Found Poem About Not Me
http://youngwritersproject.org/node/41813
Guessing
Emily Rose is a stranger to me
so I don't know what to think of her.
When I hear the name Emily Rose
I picture two sisters:
opposites in every way but heart.
I see in my mind a house with flowers and fuzzy yellow chicks in the bathtub,
a shrine of Disney movies
and sunshine hilltops.
But Emily Rose is not two people and so I reconsider.
When I hear the name Emily Rose
I see someone beautiful,
someone composed of atmosphere
whose every twilight contains epiphanies
and whose every morning is touched with breeze.
She bends like a willow when she walks
and her clothes are patched in places
where they were never ripped.
Her room is like a cloud,
and when it is lit with candles and words,
she and I can taste the greatness
lingering of the precipice of our lives.
But Emily Rose is not my friend so I know this isn't right.
In reality,
Emily Rose probably wears designer jeans
that were torn when she got them
and aquired a taste for coffee when she was thirteen.
She has a sheet of black hair down her back,
and she has to shake off the stares she gets
on the subway ride to school.
Emily Rose goes for runs in the park everyday,
and doesn't find the jokes
about that horror movie that shares her name
at all funny.
And she would know
because Emily Rose is effortlessly witty.
She listens to bands that will never be on the radio,
and her name will be written on some boys' hearts
for decades.
I'm not jealous of Emily Rose.
I simply wish she did not exist.