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I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.

Emily Kurc

Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.
EMILY KURC

Fingers Love Relationship Soft Sweet
A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.
EMILY KURC

Ourselves Place Separation Story Trouble Writing
When I look at you, I see the moon – I wish you could see that you’re every poets muse.
EMILY KURC

Moon Poet See Worth Writing Yourself
The sky was crying so I wiped away her tears, just like all the times she did the same me.
EMILY KURC

Cry Myself Sky Tears Time
I bet my words are still tangled beneath that streetlight fighting for the right combination to stay.
EMILY KURC

Breathe Combination Fight Light Myself Right Stay Word
I learned to make art with my broken heart.
EMILY KURC

Art Broken Heart Learning Myself
You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.
EMILY KURC

Deserve Myself Poetry Satisfaction
Do ghosts get tired of haunting? Of chasing old flames in darkness, of walking through dreams casting shadows against walls, against hearts, do they feel themselves forgotten?
EMILY KURC

Feeling Flame Forget Ghost Haunt Old Philosophy
I woke up this morning and for once, I had no desire to drink my morning coffee. Is that how it felt for you to wake up and never return?
EMILY KURC

Coffee Desire Drink Morning Return Wake Up Yourself
In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.
EMILY KURC

Break Dreams Moments Repeat
Even the places we used to visit in this empty town feel lyrical. My heart can’t help but sing along even now, but I’m tired.
EMILY KURC

Empty Feeling Help Myself Place Tired Visit
We all show our true colors eventually – mine is dark and firesome red. I bet I burned you. I don’t expect to see you soon.
EMILY KURC

Burn Color Darkness Expectation Myself True Yourself
I have so much love to give even with these daggers still stuck in my heart.
EMILY KURC

Heart Heart Broken Love Myself
Each time I fall back in love with myself, I leave my pen and paper behind. It isn’t personal, or maybe it is. I just a always thought that poetry was for the hurting.
EMILY KURC

Hurt Leaving Love Myself Poetry Time
Each night I sit at my windowsill like a wolf howling to the moon, hoping that somewhere you feel me calling to you.
EMILY KURC

Call Feeling Myself Night Wolf Yourself
The sun touched your skin with innocent delicacy as if you were a work of out that was made to be admired deeply.
EMILY KURC

Admire Deep Innocence Skin Sun Touch Yourself

I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.

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I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.

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Popular Authors

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