Emily Dickinson, From Her Poem Titled "1188," Featured In The Emergency Poet

“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”

— E.B. White

i was going through boxes of books and old clothes when i found the scarf you lent me.

we were going to the football and it was cold and i didn’t bring a jacket, so you lent me your scarf- your favourite team scarf.

how is it possible for a scarf to claw its way into my chest and stop my heart from beating? it’s not? well, it’s happening. it’s possible.

i almost forgot what it was like to be 16, and to love my best friend with my whole heart- my best friend who secretly loved me a little too much;

i almost forgot what it was like at 18 to kiss you in the dead of night and dismiss you in the morning;

i almost forgot how entwined we once were, how many libraries i could fill with every story and aching that passed between us.

staring at your scarf, now dusted by 10 years, i can’t think of anything else.

the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

a child’s disclosure

i took notes around the corner

from the chainsaw’s roar,

while the lock was wrenched off

by its teeth.

and i wrote about the fear,

and the tears,

and the injustice of it all.

no safe space to call—

not home,

not him.

i watched puffy eyes,

matted hair,

tremors—

and i thought and thought.

but all i could do was take notes

around the corner

from the chainsaw’s roar,

while the lock was wrenched off

by its teeth.

places i vape:

in public bathrooms

in airport corners

under my desk at work

beneath my hoodie

on mountaintops

on backyard chairs;

in my sleep, in my waking, in my dreams. beneath the clouds and the shadows. on the horizon and the stars and my aching soul.

(addiction presents as poetry, just ask bukowski)

the rules of mess, by lila kane

1. there must be no fewer than six items crowding your coffee table. at least two must be either:

a) an open packet

b) a hand cream or lip balm

c) any writing utensil

d) your phone, keys, or wallet

2. all laundry baskets must return to their natural state of overflow within ten business days of being emptied.

3. rubbish bins may only be emptied once no amount of tamping down will allow the lid to close.

4. forgotten miscellaneous items must collect themselves beneath beds, sofas, and cabinets.

5. dust may be permitted to accrue in all spaces containing knickknacks or trinkets. it may only be removed on a whim, or when the space is about to be used or observed by outsiders.

6. all neatly folded linens and towels must return to a haphazard state within twenty business days of straightening up.

7. cosmetics and personal care items may not remain in their assigned spaces for more than two uses, especially if you’re running late.

8. no more than fifty percent of books in the house may be read. at least four must be started then abandoned. at least five must remain free from shelving at any given time.

9. sheets may only be washed if:

a) bodily substances (such as blood or semen), or drinks like coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, have been spilled

b) you’re expecting an overnight guest

c) you can’t remember the last time they were washed, and the mood strikes to wash them

10. an excess of blankets and pillows must be present in at least two rooms. they may not remain aesthetically arranged for more than five business days.

she’s a faint star in a cluster;

your eyes need time to adjust to the dark

before you can spot her.

but then, you can’t miss her.

you’ll map her coordinates

and check in every night,

watch her rise and fall

throughout the seasons

and twinkle beyond wisps of cloud.

she’ll be one in millions, billions, trillions?

but she’ll be yours.

plopped into cool water, my manus flattens against the stone below as a bowl upturns like a dome above.

my marble eyes ring with the warning of moonlight, my skin glistens, slick with sage-

i peer at my greenhouse, pads reaching to press the convex glass, curiosity caressing my face-

but comfort follows me beneath the water, serenity tying me back to stone.

then steam clouds the cage; lids close off sight, then sound- suddenly, silenced, i muster one last croak. poetrycommunity

death by comfort // the boiling frog

i woke up at 4am to my cat throwing up beside me in bed. guess this is what married life looks like 😔