Emily_Jane's blog

A small footprint in the forest of life
Unnoticed unless searched for
Rarely stumbled upon
And hidden easily

Not less traveled,
But never traveled
Until one person decides to change that

Intersections exist
Between it and Main Street
However rare
Though it can be hard to distinguish
Between the two

The road never traveled can be something
To be desired or
To be dreaded

But it’s never wide enough
For two

He said
Life is playing games
Having fun
Hanging out
And falling in love
On long summer nights

She said
Life is quiet
Reading in the grass
Listening to the ocean
And unknowingly
Falling in love too
Literally.

My skin prickles.
Not freezing,
Just unpleasant
Moss is everywhere,
Seeming to cover everything
It can.
Trees have toppled,
Logs protrude from the water,
Those too covered in moss.
Leaves blanket the ground,
Keeping the dirt warm and unexposed.
Green is everywhere near the water,
Up here is only brown.
My skin prickles again.
I can feel the goose bumps
Push to the surface,
As though they are struggling for air.
I push my head further into my sweatshirt.
My hand cramps from the cold...

A sneeze,
A cough,
A woodpecker,
Leaves rustling,
Breathing.

The highway far off,

So different from here.

A small tree
Brushes against my leg, needles not yet
Prickly, still soft.
The damp from the moss soaks through my pants,
As though I were sitting on a sponge.
The water ripples ever so slightly.
I peer in, hoping to see some sort of creature,
But it’s only the wind.
I can see the tree canopy reflected in the pool,
Perfect images wavering
Only slightly,

I shine the flashlight a little further ahead of me. Up, down, I spin around, making sure every tree gets a chance to be in the spotlight. Everything seems clear, though one can never be sure. I hear every squish of my feet on the damp ground; all the mushy pine needles damp from the afternoon's storms. Right now, I wish I was one of those pine needles. Think of them, they have nothing to be afraid of. Especially in the middle of nowhere, like where I am now. But I continue along the path, keeping the beam right in front of my feet. I don't want to see or hear anything that doesn't belong in the forest.
I am camping, and this is me, on my way to the bathroom.

The family

They wake up as farmers
And do the morning chores
While others
Are still asleep
Then they all go off
To lead their double lives

She

Goes to school
A student
Comes home
A farmer
As she feeds the sheep

Her mother

Goes to work
A nurse
Comes home
A farmer
While she delivers a lamb

Her father

Goes to work
A teacher
Comes home
A farmer

I make myself
wonder
if I even have a voice
I heard them talking about her
and I didn't say anything

I can think of a million things

I could have
I should have
said
or
done

but that was then

and they got away with it again

the sun
streams
through
the window

as the snow
drip
drip
drips
off the roof

finally it's spring
and the snow is melting

but that was yesterday

I never knew
that here
a place so near
to there

The fog
hangs
in
silence

surrounding me
and gliding over my skin

leaving tiny beads of moisture
clinging for their life
for if they fall
they will lose their individuality
and join the puddle below my feet

a deep breath
really is
a breath of fresh air
not
an air freshener
of just chemicals

and for a moment

she
tightens the straps
of her
gold stilettos

I
tighten the laces
of my
red converse

she
wears
a t-shirt from Hollister

I
wear
my sister's used shirt
from a brand I've never heard of

I'm

okay with that

I
lie
sprawled out
across the floor
the phone in my hand
waiting for her
to finally
call
me

it rings
it's not for me

it rings again but
it's still not her

it rings again
and it's her

will she
finally
listen to my apology

i say it
as fast as
i can
with tears in my eyes

someone laughs
and hangs up

why do they care

they think they know me
but they don't

they know my
clothes
hair
friends
and shoes

that's
all they care about

There are three girls in the bathroom already.
Occupying all three sinks
with their makeup bags,
laying it on thick,
staining their eyes.

I want
to go right up
and tell them
that their foundation is tested on animals,
but I don't.
They don't even glance to see
who had creaked open the door,
because everyone they would want to associate with
is either there already
or a boy.

I think about how
they do have stained eyes,
and minds.
Tainted from images of
‘Beautiful’ girls
‘Skinny’ girls
‘Perfect’ girls
Everywhere around us.
I really feel sorry for them.
Even though they may feel
they should feel sorry for me,
because through their eyes,
I am not those things.

But who decided that those things
Even exist?