Drawing on the train 1There are things I feel I need to draw...Drawing on the train 12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Writhing behind my eyes
Stuff them in my sketchbook
Bundle a larger bag
Scuffle into the carriage...
There are strong accents on the train today...
Bitter men bemoan another's bonus
Welsh inflection tries to crane past my cover
Shielding from smudges
Conductor cocks her head sideways...
There are sentiments I don't feel like discussing...
Why I am drawing a naked woman
With a neuron for her head
Feelings that in any revolution
Women really get shafted...
There is warm air rushing through a small opening...
Sending my hair streaming
Reminding me that despite
Summer's stifling layers
Alluro - Prologue and The BeginningAlluro - Prologue and The Beginning1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
© Emma Websdale
That moment, when every emotion has been strung out, every thought stretched to snapping, when your head is screaming and your chest is numb from the sick palpitations your heart has sputtered out. When you feel like you are made from the thinnest glass, likely to shatter into a million fragments of pent-up anxiety at any given moment. But do you show it? Of course you don't show it. Because doing so means revealing weakness and vulnerability. Being vulnerable in this game is a risk. A deadly one at that. Smile.
You pretend everything is okay on the outside,
Red EmberThis red ember burns so bright.Red Ember2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Give me you lifeless light.
Its smoke I breath, white.
Contrast on the night.
I walk aloneI walk alone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All I really wanted was more.
More of you,
not that cheap whore.
What are you thinking now,
as I tell you I know,
and you wrinkle your brow?
I may not be cupid
or a fortuneteller,
But i know you're playing stupid.
You think a little innocent lie can help you here,
you think the end surely isn't near.
I'll tell you once more,
I've found out you're nothing but a whore.
Where is he?
The one to hold me close,
the one my family approves,
the one I'm not emberassed to talk about?
He's surely not in you.
You're surely not mature.
My footsteps are alone,
one after another, after another, after another.
No support, but I don't