If you ever want to know
a friend on a deeper level
offer to sober cab.
When they do shots
watch their guards
fall down
when they fall down
help them up.

With clear eyes see
their secrets.
With your steady
tongue keep them.

Take witness to the
ones who curse you
out for trying to
switch out their *****
for water and to the
ones who apologize
over and over again
for letting this happen
again.

Dear New Love,
Why do I call you New Love?
Does this imply that
There is Old Love, that
love has an expiration date.

Dear Old Love,
Why is the memory of you
still clinging to my sheets?
It's not that I miss you
It's not that I want you
back, but I crave that
feeling from when our
love was young,
When I was innocent.

Dear New Love,
I’m scared, sorry.

Dear Old Love,
I am not sorry.

Dear New Love,
I need you to understand
that I am very good at
being alone, that I
have turned off the
parts of myself that make
me loveable.
I stopped watering
My gardens and my flowers
Have all died
That I am afraid to
fall because I
know how it feels
to not be caught.

Dear Old Love,
Thank you for not
Catching me.

Dear New Love,
Please be patient.
Walk slowly with me
through this city, let
the crowds run past
we will catch up.
Hold my hand.
I'll keep your promise
within the space between
us, for it's not distance
it's love.

love,
Julia

Girls wear stiletto's
so that they are that
much further from
the ***** soaked floor.
hands on hips
and lips
sips from
scarlet letter stained straws.

Men don't know where to
put their hands.
On hips
and lips
dips tastes
forbidden fruit
off her trees please.

People in the blender
ice breaking, mixer shaking
As close as we can get
but lonely like debris
in the storm
room  spinning
ears ringing
no one winning,
everyone sinning
and no one
caring

I wish I was a dancer
A ballerina.
I wish my body was
Capable of grace.
1,2,3...1,2,3

I'd point my toes
They'd curl under,
Head held high.
Smile. Sigh. Repeat.
1,2,3...1,2,3

My mind can spin
Tales of love, but
The story of my body
Remains unwritten.
1,2,3...1,2,3

Someone tolled me once;
'you must first love yourself
before you can love someone else'.

I can't scream loud enough
that they are wrong, that it
is all to easy for a woman to
feel red and purple sunsets
for a man and yet her sky's
are ever clouded.

She knows that everything
he is, is everything she doesn't  
deserve. That when their soul
was ripped apart in heaven
before being sent to earth he
was given everything good.

I love your light, your soul
is ever bright.
You balance my dark, but
forgive me when I can not
love myself the way you
want me to.
Forgive yourself for not
being able to change me.
God forgive us for not
being able to repair
the torn seams
of our
souls.

One year since I met him.
Six months since I saw him.
Three since I've spoken to him.
And finally I'm done.
Like polar bears lumbering
Over sand dunes I'm dried up.
I can't believe that he was a man
For whom I thought I could have
Written epics for.

I need new inspiration.
When your muse is fickle
As leaves on deciduous trees
One must find a new source
For the Mississippi.

I will take up crime, start small.
Jaywalking!
And write a limerick about the
Thrill of it.

I'll dance with more than one
Man in a night let them touch
But not keep. They cannot
Breach this beach it's mine.
I don't invite strangers into my
Bed, I take none of them home,
but somehow they're all a poem.
I don't want to be a writer
With pages of ex-lovers in
Her notebooks scrawled
Out in ink, like blood,
Like tears from a flood.
Cause I will pour out all
My words, my language is
Love, on the pages balled
Up in waste baskets hidden.
My heart beats to a rhythm
Too irregular a meter
For most to keep up.
I get it.

A muse is old news.
I can write it better
Than some hipster sweater
Wearing, never texting first,
Fall in and out of love headfirst
Kinda man.

But oh man, I'd love a man
With whom I would write
Perpetual sonnets.
Fill volumes with devotion
Not about one night but all
The nights that we fall asleep
Together knowing that tomorrow
Is another day I get to write about him.
And though nothing will be new
There will be something beautiful
About when the whiskey on his breath
Meets the coffee on mine.
We all have our vices,
The idea of love is mine.
Each kiss would taste like rhyme
A thief he'd steal my heart
A victimless crime.

Till then I will take new roads
Through yellow wood and
Envy the song of the nightingale,
Because I too know why the
Caged bird sings.
It rests in my chest, flutters,
And gets excited by others
Touch and false promises.
I promise this: I will wait love
But idle shall my pen never be.

Planning for the future is a
skill that is innately human.
An evolutionary achievement.  
It is thought that memory is
used to predict upcoming events.
That we use our own perception
of our past to picture our future.
Set goals. Plan. Do.

Some of us are better at this than
others, survival of the fittest I guess

That checking societies boxes
At appropriate ages is a sign of
good mental health.

Maybe I don't fit that mold
Maybe I don't want my past
to dictate my future but I’d
still like it acknowledged in the
end credits in the movie that is my life
that 'she could have
offed herself much sooner but
choose to write this **** poem instead'.

No I don't have a plan.
I can't see the future
But for the first time in long
Time I know I have one