| Poetry By Emily Greentree |
| Something for nothing Something�s been taken away Something�s changed It isn�t me. Tough to say goodbye When you love him so much Your heart breaks into tiny Fragments and shards and The paper cuts on your wrists Are in danger of your life. Something�s been damaged Manhandled. It wasn�t me. Tough to walk away When you love him so much Numbing of your mind and soul When you move is agony and The feeling of rain on your hair Feels like a hundred bullets to the head. Something�s happened Something has suddenly been done It wasn�t us. Harsh to hear the words When you love him so much The sound through your eyes And the sight of the stabbing, Throbbing, wobbling love Feels like falling through a glasshouse And laughing when you hit the bottom The cracks and the blood and the scars Around you, all around you. They say love hurts. Tough Love. Tough Heart. Feelings crushed Like the rolling of a stone. |
| Home from Home The walls were painted spice island I chose the border � helped put it up. The cupboards in the kitchen are mis-matched. I helped put up the heavy cupboards by the back door. My room had sad orange wallpaper that screamed retro. The big shelves on the wall held every possession in an orderly mess. I helped to put them up with my father. She said, my mother, that we�d live here forever. I believed it, drank it in. Forgot the pain of moving. The �for sale� sign up, misery dwelled upon the walls which had seen So many things � christmasses, birthdays, when the baby came home, When old Jim came to stay, the day the neighbours and us fell out, me And my sis growing up, stopping the barbie-doll playing and onto the CD Playing. The fish died in the house, the dog grew older, we saved the Christmas tree and planted it in the massive garden. So many memories that it makes me wonder why sometimes. It was the best house I ever lived in. I loved it. It was the place I called Home. My childhood still remains in that house. Nothing will take it away. The new owners aren�t nice. The day we moved the woman moaned and groaned about My dream house. I hated that day. Now when I go past, there are no net curtains To decorate the front of the house, just the bare empty windows, Where you can look in and see the gloom that now resides there. But I made my mark. We decorated my parents� room, and on the bare wall someone Had written on the wall, from 1983. I added to it. �Em was here, 1999.� It was my mark. I still live in that house, in my dreams. One day it will be mine again. My Dream Home. |
| Rumours She put the key in the lock Put her foot in the door She would never know what horror struck As she stepped into the house once more. She looked around then found him hanging down. What feelings she had Nobody could know, The terror, The horror That the one you loved had let go. We didn�t see her again for a while It was months before we saw her smile. To her mind she seemed to put it back But whenever I saw her, she was wearing black. She cried sometimes, eyes and cheeks red As she came into the room from the bell. It seemed to upset her whatever we said Though she thought no one could tell. We never heard her laugh Though she had her happy times. Bad memories she left behind. People talked. I never knew the truth I only saw what I saw, But something happened The day she went home. She was never the same. |