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Jude May 2020
the sky is clear it’s a good day
a few clouds but it mostly clear
it’ll be good no worries
barely any clouds
only a thirty percent chance of
******* up my day thanks a lot
daylight savings don’t you know i can’t work
at night it’s just too dark
i can’t see what i’m doing
how’s the forecast today
sad, i bet
the wind will carry me
into a tree
stuck like a cat
the thunder won’t turn off in my head it’s too loud
to sleep too scary to stay awake
the wind is yelling at me
the fog is making me confused
but this sun gives me hugs
this breeze is reassuring...
~you know the weather doesn’t control your feelings right~
wrong *******.
Written Jan 26, 2020.
Jude May 2020
Let my death be
on display
as my life is.

Allow my body to remain
on the Earth and
feel the wind creep
past every crevice
of my body.

Keep my scrawny features
in the foreground,
straw-sized wrists and all.

Expose my coarse skin to all
those elements,
let them watch my curls drop
and my skin dull out
to a pale gray.

Rub my corroded bones, feel what’s missing.
Watch the bugs crawl out of my cracked chest.
Look at my weak arms.
Admire my scratched up legs.
Notice the features chipped off my face.

Let me put myself on natural display.
Let me show the world what it made of me.
Let this be how I rest in peace.
A poem I wrote whilst looking at a sculpture in an art museum. Written Feb 18, 2020.
Jude May 2020
to you
little lighthouse
who i was not sure
would appear,

now with your little
finger peaking out from
your little ***
proud and small,
soon to be
big and scary and sharp

i need you more than you need me, Spiky

and that is true
so much so
my brother and i
made it permanent,
gave up a limb each
to your edges and curves,
had needles poke them
into our skin

because like you
we felt
thriving on neglect

like you
we felt barely watered
by those who sowed our seeds

like you
our defenses are now
on the outside
and pricking

nonetheless when i checked last
you had grown
your first spikes.
After Ross Gay’s Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude. A poem I wrote for my brother. Written Feb 4, 2020.
Jude Jun 2019
If the trees would speak,
They’d tell me to leave,
To find my roots,
Grow up to the clouds,
And find my peace.
been a while
  Jan 2019 Jude
and when you said
laughter is like a foreign language
i imagined that i was
teaching you how to
speak it
jcl. you said you don’t laugh much just in general, but i sat with you for two and a half hours and that’s all we did. i’ve missed this. i’ve missed you.
Jude Nov 2018
i dreamt of you once again-
i wish i had not woken up.
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