3. Delete

I have a delete problem
I have wanted to walk away.
I don’t want to see
what’s in front of my face.
I’m a problematic
asthmatic anxiety attack.
Someone took from me.
I’m taking it back.
But best not fuck with
what’s been fucked with
because what used to flinch
now speaks with words
like she speaks with her fists.


I do have a delete problem.  I get embarrassed sometimes, when I share my heart or my soul or my journey, I overshare and then sit here alone wondering why I exposed myself or allowed myself to be so naked.  Those of you who used to read emmabush.com, my first blog, where I first began to open up on personal topics, like depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and life post trauma… you probably wonder where all that I wrote went?

Apparently I saved it to a hard drive…  I DID NOT COMPLETELY DELETE.  So I’m going to republish a bunch of stuff on just about every topic, and I’m not going to worry about it coming out in an order that makes sense.  Who knows how long I’ll be around for, I don’t… maybe years, maybe I die next week in an unfortunate accident.  Life happens.  It would be a shame to die and not have writing out there somewhere floating around to prove that I was at least here at one time fighting the good fight, trying to tame my quirks.  I bet someone somewhere may be glad I put myself out there, like I have been grateful for those who have shared their journey with me.




One thought on “3. Delete

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  1. Reblogged this on My Ghost Speaks and commented:

    Wow, dad just brought my box of stuff to mom’s. And I decided to save this blog, but I won’t start writing again until I’ve caught myself up! Because it has been intense! Maybe my past and my present and my future are all colliding. Tense. (Thank’s “siri”)


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