Virginia    1995 -   
"Sometimes, you need to step outside, get some air, and remind yourself of who you are and who you want to be."
"Sometimes, you need to step outside, get some air, and remind yourself of who you are and who you want to be."

This time, her apology came in the form
of a caramel macchiatto
on a Tuesday morning.
No words:
just scalding coffee and gritted teeth
received by timid fingers
and pursed lips.

And it was enough for me,
until I realized that
all the sugar packets in the state
couldn't sweeten her words
or soothe my burnt tongue.

Bring on the melodramatic poetry. :3
Julia Rose
Julia Rose
Jul 11      Jul 11

This poem
I think to myself
as my shaking hand takes to the page,
Will be about the day my father left,
my first day of college,
or even the way my hands shake when I write.

I write six words,
scratch out seven more,
and continue until I notice
i'm left with
a sloppy "i
           still  
    need
        you."

(again).


even when my poems aren't about you, they're about you.
Julia Rose
Julia Rose
Jun 29      Jun 29

I remember sitting cross-legged
in the backyard with you,
stringing dandelions together
and lazily strumming my guitar
while you rested your head
on my thigh last summer.
I sang soft melodies
and you dreamt that time stopped
and we left this town together. . .


but alas.

You're too practical,
and I'm too scared,
so here we go again.

You and I are the movie’s trailer,

the first lick of a dripping ice cream cone,

the first snow in winter.

We’re a beginning,

a preview of what could happen,

what would happen if our lives ever align. 

But for now, I’m satisfied with

serendipitous blurs of visits,
occasional tastes of our favorite tea,

and the hope that I’ll enjoy

a fresh pot of Earl Grey 

with you down this winding road.

Contemplating doing this one (and others) as spoken word.
Julia Rose
Julia Rose
Jan 21      Jan 22

January

More than anything else, I have to find me first; 
but I don’t want to forget you.

February
"Don’t worry, I’ll tell you until there are no more words to say.” 

You just shook your head. 

I tried to explain when I woke up this morning

just beneath the surface,

but I’d lost my ability to speak.

How strange.

March

I dreamt of my very being

keeping the city safe

up until the day it rained.

April

I finally understood that Love herself 
is a “four letter word”.

May
Well my darling,

I’ll have to forget me to know where I’ve gone. 

Open your eyes.

June

But now you’re gone, just a few days later, 

to keep us both alive.

I held out the matches with no real reason why.

Just go.

July
Just like that, I watch your head spin.

My fingers tingle, and I can breathe.

August

“How do you like it?” 

It's falling together.. 

I’d seen it since the beginning. 

Even so, I miss the days when things were simple.

September came and went with no evidence or new scars.

October

Nature can’t make up her mind about me either.

I still have the pictures to prove it.

November

The music is pure, but I barely notice.

December

It’s beautiful,

Getting hopelessly lost
until I can barely distinguish my own penmanship.”

I put this piece together by taking lines from all the poems I wrote in 2013. :)

When I was young,
     my mom braided my hair with purple ribbons
     every Sunday morning.
Her fingers trembled, tangled in my curls,
     but she kept braiding, twisting, tying
     until it was to her standard.
Nights like this, I miss her
     as I braid my own hair,
     And I can't achieve the perfection
Of those trembling fingers.

I write the endings first. The plot. The
destination-- but it changes
at some point in the middle.
After all, how could I
know where my writing
is headed when
I don't know
who I
am?

 
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