<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132</id><updated>2011-09-26T07:22:26.887-07:00</updated><category term='Poetry'/><category term='Life and Living'/><category term='Family'/><title type='text'>My breath of fresh air.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-4616998299576548441</id><published>2010-04-15T20:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T20:19:24.567-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sensitive Greens</title><content type='html'>Sensitive greens...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holding tightly to the sounds of breathe&lt;br /&gt;To the complexity that is unraveling before these greens &lt;br /&gt;Fluidity composed of such grace and poise&lt;br /&gt;A phenomeneon I must connect to.&lt;br /&gt;My unquenchable thirst&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beauty, who pinned that word&lt;br /&gt;Overused like love &lt;br /&gt;Something so magnificent&lt;br /&gt;Needs it's own dictionary. &lt;br /&gt;A new type of language, one much deeper&lt;br /&gt;A style that resides with Greek goddesses in their glory&lt;br /&gt;One that dwells with fairytales and magic&lt;br /&gt;A tale of it's own &lt;br /&gt;Paradise perfection,&lt;br /&gt;That is what I face &lt;br /&gt;This phenomeneon, you reside in solace&lt;br /&gt;Blessed to see, to be a part&lt;br /&gt;To allow my senses to absorb every second I can&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a wonderful life I live&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-4616998299576548441?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/4616998299576548441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/04/sensitive-greens.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4616998299576548441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4616998299576548441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/04/sensitive-greens.html' title='Sensitive Greens'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-3994593144880408933</id><published>2010-03-12T00:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-12T08:46:29.410-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Automatic Reaction</title><content type='html'>Why do I pretend &lt;br /&gt;When the spirits fade away&lt;br /&gt;Nothing is left&lt;br /&gt;I just want it to exist&lt;br /&gt;I want it to be tangible &lt;br /&gt;To know I am human after all&lt;br /&gt;Your lips are smeared with remnants of desire&lt;br /&gt;Your touch my reminder of normalcy&lt;br /&gt;Followed by headaches of confusion &lt;br /&gt;Wondering why even try&lt;br /&gt;In the moment it was all I desired&lt;br /&gt;In the moment it is all I despise&lt;br /&gt;Why&lt;br /&gt;Tell me why I do this to myself&lt;br /&gt;Ill forget in moments&lt;br /&gt;Something I desire so strongly now&lt;br /&gt;Leave me now &lt;br /&gt;But&lt;br /&gt;In the haze&lt;br /&gt;I will need you&lt;br /&gt;Again &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-3994593144880408933?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/3994593144880408933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/03/automatic-reaction.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/3994593144880408933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/3994593144880408933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/03/automatic-reaction.html' title='Automatic Reaction'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-5441582679463896590</id><published>2010-02-28T18:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T18:40:14.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Battle of the White Flag</title><content type='html'>It’s coming back. The memories I suppressed.&lt;br /&gt;Your gasp, your sigh, your giggle.&lt;br /&gt; It’s haunting my dreams, my thoughts, my day, my week, my thoughts…&lt;br /&gt;Overwhelmed.&lt;br /&gt;Are you in my head, am I going in sane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me…&lt;br /&gt;    your eyes..&lt;br /&gt;I need support…&lt;br /&gt;    your breathe…&lt;br /&gt;You were my support…&lt;br /&gt;    your touch..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m exhausted fighting you out of my head, I will not, cannot, no white flag…&lt;br /&gt;   But I want to so badly, get out of my head, to surrender.&lt;br /&gt;To breathe without struggle.&lt;br /&gt;The battle of lust with you on the frontline.&lt;br /&gt;How to separate without more pain is the battle of lust,&lt;br /&gt;           I’m fighting with my body… But my heart is gone, far gone.. It is in your hands.&lt;br /&gt;Give it back, please…&lt;br /&gt;Give it back…&lt;br /&gt;So I can fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The battle of lust.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-5441582679463896590?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/5441582679463896590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/02/battle-of-white-flag.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/5441582679463896590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/5441582679463896590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/02/battle-of-white-flag.html' title='Battle of the White Flag'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-4649202900039548105</id><published>2010-02-28T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T18:37:32.477-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Touch where I walk. Bless my path. Wish me well.  Gaze long and hard.&lt;br /&gt;Think of me when you see that color. When I am in your dreams, treasure it.&lt;br /&gt;When you think the wind brings you my voice, listen. When a star shoots across the sky, smile.&lt;br /&gt;Put your hand on your heart when it beats too fast, it’s trying to match mine.&lt;br /&gt;Kiss me long one last time. Squeeze tightly. Farewell forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-4649202900039548105?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/4649202900039548105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/02/touch-where-i-walk.