Esquire Theme by Matthew Buchanan
Social icons by Tim van Damme



Note to self.

Remember this, Emily. Remember riding in the back of Maddie’s car while leaning out the window. The sun is shining and your outstretched hand casts a moving shadow on the road below. Behind the roar of the wind in your ears you hear the muffled voices of your favorite humans laugh from inside the car.

It’s in this stupid moment—in a car, driving through Wisconsin suburbia, that you feel perfect. This feeling. Remember this.



The fifth annual Tea Party hosted by abbyybba and me. YAY PARTEA!

Music: Waves by Sleeper Agent



This journal keeps me honest.
Paper makes me speak.
I find that pen to page allows even my deepest thoughts to leak.
Written words—they seem more  humble.
I can rely on them to stay.
But even written words can’t fully show what my emotions have to say.



I’ve been thinking.

I’ve been thinking—and that’s never a good sign.
I’ve been thinking—and it seems like my thoughts & my feelings don’t want to combine.
I’ve been thinking of all those “what if’s” and imagining how I’d make my move.
I’ve been thinking of you; do you disapprove?



spring break forever y’all #SB2K14 



Behind the Laughter

I laughed to fool the faces,

But if you listened you would know.

It was a mirthless laugh—

The kind that echoes in its own emptiness.

And though it’s a hallow sound it somehow still holds a story;

Not one of adventure or excitement, not of pain or sorrow—

Just a story about a girl. A girl without a place.



Dear future significant other,


With age i’ve learned how to be very low maintenance and equally low key. At this point in my life, the following sentences will make me swoon and have the sex with you.

  • I know where we should order dinner from tonight.
  • It’s okay, i understand. Honestly. 
  • Can we just nap all day today?
  • Yes, it is in fact a burrito night. 
  • I’m going to the grocery store.
  • How was your day?

Bonus points for implementing high fives as obligatory celebration practices.



A poem of questions

Comfort or butterflies?
How does true love start?
In similarities? In opposites?
How can I tell if he’s captivated my heart?

Passion or joy?
Do they always have to correlate?
Can I fight for something filled with sorrow?
Can I find joy in what I hate?

Compassion or self-confidence?
Why is it so hard to have them both?
What’s it mean to love another? To love yourself?
Do the answers come with growth?



I just want to know what you think of me.
Or how you view me when I walk into your place.
How does my name taste on your lips?
And what do you see when you look at my face?



Pantone Prose & Pictures

A simplistic yet lovely collaborative; submit something yourself!
(Check out color #404) *wink*



We’ve reached that time of year again…

The sunlight likes to sneak in past my heavy eyelids while I sleep.
I wake up in a summer haze that I wish was real, and mine to keep.
My feet rebel against my shoes because they yearn to be left bare.
The thermostat is turned up high, to justify the tank top that I wear.
I pour a glass of lemonade with lunch, though of course it’s not the same.
I need that sticky condensation, that humid heat, that swelter; all of which make my hair impossible to tame.
The falling ice becomes a tweeting bird, the howling wind becomes a warm beach wave.
I’ve got those Summer daydreams bad. The sun is all I crave.

I’m stuck in a place far away. No control. The world moves along and I watch it go.
My absence does little. The play must go on. I sit back to watch the coming of dawn.
I want to get up, & travel back to my place. But I’m stuck here.
Stuck watching a life from which I’ve been erased.



My subconscious playing games.

I saw you creep into my mind last night and make your way into my dream.
You didn’t even ring the bell, just showed up uninvited. But that seems to be the theme.
The next morning I’m eating breakfast, and you rudely ran through my mind.
No knock on the door to announce your arrival—had you asked for a visit, I would have declined.
And then walking to class, as I review for a test, you cast your face on a stranger passing by.
I had to do a double take, but of course it wasn’t you. I’ll admit; you almost had me there—nice try.
I’m doing homework and you appear in my head, yet again, this time because I read about a poet who— NO.
It doesn’t matter why. You need to leave. Get the hell out of my head.

This makes me think of that and that makes me think of you.
Well,…I’m done. Done letting you occupy the thoughts in my mind.
No more. Not of you. Do you hear? Consider yourself part of my past.

I’m go out to dinner with my friends, and someone says your name.
There you are again. Never mind what I said before. I should have known you would last.



If there is one thing I miss…

If there is one thing I miss, it’s the phone calls.
The phone calls that ate away minutes because we’d stay on the line while doing our homework “together.”
I’d tell you mindless things about my day and they wouldn’t be mindless anymore—about how i had to use my credit card to scrape the ice off my windshield after work because I don’t have an ice scraper. Or how I tripped while I was walking up the stairs.
I don’t think I realized how much I enjoyed sharing those little things with someone else, instead of filing them away in my mind like I do now.
Now, when I trip up the stairs, that’s all that happens. I trip. And I forget about it.
It was just nice. It was nice to share.




Motivation can come from strange places. It’s typically not even recognized when it arrives.
Recently, I was motivated from someone I barely have any interaction with. And I noticed it.
When that happens, when you see it—take hold of it. Don’t let go. Let it push you. Change you. Move you. Free fall with it.
Let yourself be motivated. Even if you’re propelled towards something you never before thought of.