by Emma Casper K
the love i deserve i crave the return of someone who has known me intimately. i crave the touch of someone's hands that have already absentmindedly traced every peak and valley of my ravaged body; who will not be alarmed by the discovery of the mountains of raised scar tissue, or the cavernous dips between my depraved ribs. i crave to be seen by someone that has already seen behind the walls i put up and the face i put on to shield unsuspecting passersby from my contagious energy. i crave to be heard by someone that knows the tones my heart sings well enough to gently repeat them back to me when my heart loses its voice. i crave to be tasted by someone so accustomed to my bitterness that even the ripest of grapefruit blisters their tongue with sweetness. i crave familiar love; the type of love you feel when an old friend gifts you a worn copy of their favorite book. the type of love which demands attention by whispering affirmations ((instead of shouting ultimatums.)) that unassuming, quiet type of love which, unfortunately, does not seem to coincide with having known me. colliding nebulas i was caught up in the way your nose crinkles, your freckles that pan out like points on a map of places i want to kiss, hair akin to a field of wheat set ablaze, the wind-chime melody of your laugh rolling like wind through the hills, and the sneaking suspicion that we could be something inspiring. i saw galaxies in your eyes twinkling their brightest when my own galaxy-filled eyes were reflected. i turned off my lantern abandoned it at the nearest tree stump and trusted the stars to guide me home. i wasn't expecting much but boy, i guess i expected the stars to dim first, to warn me before they went out. instead, a rug pulled from under my feet tumbled me into the silencing depths of looming woods and cloudy nights. obscurity all i am is a loosely-stitched together conglomerate of commitments to things and people outside my self. i used to be a musician, a poet a spirited competitor, i embodied infinite modes of an endlessly creative mind. now i am a roommate, a friend a shoulder to cry on; what is needed of me at any given moment. the more time i spend prescribing myself to others the harder it is to like the parts of me that cannot be given away, and the less I care to find a cure. colliding nebulas i was caught up in the way your nose crinkles, your freckles that pan out like points on a map of places i want to kiss, hair akin to a field of wheat set ablaze, the wind-chime melody of your laugh rolling like wind through the hills, and the sneaking suspicion that we could be something inspiring. i saw galaxies in your eyes twinkling their brightest when my own galaxy-filled eyes were reflected. i turned off my lantern abandoned it at the nearest tree stump and trusted the stars to guide me home. i wasn't expecting much but boy, i guess i expected the stars to dim first, to warn me before they went out. instead, a rug pulled from under my feet tumbled me into the silencing depths of looming woods and cloudy nights. obscurity all i am is a loosely-stitched together conglomerate of commitments to things and people outside my self. i used to be a musician, a poet a spirited competitor, i embodied infinite modes of an endlessly creative mind. now i am a roommate, a friend a shoulder to cry on; what is needed of me at any given moment. the more time i spend prescribing myself to others the harder it is to like the parts of me that cannot be given away, and the less I care to find a cure.
Emma Casper K is a poet from a small town in Indiana. As well as taking influence from her own life happenings, she is also influenced by other short-form poets, both written and spoken, such as Sarah Kay and Amanda Lovelace. Casper is an animal-lover and dreams of traveling the world with her pup, 2 cats, and 3 bunnies at her side.
RUNDELANIA 