Emily Dill

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Stillness.

September 23, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

That’s when you said to be still
That’s when my heart stopped beating
That’s when I knew
Something happened in you
And I could feel the warmth retreating.

There’s something you needed me to know, you sighed
There’s something to get off your chest
And there’s something inside
I’m certain just died
And will never awake from its rest.

This isn’t a good time, you say
This isn’t what you need right now
So this isn’t my heart
Ripping apart
Or my pulse taking a final bow.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poem, poetry, writing

Memory.

September 18, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

memoryimage


I’ve crawled inside a memory
I’m refusing to come home
You won’t be getting that from me
So you best leave me alone

I’m wading through the fuzziness
To find the picture, crystal clear
It’s almost like I’m there again
And there’s always better than here

They say you never remember the bad
I say there was no bad to omit
And I now hear a voice that’s almost yours
Not exactly, but close enough to it

Your laugh is exactly the way it was then
And now your face comes into view
Although it’s been years since I’ve been this close
It’s undeniably, heartbreakingly you

The you of memory raises an eyebrow
Perhaps wondering why I’m on this side of my mind
I shrug, roll my eyes, wipe a tear
And you smile at me, even now, kind

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmur
Touching my cheek, and I sigh
“There’s nothing left for me over there,”
I whisper, hating that you see me cry

I catch the scent of your soap on a breeze
As you briefly flicker in my vision
You shake your head, sad that I came
As if it were my decision

“It’s your fault,” I say, a little defensive
You always did make me feel like this
You grin at the glimpse of the old me
And your smile warms me like a kiss

“Honey,” you begin, but I stop you
“I know,” I say, hanging my head
And you finally see that I hate this
The way that you left love for dead

“I’m sorry” is all you say
It was all you said on the other side too
And I’d almost rather get outrage
Than another sincere apology from you

“Okay,” I say, biting my lip,
You always touched my mouth when I did that
And as you flicker in and out again
I smile, although I feel it fall flat

“Don’t come see me again,” you say
Your words much harsher than your face
Looking at your sad eyes and clenched fists
I see it hurts you to have me in this place

I make a decision in that moment
In this weird little second in time
That though I couldn’t stay away for me
If it helps you, then I’ll be fine

I won’t come back to see you
I’ll put on a brave face out there
I’ll laugh and eat and breathe and live
And pretend that I don’t still care

And at 3am when it hurts the most
I’ll stay strong, but not for me
I won’t visit again and cause you pain
This is my last gift to a memory

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, writing

Storm.

August 19, 2015 by Emily Dill 4 Comments

loveit15

You know the feeling.

You walk outside right before a storm. The air is warm – almost stuffy – and tense. Something needs a release, and time is running out.

There’s heat, sure – but is it the good kind? Or is it suffocating?

Thunder rolls in the distance, and you know it won’t be long now.

Just a few more humid breaths.

And then –

It breaks.

What I’m saying, dear, is you’re the storm.

And I don’t know what’s worse.

This bloated moment as I wait for you to rumble through.

Or watching you break.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, prose, writing, writing wednesday

Forbidden.

August 14, 2015 by Emily Dill 2 Comments

I heard someone say your name today
And I tried to hold my body still
I managed to stop my hands from shaking
To keep my expression free of thrill

I kept my head lowered so no one could see
The light I’m sure flared in my eyes
I left the room as quickly as I could
With a glance at my watch – “Wow, how time flies”

I gathered my things and darted outside
Positive my cheeks had turned red
I took deep breaths, counted to ten
Jumped up and down a few times to clear my head

I know that you’re completely forbidden
That our chances are a trillion to one
And if I utter a single word about you
Everything you’ve worked for – it’s done

But I don’t know how much longer I can do this
Hide what I think, what I feel
Can I go back to the old me
The me before any of it was real?

I’ll try – I promise you – I’ll give it my best
To hide the part of me that loves you
I’ll walk back inside, no blush to my face
And do what I’m expected to do

I’ll attempt to stifle my feelings all day
I’ll save emotions for late at night
In bed – alone – deep in the covers
That’s where to love is all right

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry

Writing Wednesday: A Year of Changes

February 25, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

“My how things change!” he said with a grin,
For there she came crawling back.
Apparently he’d had nothing to offer last year,
But now she was overlooking his “lack”.

He’d heard all about it at the time of the break:
His problems, his moods, his hair,
His faults great and small, his mind, his ambition.
You name it, his just wasn’t there.

She had stated she desired another man.
No one specific, just anyone not him.
He cried, he fought her, he begged, he pled,
And then decided it was nothing but a whim.

He told himself for weeks that she would return
And then they would continue as before.
But weeks became a month, a month became two,
And he fell into depression at month four.

Months five and six did nothing to ease
His miserable depressive attack.
And it was like suffering a second break-up
When month seven said “she ain’t coming back”.

Though nowhere near easy, he picked himself up
And then threw himself at work and a house.
He got two promotions and a log cabin to boot,
And was doing pretty good for a louse.

By month ten he was dating again,
And at eleven she was out of his mind.
Need her he didn’t, and miss her he wouldn’t
And it was all in his past and behind.

Well, hello month twelve, what have we here?
Her Highness is back, and on her knees?
Lonely and poor and unloved and sad,
And this time polite enough to say “please”.

He smiled big on the outside and bigger inside
Because he had not one drop of compassion.
This broken person that needed his love
Was to blame for his ten months of crashing.

No he did not want her! His life was amazing,
He had no reason to make a switch.
So he vented his venom and the nicest that he called her
Was a repulsive, disgusting, incurable….
itch.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, writing wednesday

Writing Wednesday: You Poor Fool

February 18, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

Sundae of Sin.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, writing wednesday

Colors.

January 31, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

colorspoem

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, writing

Not Over.

January 27, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

"Not Over."

Shhh, you whispered so softly
Placing your fingers on my lips
It ends today, you said
While I memorized your fingertips.

We can’t do this anymore,
As you pulled your hand away
And, I’ll always love you
As my eyes begged you to stay.

The inevitable We’ll just be friends,
As you moved across the floor
And, It’s me, not you as you grabbed your keys
And backed out through the door

I stood there, broken, dazed, hurt
And I heard you start your car
But anger took over and I ran outside
This wasn’t over
By far.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, writing

Again.

January 14, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

Oh, hey, there you are
Breaking my heart like glass.

Oh, yay, it’s not so far
To jump back into the past.

Because right now
Is just like then
Again.

And hey, pal, please step lightly
While I pick myself off the floor.

And sure, you don’t want to fight me
But I think we’ve done this before.

Because right now
Is just like then
Again.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: blog, poetry, writing

April.

January 6, 2015 by Emily Dill Leave a Comment

aprilblogpost


They say you can’t go home. But I don’t want to go home. All I want is to go back to a Sunday in April.

It was raining, and I’ve never smelled air that smelled like it did that day. It was a mixture of wet grass and roses and cold rain and strong coffee and you.

My face was cold and wet and numb – from the weather and from smiling.

And you were shivering but trying to act tough. Your hands were in your jacket pockets and you were trying to keep the conversation going, because neither of us wanted to get into our cars.

I didn’t want to go home then, just like I don’t want to go home now. I just want that perfect evening in April.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: poetry, writing

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