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What You Think

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Photo credit: weheartit.com

Photo credit: weheartit.com

Love is in remembering,

you think.

It is about

the way that he looked

at you when he

left you standing

on the edge

of the doorway

as your weight shifted

back and forth

on your tip toes.

As though you were

trying to make yourself

seem taller in his presence.

You thought that meant

he lifted you.

But really

he naturally made you

feel smaller.

You kept reaching

for his gaze to last longer.

You remember his eyes

because you made yourself

trust them.

You can’t admit

that your own eyes

failed you.

Or that he failed you.

Because you are

still waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

The Next Phase

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The Next Phase

The Idea of Feeling

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Photo credit: www.pen.org

Photo credit: http://www.pen.org

The sky is lighting up

and I am not

sitting with you,

watching with you,

and watching you

watch.

I am not feeling

the graze

of your arm, your gaze,

the energy of the night,

the idea of the exploding

colors and the sulfur smell

and screaming children

and obnoxious teenagers 

yelling “KABOOM!”

But now I close my eyes

and feel the cool sand

wrapped around our toes

as we kick our sandals

to the side of the rocks

and we smile and

a breeze comes.

To Be New

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(RIP Robin Williams, and prayers and thoughts to those who struggle with depression and thoughts of suicide.)
******************
Don’t touch me,
moon.
You spread yourself
down my stairs
like a rug
and draw a shadow
of the window
on the hardwood
floor of my hallway.
Stop that.
Go home.
Keep your body
to yourself.
I don’t want to be
seen by you.
I don’t want to feel
your cratered
streetlight
on my feet.
Don’t look at me
like that.
You don’t belong here
and you know
I don’t either.
What does it feel like
to be new?
To be full?
I only know
what it feels like
to be half.
To be three quarters.
But I envy you,
for being able
to be encased in
darkness and for it
to effect no one.
I will never be
like you.
My next phase
is one that will
become another
crater, and
will cast
another light.
And for this
I am truly sorry.

 

Days, Weeks, Months

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Photo credit: laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

Photo credit: laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

The silence of waiting

sits deep inside me

on a bottom shelf,

dust covered

and not well

put together.

The screws are

stripped and nothing

is lined up.

Anything that is

on the shelf is in danger

of collapsing and

breaking its sense

of worth.

But if something stays

just long enough

for someone to pick

it up,

then the rest

will align.

 

Dark, Locked, and Empty

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Photo credit: freelanceflaneur.blogspot.com

Photo credit: freelanceflaneur.blogspot.com

I want to

hear your typewriter

clack and see

the streams of light

out your door

spill out like

a river

and to watch you

search for

papers and sort

through books

and piles

and laugh

at your remarks

and stories and

expressions.

But your office

door is shut

and my note is

still taped by

the doorknob.

Dark, locked,

and empty–

it doesn’t look

like any place

you’ve ever touched.

But I remember

who I used to be

and how I used to

feel and how you

have touched my

life and how

I was that room.

I was that room

and you will

come back.

 

 

The Big 1-0-0-0

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Warning: This is not a poem.

Though, I suppose we can pretend it is.

A poem, in a way, is a celebration of feelings, no matter what they are.  (Though, that is very arguable.)

But, I digress.

Here is my celebration–Well, our celebration.

Recently this blog has reached 1,000 followers.  Imagine that– The big 1-0-0-0!

I started this blog last year, and never thought anything would ever come out of it.  I’d post a poem, stare at the screen, and press a few buttons.  Then I declared it would become nothing.  The next day I did the same thing.  Except, instead of posting one poem, I posted, like 10.  In one day.  Then I really stared at the screen and said, “Now what?”

I stopped posting for four months.  What is the point, anyway?  No one will read my poems.  I’m really not that good.  I have no idea how to even use Word Press and it is a miracle I could even get the “Note Pad” theme or whatever.

I didn’t even bother putting up an About Me.  Because who cares, really?  It’s funny how when I started blogging I felt the same as I did in high school.  Unimportant, overwhelmed, and filled with unspoken words.

Okay, so how did the blog go from that to what it is now?

Well, summer has the tendency to change me.  I try new things.  Tie up loose ends.  Explore what went wrong with projects and people.

I posted a poem on July 20th, 2013.  It was a poem that I had written for a non-fiction “coming of age” poetry contest.  I was just trying to give this blog one more chance.  I thought it deserved that at least, like many people do.

On July 21st, just the next day, I received the infamous email that changed everything.  You know how people say: “Then it happened” ?  Well, this was my “it”.  My poem, “That Night on the Phone”, was Freshly Pressed.  Freshly what?  I was SO confused.  At first I thought I was in trouble.  I thought this was a bad thing. Was my poem reported?  Flagged?  It only started to make since when the comments came flooding in.

PEOPLE! Actual people are reading my poem.  And the things they were saying?  Wow, just, wow.  My phone never stopped buzzing from Word Press notifications all day.  No, seriously.  It. Never. Stopped.

300+ followers is not the only thing that I gained from this.  I gained confidence, motivation, and an abundance of inspiration.  I continued to add, build, write, and work with my blog.  Once I learned that people listen, I cleared my throat.  I needed to keep going.  I had a lot more to say.

But then there was the silence.  The silence I was basking in back when I started.  The buzz simmered down.  I slowly stopped getting comments, likes, and views.  That visible decline in the stats was physically crippling.  Is this it for me now?  Was that all just a phase?  A fluke?

Encouragement is a powerful force.  My friends and family gave that to me, despite my reluctance to keep posting.  I pictured my poems falling in to a black void.  Why are voids usually black?  Why can’t they be green, or like, orange?  Something colorful.

I kept pressing buttons, hoping that something would happen.  I discovered other blogs, interacted with other people, and made friends.  I never considered how much blogging really connects people.  And this was my key.

I was doing everything I could to build up my resume and credentials in the meantime.  I sent poems out to magazines and journals, and was very lucky to be mentored by two of my Creative Writing college professors.  Now I had a Publication page.

I kept switching things around, edited my dreaded About Me 25+ times (literally), and played around with many different “Widgets”.  I made a consistent posting schedule, starting including pictures, made a professional Facebook Page, and never stopped.

Like most things in life, it was a slow build up.  One year later, here I am:  1,000+ followers, I have a book, a list of publications, a Pushcart Prize nomination, and strong bonds with my friends and mentors who have helped me along the way.  Now what’s next for me?  Same as always.  I am going to keep going.  And you should too.  With everything.

If it wasn’t for all of you, I would not have this.  So thank you, thank you, thank you–from the bottom, top, and middle of my heart.

Love always,

Emily Pineau

 

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