Dear Ms. Leading,

I regret to inform you I've fallen out of lust.
It must be so hard to understand.
Did you really think me a fool enough to play along?
And make believing everything you said was true
Push your pouting lips on other unsuspecting lovers

The Dear Hunter



Rose madder cheeks
Coral-stained parted lips
Patent leather heeled shoes
Uncomfortable for me, accommodating for them
Stretch my legs to reach their stride
A stride of 30 year old wine and dancing in my mother's heels
Lining up anodes to cathodes
And kissing their alkaline mouths with my nickel-plated tongue
Electrical current through my
Patent leather heeled shoes
Coral-stained parted lips
Rose madder cheeks


Gap-toothed and wide eyed, my teeth were worth bills
Until they stopped escaping and braces held them like convicts
My identity crisis broke into a wild fit of piercings and hair dye
And chased adolescence with a shot of cynicism

Peeling my training bra from my shoulders
The sun left a pink stain ten years deep
I am me, cursed with heat exhaustion
Socially black-listed due to expectation asphyxiation

White lace ideation scratches my scabby, bony knees
But still I'm convinced to want lace to cover my life
To cover my eyes
With a white picket smile in the window of a kitchen
And my love-swollen hands resting on my expectant belly


Maybe Metaphors or Similies

This would be so much easier
if you would let me know
Instead, I'll sail through lava rivers
and tear apart each layer of your soul
You have a way with difficulty
like the tango does, intricate with lust
Yet, you're the one person I don't hate writing about
That is, until I spontaneously combust


"Everything you want can be summed up in these words..."

As much as I love seeing my friends' band Ghost Mall play shows, when they play the song that was written about me, I don't like that everyone sings it to me.

Sounds silly, I know.
But it would be a nice feeling, if it weren't:
"Everyone you know is worried for your life
They say, 'Emily please take my advice.'"

Am I the only one that isn't worried for me?
It's probably how it's supposed to go.
You're always the last one to worry.