Men like you were never meant for storms like us.
EMILY KURCMen like you were never meant for storms like us.
EMILY KURCI bet my words are still tangled beneath that streetlight fighting for the right combination to stay.
EMILY KURCI know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.
EMILY KURCThe sun touched your skin with innocent delicacy as if you were a work of out that was made to be admired deeply.
EMILY KURCThe future belongs to those who are brave enough to speak up about things that matter.
EMILY KURCA sea of jumbled emotions I had longed to live again, a feeling that no metaphor could match.
EMILY KURCWe 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 KURCDo 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 KURCI miss the sweat of september and the stickiness of the sheets.
EMILY KURCI no longer wear my heart on my sleeve. Instead, I keep this love folded up, like a tiny paper plane, until my heart is ready to soar again.
EMILY KURCMy mother always told me that love is like a plant, but she never prepared me for the realization that too much love towards the wrong person can drown your heart until it rots.
EMILY KURCI hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.
EMILY KURCWhen the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.
EMILY KURCLeave me like you mean it. My heart can’t keep waiting for you.
EMILY KURCSoft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.
EMILY KURCYour name still tastes like poison in my mouth.
EMILY KURC