Girl Emo Poems | Examples
These Girl Emo poems are examples of Emo poems about Girl. These are the best examples of Emo Girl poems written by international poets.
I didn’t see her face.
you did!
I didn’t get to hear of sweet little girl voice.
You did!
I didn’t get to hear her say mommy and daddy!
You did!
I didn’t get to hold her tight.
You did!
I don’t get to dream about her.
You do!
I had all the pain, and the blood, and the agony.
But in the end we both are without her everyday!
(Dedicated to Peyton)
This isn't what it seems to be.
You've lost your self behind
thought of me.
Relentless, they won't you sleep.
Infectious, it's hidden there in
your dreams.
A shadow strung across the ground,
Its longing for another
mouth to feed.
I told you we should never be.
Now look into my eyes
while they bleed.
Do you want to break
my heart?
Then get down on your knees
Pray.
You told me that you wanted me too.
One and one and one make three
so let's see.
This feeling, it won't let me go.
so come over here girl,
set me free.
Do you want to break
my heart?
Get down on your knees.
Pray.
I’ve moved out (of school),
I’m moving in (to school).
My joke is that I’m having a ‘moving experience.’
Graduating college (3 days ago) was a dream come true
I’m starting a master’s degree in 7 days.
You have to admire the efficiency.
Do I have your permission to bear my soul?
I might have imposter syndrome.
I’m a harsh critic—of everything—but mostly me.
I’m over the romance and pressure of school.
I’m starting the romance and pressure of school.
Don’t worry, this isn’t hapless, sad girl literature.
Or a diary—it’s a portrayal of my inner life.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Messy by Lola Young [E]
i’m here, nor there, sometimes everywhere
a storm brewing
inside i’m darker
i’ve sailed these seas before
repetition becomes habit
take me back to simpler times
an early childhood memory
just one day when i didn’t allow myself to be consumed
by ruminating
i collect my thoughts
after time i realize the tea is hot, and it makes me anxious
and that i’m really just a hoarder
a collector knows what she likes to collect
to hold onto what’s fallen behind you can kill you
i don’t want to be stuck, but how does one move forward?
some days i wonder why i envy the pretty sunflowers
to be authentic is a destination
the shadow self wants to dance
the land though the wardrobe
i’d like to see it one day
I’ve stopped caring if the world likes me
with age comes a ‘no ****'s given’ attitude
red mohawk
punk rocker girl i don’t think about you too much
try hard, or don’t try at all
either way, the end is coming
(Leeza, my roommate Lisa’s little sister, was off-tha-hook earlier this summer)
thirteen
peach flesh
fabuk buster
nu-metal priss
sexless breasts
bitten fingernails
dirty babyskin feet
mirror mesmerized
straight-eyed honesty
grouchapottamus
without analysis
corollary sister
wide eyed
hot mess
skinny
pacer
bella
doe
.
.
Webster: Corollary: something that naturally follows another (like sisters)
slang…
off tha hook = out of control
fabuk = rotten banana
buster = acts like a punk-b*tch
nu-metal = new generation heavy metal, hated by purists
priss = baby
grouchapottamus = someone perpetually grouchy and edgy
hot mess = a handful, a piece of work, a colorful character.
pacer = very smart, hard to keep up with, sets the pace
bella = someone to handle with care
doe = girl
Krispy = super exclusive
*Update: Leeza tested into some krispy math-camp and that apparently calmed her down.
Tired of trying,
Tired of lying,
Tired of hearing it's not your fault,
Stop stalling,
Stop calling,
Every missed text,
Every missed message,
Do not reply it's not worth her time,
It's not worth the energy,
You dont hear her cry,
Just hear the waves,
Switch the blame,
Go the way you came,
Boom your gone once again.
Child is the mother,
Mother as the child,
Failed attempt at motherhood,
Failed attempt of way a daughter should,
Be held,
Be cared,
In the end all you hear,
Forgive and repent,
Relive, please sit,
A love of a mother is 'priceless',
How could you forget,
The heartbreak and the pain,
Play again the blame game,
Stop caring theirs no point,
Hide your tears girl, you have no shame,
Take the weight,
Accept your fate,
Recycled youth where does she relate,
A girl who lost, and tried but it cost, her sanity feel something, anything but the knife you twist,
Switched on youre back again,
Switch cold,
She doesnt care,
It's not fair,
But is expected to share,
A life of agony and what could have been if you were there.
Being addicted to cutting.
It releases those endorphin's.
I can't get that feeling from being normal.
Just think about what you're doing,
and how it'll affect your after life.