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4649202900039548105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4649202900039548105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2010/02/touch-where-i-walk.html' title=''/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-8014423359618026082</id><published>2009-12-28T16:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T16:57:25.250-08:00</updated><title type='text'>life threads</title><content type='html'>To unravel into pieces&lt;br /&gt;A tapestry becoming so undone&lt;br /&gt;Shattered glass just seems so unrepairable&lt;br /&gt;Something perishable in the sun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holding on fast to the core&lt;br /&gt;Honest, pure, and true&lt;br /&gt;Sharing bits and pieces of the threads&lt;br /&gt;That is solely me through and through&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inflicting pain not intended&lt;br /&gt;Just open for any to stop and stare&lt;br /&gt;This is life, raw as ever&lt;br /&gt;And it was my choice to share&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To tear down what something is made of&lt;br /&gt;Seems so disastrous at first glimpse&lt;br /&gt;But the beauty in the breakdown&lt;br /&gt;Is about truely finding what's within&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-8014423359618026082?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/8014423359618026082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/12/life-threads.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/8014423359618026082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/8014423359618026082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/12/life-threads.html' title='life threads'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-4952422427841889021</id><published>2009-12-16T12:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T12:39:40.954-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maddie.</title><content type='html'>I am in a weird place in life right now. I don't really like the term "weird", but I honestly have no idea how else to describe it. For those who do not know, I just got done with a bizarre/wack/very surreal reality tv show experience and still have yet to decide if the positives will outweigh the negatives. I am having a very hard time enrolling back into school because I for one have NO idea what I want to do with my life. My problem? I cannot commit to anything. Can there be a risk taking major anyone? See, that is something I would excel at. I can be impulsive, crazy, and adventurous. But I cannot for the life of me be organized, planned, committed. I can't pick a major. I can't settle on just one thing because of the fact that I want to do everything, and before my realist friends or parentals finally sink into my brain that thinks I can do everything, I am sitting pretty on Cloud Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I don't settle on one thing, just one, I will go crazy. I think clinically insane. AND, since it is pretty clear that me settling in a location, with a person, on a major, into college, etc, etc... isn't going to happen, I have settled on Maddie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maddie. A gorgeous five month old cocker-border collie mix. She is perfect for me. High in energy, ridiculously adventurous, and still at the end of the day, a cuddler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, expect a ton of status updates, blogs, twitpics, and you name it on my new commitment. My SOLE commitment. It is going to be one fun ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-4952422427841889021?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/4952422427841889021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/12/maddie.html#comment-form' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4952422427841889021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4952422427841889021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/12/maddie.html' title='Maddie.'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-4151107275144005772</id><published>2009-12-13T22:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T22:42:24.588-08:00</updated><title type='text'>thrill.</title><content type='html'>I wonder some days how I got here.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't always so fearless.&lt;br /&gt;It is in my nature to force myself to be brave, to not hold back even when everything in me screams to.&lt;br /&gt;I am not invincible or untouchable&lt;br /&gt;and my body is breakable...&lt;br /&gt;But I refuse to believe it&lt;br /&gt;Even saying it now makes me cringe&lt;br /&gt;For when I know in my heart nothing can stop me,&lt;br /&gt;nothing can.&lt;br /&gt;And that feeling of freedom&lt;br /&gt;Of being invincible, even when I know I for damn sure am not,&lt;br /&gt;I am convinced is why my heart continues to beat.&lt;br /&gt;I crave to be scared so I can defeat it.&lt;br /&gt;When my heart beats faster, I feel close to home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Living is a thrill,&lt;br /&gt;It is about time you joined the ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-4151107275144005772?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/4151107275144005772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-wonder-some-days-how-i-got-here.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4151107275144005772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4151107275144005772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-wonder-some-days-how-i-got-here.html' title='thrill.'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-52887012929558698</id><published>2009-11-17T15:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T16:01:30.717-08:00</updated><title type='text'>my reason for existence....