http://slow.writerscafe.org/emilyjoe The original writings of author emily joe en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775976105 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I want to stick googly eyes to my naked back Lie on some pink fur rug Sway my hips in white silk pantiesCry to a beautiful musicPrick my thumb on your windowsill cactusMostly, I want to di(v)e in a pool of glitter, palms up http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1584350/ I want to take tar bathsIn the pools beneath my eyelidsF*****g black holesThat tell the storyOf how I didn’t sleep last nightOr the night before that I’ve never really lusted after friendsBut there’s this one gi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1559093/ I am this Virgin cherry blossomMoving across someSmall waterAstride California Lilac leavesThe color of lifeThe actual color of existence    And I am soft   And I am naked   And I am pink &nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1559072/ Prosey experiment http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1559064/ A look at my mental state in the thick of my depression and in the beginning of my recovery http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1559063/ I have nightmares That children sprout like wild daisies Just below the bow of my hipOnly to die Their ghosts mourn and weep in the pools of my collarbonesAnd rattle like glass beads Running single file Down the creases of my palms.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1559061/ see California Is a F*****g Homewrecker http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1559059/ The first time I saw you was at the symphonyYou played bass on stageI played footsy with my boyfriend in the audienceI thought it was impossible that out of everyone thereYou were looking at me So I stopped looking The first time .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1453213/ 1. Depression is like sticking your hand directly into a garbage disposal but because your hand is hidden inside, the people around you can't see what's happening and even though your fingers are a bloody pulpy mess and you're pretty sure you lost your wedding ring by now you keep smiling so how wou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444585/ You etch Diana F eulogies to a backdrop Of 1957 Pacific Ocean pinholes Your fingertips are film And you brand my half-smileInto a portrait of CaliforniaAs if we will live hereOn the beachAnd sand dance For alwaysChicago gasps me back http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444581/ One dayI want to walk through a crowdWith a virgin Marlboro Light clipped between the corner of my lipsAnd watch the people scrambleTo light me  http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444578/ It was the crank of the chainThat sent rust to my fingertipsI smoked it slowerBut always to the lineWe pretended it was 1998And we were Wynona Rider voodoo dollsI placed pins in your elbowsI'm sorryBut I had to see you danceIf it wasn't for the buttered rum in my noseI'd have forgotten to look upTo .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444577/ Sometimes when you're talking I focus on your mouth until the lines of your lips are sewn together by a trail of dashed ink with the instructions "cut here." I want to write a novel. I want to write seven novels. But I know there isn't enough coffee in the world, nor cool pillows. They are.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444573/ I didn’t turn the water onOr remove my clothesBut I lay on the shower floor When I was 6 years oldI left a messageOn my grandmother’s answering machineI sang“The sun will come out tomorrow” It’s astonishingHow you never realizeHow many household objectsYou cou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444572/ To my best friend in the world, to commemorate our matching tattoos- http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1444570/ Listen closelyAbove the television frenzyYou will hearThe muffled soundsOf candy shop cop robberiesThe custard filling inside job Of crooked paper cakes and crooks Incredulously indulgent agentsTaking mouthfuls of monotony Smuggling.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1309404/ We are nakedTogetherWhen we are fully clothedSave exposed toesAnd twenty feeble fingers Tracing spineAnd greeting our corresponding prints with Familiar and distinct satisfactionNo soundBut the plead and pull of gravitating hips a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1309399/ When he leaves for California and you are cold in Chicago, alone http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1309344/ We set ships afloat in claw foot bathtub harborsArmed with soap dish cannonsAnchored beneath the mast of your backCareening in the spate of your wavesWe drift ashore the coves of your bare bottle cap bonesAnd capsize at low tide, your naked skin athirstO’ Captain, sail close to the wind http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1306702/ My lover's hair in the morning http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1204246/ In a dreamy state I stumbled barefoot through heavy rootsand rope-like vines. When my mangled feet met sweet grass, the sun rose aboveand shown on the world as it was. My fingers, they drifted submissively to myforehead in salute formation, sheltering my eyes from the floating spotlight. I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/1151446/ Rocking the religious boat-- http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/983928/ This is..bad. I'm..having a bit of a melt down. Sigh. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886104/ I found New YorkIn the eyes of a manBroken and alone I watchedSilentAs the broken man filled his rain boots with tears The broken man strummed His faithful guitarWater running down his back I found New York In the broken man’s broken handsAs his melod.