For me,

There is a surrealism to balance.

What is it like to breathe

And not gasp?

Or walk

And not sprint?


Aliens are in emotion.

How does one cry without crumbling?

Or stand their ground with defiance

Without bubbling over with a poison rage

Like acid from a cauldron?

A burning, corrosive witches brew.

To see someone cheerful,

Instead of ecstatic is confusing.

I can tell you I have seen UFOs.

They are

In the people I love,

In bus drivers and friends,

In shopkeepers

And therapists.


They are alien to me,

Because they are so human

Without complete excess.

I wish I could have just loved you

Instead of being alive

only because of you.


Aliens, teach me your ways.

Breakdown the surrealism.


Let me be a human.


~Emma Catherine

something we called love

something we called love

we had a mutual loneliness and called it love

a magic kind of desire spun from the cobwebs on our lips

we thought

as long as we have each other we are not alone.


we clung to each others corpses like driftwood in the middle of the ocean

a shipwreck and its sailors, if you like.

is it love if its built from broken hearts?

is it safety if it’s built on top of quicksand?


I loved you like the last girl alive

but I hated myself more

and so, how can I be loved if I don’t let you soothe any part of me?

what were we if we pretend we were not a dying wish

holding each other so tightly in our arms

to keep ourselves together

to stop the shaking.


what can I say about our loneliness

sharp enough to make us weep

and tough enough to tie us up in knots?

it was something we called love

and it kept us alive.


Poem- To Rebuild a Body

Poem- To Rebuild a Body

The desire to starve, destroy, bleed, break apart and balloon
Is a gaslight where our stomach should be and a bonfire between our ears
Like it’s the only thing that’s keeping us warm
It’s the blood that carries our oxygen and our glucose
And it’s nerves that are threaded through our bodies
And to rebuild a body to make it work
Feels like the thought of splitting every atom in the soil of Earth and growing worms in their place
Because when your body grows brittle from the riptides of euphoria
And your neck becomes sore from carrying the poison that you can’t seem to get out of your skin
It’s time to say
If it takes flooding my stomach to extinguish that fire
And a blot of lightning to calm those nerves sewn into me
And an explosion of those infinite atoms that make up the earth beneath our feet
Just to make sense of ourselves and rebuild ourselves
That’s what it takes.

~by Emma Cunningham