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Best Poems Written by Emma Sophie

Below are the all-time best Emma Sophie poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Speaking Incorrectly

i told someone today that i liked it when it rained
i told them i liked that it made the world cold
and i told them that i liked how what was around us 
became desolate and drenched.
and i could of sworn i heard the words “that’s depressing”
slip her quiet lips as we were walking
and it only made me wonder,
why do we take a habit of classifying things in a completely incorrect manner?
most of us have no idea what our words mean
we try to sound sophisticated to impress our parents and their friends
and in the process we stumble on what we say
and we ruin it for everyone.
it’s so hard to wrap my head around the fact that today
it’s become normal to criticize others
for what makes us real,
and for what makes us more than flesh and bone.
whether it’s our sexuality or our mental state,
there’s always a person who needs to beat you for it
and today society is actually convinced that it’s sociably sound
to put others down only so they can build themselves
up into a skyscraper above the one’s they’ve broken
and then there’s others
who are criticized by the mean girls in our grade
whether we try to fit in or stand out
we’ll always be targets for the animals
and we’ll always be searching for a place 
that accepts those who enjoy the rain

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

The Rabbit Hole

not just the weather is unbalanced
i, as well am out of sorts
it’s not just the weather that is making people uneasy
i tend to do that as well because more often than not,
my mind is numb and my thoughts are heavy
but it might just be the throbbing headache
that always seems to linger inside of me
why do i find myself dwelling on my every move
interrogating myself until i cry?
i guess i’m far beyond gone
and no one’s come to my terms yet
but everyone around me are rocks weighing me down
and i feel like i’m at the bottom of a dark ocean
filling my lungs up with water as i scream for someone,
anyone, to dive under and keep me up.
but why have i found myself sitting in the shower at 10:30 at night
letting the scalding water hit my face, burning me,
as i paralyze myself inside my head
and time seems to follow the steam out the window
and i can see the rabbit going down his hole
laughing about the clock that is my life,
but i’m pretty sure i caught myself laughing as well.
and i found myself with a craving for being better for everyone else,
and it’s sparked a longing to be better for myself,
a longing for making my hands stop quivering,
and a yearning to balance myself out
i find myself in the dark too often
but at least the dark isn’t a void that continues to petrify me
much like my own mind tends to do these days

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Cry

sometimes i really hate crying.
i hate it when my chest tightens up,
and i can’t breathe and i get scared and 
my breath doesn't come back for what feels like an eternity.
i hate it when my eyes are puffy,
and i feel my tears bringing my makeup down my face
and my cheeks turn red and spotty.
only then do i really see how terrible i feel,
i hate seeing myself in the mirror with the lights off,
and i can still see my misty eyes and my streaked face,
and i hate it.
i hate crying sometimes.
i hate the shaking feeling i get when i do,
and my whole body vibrates as the salt water tears come from my eyes.
i hate getting a headache from all the crying,
and i hate myself for crying myself sick.
when my stomach hurts so bad i curl into myself,
and my head pounds,
 and my eyes burn,
and my body shakes.
i really hated crying tonight.
i hated getting cold and i hated going numb.
i hated seeing my internal pain become my external.
and i hated feeling so small,
feeling incomplete and feeling helpless.
sometimes i really hate crying,
because i lose control over myself,
and i’m miserable and i regret it.
and at the end of the night,
after I've cried for hours
like I've done today,
i see myself broken
and i see myself sad,
and not only do i hate crying,
but i hate myself.

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Mazes

lately i tend to get lost within myself.
my mind has become a maze,
and i was never good at mazes.
i would start from the end
drawing through lines to get to the start
because it was frustrating to start from the beginning.
is that what i do?
do i skip all the edges and skip all the challenges?
i used to think everyone loved a challenge
but could they love one
if that challenge was me?
i wonder if i made them try to start from the beginning,
meticulously avoiding every dead end,
and coming to an finish that provided happiness.
but maybe, i made them start from the end,
what if i made them half hazardously draw with a broken pen,
trying to fix the problem and solve the puzzle as quickly
as they could stand it. 
my mind is a maze
i am a series of riddles and puzzles,
more times than not i confuse myself.
i am the crosswords i could never solve, 
and the mind games that made my head spin.
i’m a walking storm,
reaching out for someone to be the eye of me,
reaching for someone to calm me down and fix my destruction.
and now i’m five years old,
sitting in a chair that’s too big 
with people saying things i don’t understand,
and I'm looking at the puzzle in front of me,
i’m looking at the maze that makes my eyes burn,
and i wonder how someone could stand
to keep up with the mind games,
or if they just tried to finish them quickly
and throw them out and rid themselves of the challenge forever.

