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Emily Mckechnie Poem
The leash still hangs beside the door,
But footsteps echo here no more.
Your bowl untouched, your bed the same,
Yet nothing answers when I say your name.
The house is full of hollow space,
Each corner aches, each shadow waits.
Your toys lay still, your scent remains,
A ghost of joy now lost to pain.
I swore I heard your paws last night,
Soft taps against the floor so light.
But silence met me when I turned,
Just empty halls and lessons learned.
No wagging tail, no sleepy sighs,
Just heavy air and quiet goodbyes.
They say the pain will fade in time,
But all I want is you and mine.
Copyright © Emily McKechnie | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Emily Mckechnie Poem
I stand before the mirror,
and it feels like a judge’s eye.
It holds a truth I don't want to see,
tracing lines over my skin
like cracks on a map I never drew.
I hide in shadows of others' words,
whispers of beauty I’ll never touch.
They don’t know these scars, these flaws,
this history written in silence
on a body I can’t call my own.
I count the spaces between ribs
like failures—
as if the hollow places define me.
The softness, the curves I despise,
become prisons I cannot escape.
I pull at my skin like clay,
wishing I could sculpt away the parts
that scream too loudly in my mind.
But what if, beneath it all,
there's something more than shame?
What if I tell the mirror:
"Look at me, not with the eyes of the world,
but with the eyes of love?"
This body, this vessel,
has carried me through storms,
weathered battles, endured the weight
of a thousand silent wars.
It is the history of every tear,
the architecture of survival.
Each stretch, each scar
is a line in a poem that says,
"I am still here."
Copyright © Emily McKechnie | Year Posted 2025
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