"HoneyBear" by Emma Bleker

i am the mistress of every addiction
the men i've loved
have ever had.
my addiction is

every person i have ever loved:
my love is its own mistress.
i am trying to unlearn the selfishness
of assuming myself a casualty
to sickness, i should know, i am too good
at keeping track
of those i’ve lost.
still, if one night
i forget to check your pulse
it will be my fault that you
do not wake up.
it is still my fault
that my father did not wake up.
it is still my fault
i have not yet woken up. 

"Showing Up to the Party in White but It Is Not a Party It Is a Wedding and Now You Are the Asshole You Always Knew You Were" by Emma Bleker


i think i should stop apologizing
if i do not intend to change
whatever rotten part of me
caused the apology. but i should not
say the part was the cause. it is

me, it is all me. some days i drive past
homes i wish i could live in
then spit in their yards
because i will not live in them

and someone else already does. this
is where my spite becomes unbearable.
i was the same with the girl
at your work; if she were a yard
i would have spit at her.
instead i told you i was fine and
you had done nothing wrong,
which in a way is worse.
i am always finding new ways
to tie nooses. they’re easy
as a shoelace now. i tie mine the
funny way the
bunny way
so maybe they will say,
'no, that is all wrong,' when they
find me in a someday-daydream
of being found. sometimes i dream
of how their faces might look,
that look what might be the only pure one: sticky
with an inability to pretend.
o, how i hope their homes
were not the ones i’d coveted. see,
the spite says,
i do not want to see those ones feel.
i want to die thinking they
are nothing like me.
believing that they may
live forever without ever knowing
anyone was unhappy.