</title><content type='html'>If I didn't have something to fight against&lt;br /&gt;Would I even exist&lt;br /&gt;If I didn't need to make a point&lt;br /&gt;What would be left to resist&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My battle isn't within me&lt;br /&gt;It is fighting for something much more&lt;br /&gt;It is changing the path most follow&lt;br /&gt;Forcing other's to question their war&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is pushing the limit to the max&lt;br /&gt;Jumping the fence one last time&lt;br /&gt;Making a move not usually seen&lt;br /&gt;Solely craving to cross that line&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a fight that may only end up hurting&lt;br /&gt;All that I know to be true&lt;br /&gt;But do I know myself through any other&lt;br /&gt;Do I know how else one has grew?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I push and I shove and I constantly fight&lt;br /&gt;Regardless of what the outcome may be&lt;br /&gt;This constant struggle that makes my heart thrive&lt;br /&gt;Is the only way I know to be me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-52887012929558698?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/52887012929558698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-reason-for-existence.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/52887012929558698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/52887012929558698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-reason-for-existence.html' title='my reason for existence....'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-2037968132824677616</id><published>2009-11-17T15:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T15:58:28.899-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Unsettled</title><content type='html'>What is it that I am holding inside&lt;br /&gt;I feel anxious&lt;br /&gt;As life in its ocean surrounds me&lt;br /&gt;My toe is barely in&lt;br /&gt;I am missing out&lt;br /&gt;The world is there, so close.&lt;br /&gt;I want to experience it&lt;br /&gt;I want to hold it&lt;br /&gt;I want to feel it&lt;br /&gt;I need to embrace everything it has&lt;br /&gt;My bucket list is endless&lt;br /&gt;And I am wasting time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talk about the world as if I've seen it&lt;br /&gt;I dream nightly&lt;br /&gt;of dancing in Uganda to the beat of drums&lt;br /&gt;And surfing on the beaches of Brasil&lt;br /&gt;Speaking to people in tongues unheard&lt;br /&gt;Holding hands of those with colors I've not yet seen&lt;br /&gt;Touching the mountains impossible to find...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talk of things I have not seen&lt;br /&gt;I wish upon words that seem so far away&lt;br /&gt;When can I&lt;br /&gt;Will when I&lt;br /&gt;How can I&lt;br /&gt;Will I ever be able to...&lt;br /&gt;Finally&lt;br /&gt;Live.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-2037968132824677616?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/2037968132824677616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/11/unsettled.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/2037968132824677616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/2037968132824677616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/11/unsettled.html' title='Unsettled'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-1915714157550993188</id><published>2009-11-14T09:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-14T10:01:17.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rythmic Souls</title><content type='html'>There is something about your soul&lt;br /&gt;that speaks to mine.&lt;br /&gt;I crave the chaos&lt;br /&gt;but with you I find&lt;br /&gt;The eye of the storm that never changes&lt;br /&gt;with time.&lt;br /&gt;And in that peace I wonder, in what life&lt;br /&gt;did our stars align&lt;br /&gt;Did ever the rhythm of your heartbeat&lt;br /&gt;coincide with mine?&lt;br /&gt;Because in this second I am beginning&lt;br /&gt;to slowly... unwind.&lt;br /&gt;It seems that at one time&lt;br /&gt; together we shined.&lt;br /&gt;Past, present, or future...&lt;br /&gt;Baby I will never mind&lt;br /&gt;This thirst you are quenching means you are&lt;br /&gt;of another kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So touch.&lt;br /&gt;Heal.&lt;br /&gt;Soothe.&lt;br /&gt;Quench.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because there is something about your soul&lt;br /&gt;that speaks to mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-1915714157550993188?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/1915714157550993188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/11/rythmic-souls.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/1915714157550993188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/1915714157550993188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/11/rythmic-souls.html' title='Rythmic Souls'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-5585864512248079850</id><published>2009-10-20T15:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T16:13:38.491-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Atmosphere Adjustment</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whole and complete&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Unshattered, in one piece&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Spontaneous, overwhelmed&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Slow back to &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;moving&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Familiar sounds only my heartbeat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;soothing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I'm not battered &lt;div&gt;Nor I bruised&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My senses are merely striving&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To not be confused &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My organs in place&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just learning to utilize&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;From my brain to my lungs&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My toes to my eyes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Re-using my body bit by bit&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's not coming back to me,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I'm coming back to it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So please, don't mind me...