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Wishful Self

your eyes tell everyone more than you think
they tell them of your hardships and of your depressions
and you give them something to feel for
and every other freckle they see
draws them to a new puzzle inside of you,
giving them an intricate challenge to solve.
there’s an aching feeling you leave for others,
and it gives them a compulsion to venture inside of themselves
because they saw your craving to do so for yourself.
they see your lips relish not stealing that kiss
when you know you desired it so greatly,
so instead they see a hollowness in your cheeks,
but it’s never really questioned because to them
it means you’ve lived and you’ve had the effects
of life being greedy and taking some back from you,
but to them it signifies your strength instead of your weakness
all everyone chooses to see in you is the satisfying side 
rather than the tormented or corrupt one.
my girl, you give people a feeling of ecstasy 
and you leave them holding on to the bliss you had,
leaving them wishing they had your callused hand to hold.
you’re a euphoria to this sadistic race 
that we call humanity

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Night

She asked me what the night felt like to me
what the night meant to me,
and she pondered why i wasn’t scared of the dark.
i wasn’t, 
at least i wasn’t scared anymore.
but the night is my time to be awake,
it’s my time to finally be alone
without worrying about the day’s responsibilities,
or the ones to come tomorrow morning.
she asked me why the darkness wasn’t overwhelming,
and i asked myself too,
but i guess seeing a void fills me with pleasure,
i guess it calms me down.
because for me, the night used to be a scary time,
it used to be full of my demons and maybe it still is,
i don’t really know.
but now,
the night is full of promise,
it’s full of hope and it’s full of a new beginning,
one i tell myself i can take.
for me,
the night isn’t when the little girls cry for their moms
to get the monsters from under their beds.
the night is when the sun can’t see me,
and i can lose myself for the time being.
sometimes, my thoughts in the night scare me,
and maybe it’s why i stay up till the birds sing,
but other times, the night 
is my perpetual story,
written from the lines in the stars.
so when she asked me what the night felt like to me,
all i could say,
was that the night was a comforting friend,
the night was the light in the corner of my room,
the night was my eye of a storm,
because more times than not,
i’m the storm

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Sometimes the Pain We Feel Is Good

it’s on nights when the ground lights up the sky a reddish color and (sometimes) you catch yourself looking out at the horizon through your window half as much as you seem to look yourself in the mirror because you need to see your distorted image and it’s during times when you're up late staring at (the) ceiling as you connect the dots of the new flaws in the paint and you make lists in your head so you can keep your mind occupied and today society perceives people like you as outcasts and they perceive people like us as the ones who can’t bring themselves away from their (pain) long enough to notice what we could be doing to make ourselves better but sometimes being able to know that we’re alive and that we’re still breathing in and out and knowing that what (we feel) keeps us on our feet because it shows us what being on the other side (is) like and our despair and broken pieces that cut others bring us to keep trying because for all the bad times we’ve spent in the dark by ourselves, it makes us see that we still have a life in front of us and that someday we’ll be okay with how we started off but when he have families and a (good) thing going we’ll see how much it was worth it to feel separated from ourselves for so long

Details | Emma Sophie Poem

Angels and Their Storms

when i was growing up i was afraid of the rain
and when it poured so hard that the streets drowned;
i would hide in my parent’s bed to be away from the thunder,
because i was scared i would die,
or that i would wash away with everything else.
but as i grew up,
my parents told me it was the angels in the sky
who caused the world to flood itself;
and it was the angels in heaven who 
brought us the cracks of thunder that made children cry.
and when my sisters were growing up under me,
and they were wide eyed and scared of the storm
i told them it was our grandmother;
and that she had just turned the lights off in the house above the clouds
after she left us before they started growing up.
but it’s been five years since she died,
and i found that i was no longer scared of the rain or the lightning,
because the lightning that fills my room
gives me a reason to exist at night;
because it can light up the darkest of places
and it made me try to light up the darkest place i know,
which is the one inside my head.
it’s been six years since i thought 
that it was the angels who created our storms.
and now, i’ve come to be afraid of the angels in the sky.
but for some reason,
i’ve come to feel at ease with the storm
that rages on outside my house,
and with the one that downs me out on the inside