-harm is repressed? My war displayed in two living beings. Mirrored, dueling flames. Emily C. Poésie © 2019 Image:…


I opened them again the wounds of my past hovering in the present dictating the future as much as I wish I didn’t paint the picture of an abandoned lost girl I suppose I did See me clearly feel my warmth hope for new love that won’t stray at the sign of a scary thought…


I may be dramatic, but I know men, I’ve seen each mask, revealed hidden secrets through pure intuition, attuned to the constant possibility that I am not loved or wanted for all pieces of me, just the part that provides intrigue and passion for bored hearts. Emily C. Poésie © 2018


pen to paper, thoughts are swirling, would be whirlpools to the depths lifejacket useless in this wind, the current pulls, attempts to swim my body wishes sweet surrender, take me now or leave forever, I cannot feel the pain of thoughts, true or false, it matters not I wish I could feel others’ love, but…


Restless sleep, bone dry, a stranger in my bed, nightmarish gloom, voices mumble words I no longer understand; Lack of fear, when temperance is vital, my teeth fall out, a void is left, I search missing pieces of a puzzle I’m not sure even still exists; Abrasive to disguise my sorrow, hoped for healing, distant…

The Melancholy Spitfire

When I started blogging in 2011, my first blog title was ‘The Melancholy Spitfire’. I didn’t write much on that blog, and took a long break after deleting it. I regret that I did, I had some good entries there, now lost forever. When I mustered up the courage to start another blog, I named…


She pretends she knows how to be in love again, knowing what the last time was like, an emptiness, thinking of what could’ve been, years wasted with hopes of renewed love, attempts, endless, new prospects, dimming with the fading sun. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 Photo Credit


Feather pillows, blissful sleep, dreams where words never cease, seen in the skies within her mind, limitless, flowing truth. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 inpoems 567 guide phrases: the feather became a pen we knew the sky in a word Photo Credit