New | Poetry | Emma Caterinicchio | Part 2

artwork by Harsh Kumar 

I have the right to feel,
Instead of being told how I should, 
Without being interrupted,
Where to direct,
This feeling, that is my right. 

I have the right to feel, 
Without being told not to share, 
Without being looked at, 
Like the damaged, rotten fruit,
I already know I am.


Clocks go forward,
My mind goes back,
My body remembers, 
All the past attacks,
My muscles are aching,
Pure adrenaline seeps,
I can’t breathe,
Even when I’m asleep,
Feelings run through me,
In their high-speed chase, 
My eyes grow big,
And lose their place,
Lost searching for,
What is and isn’t,
My heart forgets,
What’s in the present,
Please, precious in between,
Anchor me in your wisdom.


 I check my bank, 
Oh, how I’ve consumed, 
In late night yearnings, 
For a different life. 

The life of a woman, 
Who cleans up after herself, 
And has radiant skin, 
And hair that’s smooth, yet thick.  

What does that woman have, 
That I so starkly lack,
It’s that I sit here and yearn, 
And she simply sits. 

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