EllieMae

Such an unimportant thing, right? Hair doesn't matter. But, my hair grew with me as I healed.

A spoken word poem I wrote. Please follow along with the audio recording I have included :D

The difference between you and a poem is that poetry breaks me in ways I need to be broken. You broke me.

Recently, I wondered what I would say to you, if you ever apologize to me.

​When I remember that you would still love me tomorrow, even if I wasn't here, it makes me wait.

​The monkeys and bears and tears blur together. This poem is the theme of my next poetry novel.

​i got my dad's hair and my mother's hatred.

all I did was apologize for getting blood on her carpet.

This is my first attempt at a visual poem with pictures. It's not the best but I had fun making it!!

Sometimes tears are only tears. Sunsets are only sunsets. And my freckles are not a map of constellations that will help me find you again.

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? It wasn't me, it was only you, and an overwhelming amount of trust issues.

In a foreign country, you were the first one I met who spoke my language.

You made me cry and then yelled at me for crying.

My heartbeat became a symphony. You are my confidence.

You are willing to die for your own sins, and carry the cross of your enemies, and still you smile. Secretly, you cry.

My trauma made me traumatized and it gave me everything that I never wanted.

How far are you willing to go to be seen as beautiful?

They say a saint is a sinner who keeps on trying.

Beauty; pain; recovery. The coexistence of you and me, and yours and mine,

The loudness of your words is isolating, and decapitates my exclamation marks.

The souvenirs of your journey have only crafted your heart. And brought you deep enough into the waters of sorrow.

Their blood falls like tears, as they reflect on the stones they threw and the single sided battles they won.

Who am I and who are you?

Drowning only hurts until you stop fighting.

The humming of the sound machine sounds like the beach of my childhood.

A blackout/whiteout poem from an old letter I received.

I know, Wrong person, wrong time. But still, stars an audience to my tears.

I’ll try to make it up to you forever…

You are enough for my life, but not the life I want.

This is what I tell myself, so I don't feel guilty when I remember, that I don't know how to love you.

Short letters to unnamed friends, foes, and strangers who have impacted my life in some way, good or bad. Contains mentions of suicide.

Perhaps if you knew me better, you would hate me too.

I hope dying feels like being a child again, with no yesterday to regret and no tomorrow to hope for, no longer bound to my broken body.

How long will I wander, before I cast down my coins?

There is a place for you, where all wild things go, Someday you will join the earth, entering your home.

If I babysat my younger self, what would I do?

A visual version of my poem for my cat