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm just learning how to breathe again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;.........freely. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-5585864512248079850?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/5585864512248079850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/10/atmosphere-adjustment.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/5585864512248079850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/5585864512248079850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/10/atmosphere-adjustment.html' title='Atmosphere Adjustment'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-7941632277344947822</id><published>2009-09-15T11:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T11:59:36.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i feel invincible</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The water crashes on the shore&lt;br /&gt;The tides are changing more and more&lt;br /&gt;But here I stand strong and true&lt;br /&gt;Knowing exactly what to do&lt;br /&gt;My salted hair begins to curl&lt;br /&gt;As all my doubts start to unfurl&lt;br /&gt;I spread my hands wide and high&lt;br /&gt;I am fully naked under this sky&lt;br /&gt;My doubts, my cautions, no longer exist&lt;br /&gt;Because with that comes life I refuse to miss&lt;br /&gt;I am in the moment, I begin to thrive&lt;br /&gt;All in fruit of my inner drive&lt;br /&gt;This is my life in all its beauty&lt;br /&gt;Living it fully is solely my duty&lt;br /&gt;The waves can crash and try to break me&lt;br /&gt;But my body alone is enough safety&lt;br /&gt;I trust the feet I stand on today&lt;br /&gt;Because who knows tomorrow what will go away&lt;br /&gt;Let the ocean hold me as I make my stance&lt;br /&gt;For today is the day I take that chance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-7941632277344947822?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/7941632277344947822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-feel-invincible.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/7941632277344947822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/7941632277344947822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-feel-invincible.html' title='i feel invincible'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-1588648445804961046</id><published>2009-09-02T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T13:53:40.918-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wild at Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;div  style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;“A prayer for the wild at heart kept in cages…” Tennessee Williams&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;Cages of loneliness, depression, institutions… Cages that restrict a beautiful being from living. Some, or most, can pinpoint the cages in our lives, put there by others. But more importantly, what about the ones put by ourselves? What cage have I restricted myself with? What cage have we all restricted ourselves with?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;It is easy to blame others for something negative we feel in ourselves; I am a certain way because of my past, naturally, but it is what we do with the “certain way we are” that shows character and strength. In many ways our past can become a cage… Until we can own up to ourselves and our flaws, regardless of origin, we will continue to be restricted and deprived of all the amazing things life has to offer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;I fear most that I will find something about myself that I cannot come to terms with. What if I am afraid to face something within? What is my cage?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;"Wild at heart". I am more than that. I am wild at heart, at soul, at the bottom of my being. We all are meant to live fearless, cage-less lives.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;Bar me up and see what happens, but if it is myself that created the cage, I feel that is when I have lost my heart, my soul, myself. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" &gt;The damage is done when we are the ones who cage ourselves. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-1588648445804961046?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/1588648445804961046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/09/wild-at-heart.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/1588648445804961046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/1588648445804961046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/09/wild-at-heart.html' title='Wild at Heart'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-1740148952910166772</id><published>2009-07-28T00:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T12:01:31.398-07:00</updated><title type='text'>finding sanity</title><content type='html'>listen for the sound....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;is my heartbeat slowly fading&lt;br /&gt;now that i have hit the ground&lt;br /&gt;is there a pulse radiating&lt;br /&gt;now that my body has been found&lt;br /&gt;are my pupils dialating&lt;br /&gt;in this world that spins around&lt;br /&gt;around&lt;br /&gt;around&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;around&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i am afraid i've lost myself,&lt;br /&gt;listen for the sound&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-1740148952910166772?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/1740148952910166772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/07/listen-for-sound.