If you wanna walk,
just be kind or watch you cut me.
Cutting could do that,
but honestly it makes since.
Now that I think about when I used to cut myself,
Though how no one called me Emo Girl.
You did.
I know exactly what the others never did.
I cut to feel alive to know I'm not dead.
To feel stronger,
and when I see the blood come down his arm,
I feel it, I feel it when I'm full of more than love.
I did it.
Amber in your eyes
Crimson are your lips
Ivory is your skin
Sweet is your sin
Smooth are your hips
Here are your lives
Between pillars of fire
Stone, golden is your throne
Silver your crown
Midnight is your hour!
Act Eight, Chapter One. Part One
Part of a Grander Play.
A Holy War is afoot!
The lines are drawn in the sand, in blood
The plans are conspired upon,
priest gather like scavengers
in the pallor, in the rooms,
cracks of the home.
Their cloaks flapping like wings of ravens.
The generals buy time
with there little black books.
Pages from holy grimoire flutter
My little girl is dying,
No. That is not possible.
Just yesterday she was running
….playing… BUT!
That is not my child, the hair, the lips…..maybe
However the eyes, the eyes burn with infernos fire.
Can you believe? No….
I slam my fist again the stone and only crimson rains.
I fall to my knees!
I cry to an absolute absent adolescent GOD!
Can't think about that now.
Feeling hell at my back.
Have to make my mind clear,
keep sanity in place,
can’t let the moorings break…My thoughts?
I must keep straight,
peace with my creator,
my god what have I done?
Are you in that sacred space?
That place, people call heaven?
Or are you dead, gone?
Lost to this madness of the universe.
I of III
makes me create
utopian thoughts
anxious actions
good relationship
all lies
if only I really want it
allies
no where I can find
As a little girl i was told
How to dress
How to do my hair
How to behave
I was never traditional
And was constantly torn down
Made me feel more and more
Ugly
Because of how i wanted to look
Being mocked
For being myself
Because i was not good enough
I still feel ugly
Unattractive
Not good enough
I wonder how many dutches it'll take to get you off of my mind
I wonder how many shots it'll take for my heart to leave you behind
I wonder if I could make love to you through another woman would it ease the pain
I wonder if that last thought qualifies me to be insane
I wonder where would I be today if I never came in that house
I wonder if you would be single or if you would still have a spouse
I guess I could sit here & wonder all day
Or I could just ask you if there's anything else to say
I'm with it if you with it let's roll the dice I done told ol boy you chose & I was nice
Now you rolling with me you're where your supposed to be you were in the nose bleed now you can see
It's amazing grace that look on your face I'll conquer the world before I let anybody Hellen of Troy my girl
We barely talk anymore guess the honeymoons over, this would be the time I relapsed if I was sober, but I'm not upset with you I'm upset with me, I was the one that fell in love with you knowing you had a family, it was the conversations that held both of our interest, but that's fading away as I aforementioned, now I know how the girls I laughed at feel wishing for more, knowing good & damn well we'll probably never live behind the same door, I really wanna do right by you & be better than your girl, I ask myself everyday could we be happy & I think that we could have the world, but I don't think I'm good at playing second fiddle, to be honest with you I'm used to being the lead singer not one of the girls in the middle, my mind wants a answer but my heart wouldn't dare ask you to make a choice or a decision, when you hold me in your arms is one of the two times I feel like I'm living, when the world tries to break you up I'll be there to hold you down, when your shoulders get heavy I'll be around we have Bluetooth you don't have to make a sound, damn guess I'll do my slide & shimmy back to the middle, I don't know if this was a poem, conundrum or a riddle
The distance of light
Embryonic earth weaned from breasts wet with moonlight
gorged with the milk of stars the after birth of distance.
Eastern eyes peering from her circle gone as far as the wind
as far from home to shake her to the wild ground. Burning with the
longing that pounds fertile sands dressed in unfamiliar attire.
She doesn’t recognize her hands or hear the heart of tides rising.
She only knows that same moon peers into windows deep with
bedding once her own, now stained with memories of a little girl
watching the starlit pastels adorn her window.
Looking now at the moist land wet with the gentle timber of morning
she lets herself dance with each dream and every moment the earth
comes to her rescue. Reminiscing, taking years away and letting her
go home again.
Ron Kempton 2/22/18
Looking in the mirror,
hating what I see,
the person staring back,
definitely isn't me,
who is this girl?,
she looks like me,
but isn't me,
I do not recognize her,
who is the girl?,
who isn't me,
with scars on her arms,
and bottle in hand,
and why does she seem to hate me?.