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886100/ I promiseThat every time you look up at the sun, it’ll shine a little  brighterThat each blade of grass is cheering for you as you walk down the side of an empty road carrying nothing but the wind in the back pocket of your favorite jeansI promise that trees will tell you more than .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886099/ I think it made my Daddy smile the way I’d step out of our old brown car and look up at my bedroom window with glittering awe in my eyes. “It isn’t much”, he’d say. But I loved that great new house. I popped the screen out of my new, big window. At night, I’d peek.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886098/ The heavy stoneSwallowed by grassMakes light of what lies beneath The flowers have goneBut their shadows remainGhosts of wilted daffodilsHiding behind the moon The tree is still thereThoughHer treeElisebath’s tree When it’s coldWhen it rains.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886097/ My Mommy was meant to be a Mommy. Because each of the three children that she had need a different piece of her. I need my Mommy’s courage. I need my Mommy’s strength. Sometimes I just need my 5 foot tall Mommy to hold my 5 foot 5 inch body, and never let go. I need my Mommy’s laug.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886095/ I used to believe in myself. And we all did at some point in time. Because children don’t internalize what they think and what they feel. They aren’t afraid to read you a chapter of their souls’. But then obscure conceptions of unspoken societal regulations demand your innocence an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886094/ I don’t think I can be a writer because I am full of many words, but not words that will easily take shape on my pad of paper. When I write, the words have to have this certain feeling. I can’t just fashion simple rhymes and call it a day. One sentence that I write carries an entire day&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/886093/ We were the balloon catchersThe tree jumpersAnd bread carriersWe were the coat pocket hide-n-go-seek sunshine palsWe were the cat walkersBoy kissersClose line hanging dirty-kneed trousersWe were the satin cigarette on the tip of your fabricated tongue We were the toad capturer.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/792961/ I'm nervous to put this one out. What do you think? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/787504/ Eleven Stones It’ll take me a while to forgive you; like sand through an old screen door. You still come around at night, skipping eleven white stones in the pond out my big window. Then you lay your head down in the prairie grass right outside my big, white window. And I know what yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/706413/ I"ll stand up for the treeThat stood up for meWhen the world hid in shadowsOf shades gray The truth is written On bathrrom stall doorsEngraved in the pavementOn the sidewalksRight in front of your picket fenced house And you miss itYou walk past it everydayAnd whe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/694546/ Dear Hayden,   I think I've given up on trying to put you out of my mind. Every class period, every time I'm walking down the hallway, every single time I space out, or stare at my shoes. You are in every thought. Every single one. And the worst part is that the only thing I can look f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/645234/ This is for Hayden, my love. Taylor, my best friend. And Benjamin, my brother. I'm pretty sure you guys can figure this one out. In words it's so much different than in actuality. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/620789/ This is basically how I came to love myself again. In these very words, I was able to come to a point where I appreciated myself. Life is too short to be lost for too long. Enjoy! http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/596941/ Numb is not a feelingIt's rock bottomIt's the endNumb, Is an understatement to describe my beingDeath is far easier than life, and death i shall pursueFor now, I am numb http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/577390/ This is basically how I feel. There is nothing special about it, it's not meant to be written with describing words or anything. This is just me telling him how I feel. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/576149/ Their bedroom is warm, and the scene is left on pauseThe audience watching, enthused with applause The book on the floorIs open, pages unread The blood in the carpet,Whsipers words unsaid The cuts on Mom's wristsThe gash in Dad's head The three red headed .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/572487/ The forest has a secretFor I heard it whisper in the nightAll the trees and flowers hummed, until the moon had turned to lightThe forest has a secretFor I heard its laughter in the dayThe birds and all the bugs, hid their faces in the shadeThe forest has a secretAnd now that secret&rsq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/571509/ Dewdrops glide down the panes of my fogged window, as the early birds croon murmurs of happy songs. I smile as the sunshine moves across my face, but already I yearn for the moonlight to dance with the shadows in the corners of my bedroom. It is morning, and I am barefoot. I stare at the white wal.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/571505/ What lives underneath of your bed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/571501/ Taking the cliche 'Drowning My Sorrows' very literally. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/emilyjoe/571500/