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/1740148952910166772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/1740148952910166772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/07/listen-for-sound.html' title='finding sanity'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-8916061988979759568</id><published>2009-07-28T00:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T12:02:02.072-07:00</updated><title type='text'>pages</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;My heart is on my sleeve&lt;br /&gt;This vulnerability killing me&lt;br /&gt;Understanding isn't something I do well&lt;br /&gt;Bravery hard to come by if you couldn't tell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never knew how hard it could be&lt;br /&gt;To let the whole world really see me&lt;br /&gt;Opening a book in a thunderstorm&lt;br /&gt;Without allowing a page to be torn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afraid of effects when the cause is through&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself to always be true&lt;br /&gt;Holding my chin high when all else has failed&lt;br /&gt;Persevering after the ship has sailed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I write this nonsense to remind myself&lt;br /&gt;That my being doesn't belong in this wealth&lt;br /&gt;My body my dreams my wish to survive&lt;br /&gt;Is all this process of being alive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-8916061988979759568?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/8916061988979759568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-heart-is-on-my-sleeve-this.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/8916061988979759568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/8916061988979759568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-heart-is-on-my-sleeve-this.html' title='pages'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-3292319303038364433</id><published>2009-06-24T11:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T13:46:52.748-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fate's Fault</title><content type='html'>I sit on this train of life&lt;br /&gt;Moving too fast on the track&lt;br /&gt;The blurred window to outside tells me,&lt;br /&gt;Once gone there is no looking back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left my past far behind,&lt;br /&gt;I sprinted onto that train.&lt;br /&gt;But one thing held me hostage&lt;br /&gt;Which never again could be the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How could I run far from it&lt;br /&gt;Without actually letting go&lt;br /&gt;My body was moving quickly away&lt;br /&gt;But my heart was saying "no".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was torn in two completely,&lt;br /&gt;Into the impossible I was thrust.&lt;br /&gt;How does one love to any measure&lt;br /&gt;That which is in something I disgust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tempted to throw the E brake,&lt;br /&gt;To make my world come to a halt .&lt;br /&gt;But it won't change what I left behind&lt;br /&gt;I must leave it as fate's fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I sit and watch the trees fly by,&lt;br /&gt;I watch the world go on it's path.&lt;br /&gt;I hold my breathe and leave it up to fate&lt;br /&gt;With all it's beauty, pain, and wrath.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-3292319303038364433?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/3292319303038364433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/06/fates-fault.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/3292319303038364433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/3292319303038364433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/06/fates-fault.html' title='Fate&apos;s Fault'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-6527916579006549903</id><published>2009-06-09T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T08:09:25.344-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Jump.</title><content type='html'>Anticipation.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't nervous, I was ready.&lt;br /&gt;I needed this. I needed to live in the moment and become someone I had not met before.&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to push myself.&lt;br /&gt;Live so outside the box that some would say, she isn't going to make it.&lt;br /&gt;There always is that chance, that one percent...&lt;br /&gt;That don't land safely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Risks.&lt;br /&gt;I live for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes the ground that much more inviting.&lt;br /&gt;It makes the beat of my heart not a noise to be taken granted of.&lt;br /&gt;Sweet, beautiful, wonderful life.&lt;br /&gt;At my finger tips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew when I looked down, this was what I was made for.&lt;br /&gt;So I jumped.&lt;br /&gt;I flew.&lt;br /&gt;I felt the wind take over me.&lt;br /&gt;I became complete in that free fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't know how it would end, I just knew without a doubt,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I WAS IN LOVE WITH MY LIFE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No expectations,&lt;br /&gt;No old sensations.&lt;br /&gt;It was a brand new me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-6527916579006549903?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/6527916579006549903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/06/jump.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/6527916579006549903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/6527916579006549903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/06/jump.html' title='The Jump.'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-4497820776060135941</id><published>2009-04-06T18:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T20:13:07.301-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rockclimbing is my Boyfriend</title><content type='html'>I had an epiphany.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately my life has consisted of nothing but my hobbies. Bellydancing, rockclimbing, flag football, soccer, running, some boxing, sitting in the sauna..... You name it. Not only are they amazing workouts, they are what I live through. They scream adventure. They never bore me. They keep me entertained, and they get me in shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a good heart to heart with a bestie, I realized I have lost sight of a life-long dream. Becoming a veterinarian. After years of straight A's, great test scores, and honor roll, high school days couldn't seem further out of reach. College has humbled me, has made me stop procrastinating, and made me work my butt off for something still to receive a C grade. Ultimately, the actual school part of college has made me feel like a complete and utter failure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School does not fit well with my personality. I am restless, impatient, and always on the go. I have been so frustrated lately with the way the system of college, specifically for a Biology major, works. The way I do not believe in myself like I should is exactly where I begin to fail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hobbies have made me for once feel invincible. Like I can and WILL do anything. When I bellydance, my Bohemian-self storms out and I, for a second, feel beautiful. When I conquer the middle rockclimbing wall at the Mizzou Rec Center, I pride myself in my strong arms and stubborn addittude that got me up the wall ultimately. When I run three miles, I no longer see thunder thighs and jiggled legs. I no longer see the weak side of Emily. I no longer feel vulnerable in this huge world of Biology majors here at Mizzou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life is crazy, and I wouldn't want it any other way. But my lack of wanting to commit has finally hit home, because feeling like I cannot commit is only out of my fear of failure. Regardless of what I want to do with my life: a veterinarian, a dolphin trainer, a marine biologist, hell... Peace Corps... I cannot let my lack of self-esteem get in the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am taking my rockclimbing cockiness and applying it to all aspects of my life. I just gotta keep on truckin'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.s.&lt;br /&gt;Soon to be added on the list: West African dancing and windsurfing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-4497820776060135941?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/4497820776060135941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/04/rockclimbing-is-my-boyfriend.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4497820776060135941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/4497820776060135941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/04/rockclimbing-is-my-boyfriend.html' title='Rockclimbing is my Boyfriend'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-7923384721741915454</id><published>2009-03-31T22:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T19:42:35.050-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life and Living'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poetry'/><title type='text'>My Ocean...</title><content type='html'>I couldn't tear myself away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My feet became addicted to the sand caving from under them after a false sense of stability was given.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hair adapted to the wind that blew it every which direction, making me feel so at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My eyes couldn't part from the unpredictable rythym of the ocean waves, the unharmonized beat that resounded in my ears, the beautiful randomness that doesn't falter far from the sounds of jazz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My soul has become attached to to the overwhelming feeling I encounter every time I am next to such beauty...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The water hitting my feet&lt;br /&gt;Traveling through my soul&lt;br /&gt;Swelling up into my eyes...&lt;br /&gt;As crying is the only reaction I have to such a perfect view.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't bare to walk away, even to express my emotions through this pen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to touch.&lt;br /&gt;I want to hold it within.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing matters here...&lt;br /&gt;pain, failure, heartache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as the sand rinses off my feet, these emotions tagged with all confusion.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dissappear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to find myself here.&lt;br /&gt;As the sand caves from under my feet,&lt;br /&gt;I realize my stability in life resembles that false sense of security.&lt;br /&gt;Our unpredictable lives are unreliable,&lt;br /&gt;and the beauty in that fact-&lt;br /&gt;that in one second our feet could easily be put on new ground,&lt;br /&gt;slams me into the reality that life&lt;br /&gt;unknown.&lt;br /&gt;undecided.&lt;br /&gt;Is the most stable life chosen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my feet touch the thing so collosial.&lt;br /&gt;So fierce and so beautiful,&lt;br /&gt;I will know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;because when my feet touch this ocean, I feel COMPLETE.&lt;br /&gt;Despite it's scariness, despite it's unpredictable ways.&lt;br /&gt;It is what I crave for my life, in all aspects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No pond&lt;br /&gt;No river&lt;br /&gt;No lake&lt;br /&gt;will suffice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My ocean will come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The empowerment along with the humility I feel as I walk closer and closer to these waves is a constant reminder of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't tear away.&lt;br /&gt;It calls me in.&lt;br /&gt;I refuse to tear away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-7923384721741915454?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/7923384721741915454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-ocean.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/7923384721741915454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/7923384721741915454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-ocean.html' title='My Ocean...'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-6843435934407505495</id><published>2009-03-27T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T09:52:46.062-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family'/><title type='text'>The Way We Take Our Coffee.</title><content type='html'>I sit here on my couch, laptop in my lap, my mom in sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minus the way we take our coffee, mine black with one ice cube and hers slightly tan from a little non-fat milk, we look identical as she is on her computer feet away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think the phrase "becoming my mother" is appropriate. She has showed me through the years a strong personality and helped me develop my own sense of self all while loving (present tense included) me unconditionally. Although not opposite, I never felt relatable to her. We were just two strong people and she was just a ton more bad ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A text from her the other day read, "Am I stubborn?". I without hesitation texted into my phone: "Yes, when there is conviction..."&lt;br /&gt;Sent.&lt;br /&gt;Stop.&lt;br /&gt;Lightbulb.&lt;br /&gt;It was a revelation. Her gene of stubborness was very much in my veins. Mine possibly undeveloped and a little less mature, lets face it, ALOT less mature, it was something I had in common. (Minus the texting: yes people, my momma texts.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw her reflection in Michelle's common sense. I saw her compassion ministered through Amy's hugs. Being a little bit of an odd bird of the three girls: tomboy/sporadic/doing-my own thing, I just had never seen my mom in me. I have very much wanted to. I never have met someone as amazing as her. Strong and courageous. Insightful. Beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been grown up since a very young age, knowing what I want and who I am. Becoming my mother is not in the cards for me because she has helped me develop into my own person. Which is why I love her so much. Knowing that I owned her stubborness made me feel triumphant, relatable, content. The little odd bird had finally flew home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe coffee, a little different colored from the milk and taken different ways, deep down is always coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am very okay with that fact.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-6843435934407505495?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/6843435934407505495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-sit-here-on-my-couch-laptop-in-my-lap.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/6843435934407505495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/6843435934407505495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-sit-here-on-my-couch-laptop-in-my-lap.html' title='The Way We Take Our Coffee.'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897012375190060132.post-7471372521937691164</id><published>2009-03-26T11:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T23:03:55.618-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Explanation of Title.</title><content type='html'>Last night I flew in from Texas. The crazy, wild Spring Break island of South Padre is known for the nights one won't remember, drunken embarrassments, and five days turned into a blur that will be reflected upon years later with only head shaking regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Spring Break 2009 could not have been any more opposite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not recall where the switch happened, but somewhere from not knowing where I wanted to go in my life and seeing the ocean for the first time since last summer, my insides screamed at me, bubbling within, demanding my fingers to pick up a pen. To ignore this urge with all its intensity would be disastrous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A while ago while in Barnes&amp;amp;Noble, doddling like always when it comes to an overwhelming number of books in one place, I found a journal. I don't know why I was drawn to it particularly, it was one of hundreds on a wall. Looking at it now, it just screams peaceful. Maybe at that time all I wanted was peace. Regardless, this taupe-colored Buddha pictured journal became my best friend. My peace. My outlet. My breath of fresh air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Buddha Book came with me to South Padre. It smells of salt from the ocean waves splashing upon its surface as I walked the shore for hours. It became my constant. And best of all, it holds my thoughts, my emotions, my heart rythms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't write because I have wanted to since a young age. I don't write because I would love to be a published novelist. I write because it is a necessity. My soul CRAVES to be poured out. My bubbling insides will burst if not, somehow in someway, released.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I write for my sanity. I write to understand myself more. I write so I can maybe figure out this big, huge world, if even just for a second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So please, read my breath of fresh air. And hopefully wherever you sit at this moment, that air can minister to you as well. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4897012375190060132-7471372521937691164?l=emilyschromm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/feeds/7471372521937691164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/03/explanation-of-title.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/7471372521937691164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4897012375190060132/posts/default/7471372521937691164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://emilyschromm.blogspot.com/2009/03/explanation-of-title.html' title='Explanation of Title.'/><author><name>Em.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09057007899339646236</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pHdbvxSN468/ScvTEKStryI/AAAAAAAAAAM/NXgXe_XBnvY/S220/blog.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
