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Sep 2021 · 288
Daydreams of Daisies
Juliana Sep 2021
I do not exist.
I am theoretical,
a vague conception.

A collection of cracked and shattered eggshells,
swimming through their shields of protection.
In theory, my mind is the static of a television screen,
with no news to report, just the quiet credits
of a horror loading a few dozen miles away.

Is it a Tuesday?

I am strong,
and determined,
and powerful.

I cannot be ripped to shreds.
My strings cannot be cut.

I am a daydream,
sweet and surreal,
the lustful longing
only a little girl
can dance beneath.

I’m a torturer,
my own body my canvas,
my mind a delusional path
of destruction doused
in little wishes.

I am immortal
until proven otherwise.
You cannot ****
a trailing thought.

How many more seconds will tick past
before my body is mine again?
How many clocks must reset
before the moving pictures move on?

I long to be spontaneous.
I want to hold my hand in yours,
sip a coffee and slip my sunglasses through my hair.
I imagine the sunsets we could watch together,
the car trips, and the daisies.
We could scream in the cornfields,
you could get down on one knee,
we could travel the world together.

I long to be important.
I know I’m intelligent.
Maybe if I could memorize,
if I was in control of my own thoughts,
if I wasn’t riddled with what he says
and her opinions and her rebuttals.

I can see myself being happy.
I know how to daydream.
I want to write a novel,
I want to learn the secrets of the stars.

How can I reach my goals
when you complete them for me?
How can I live a meaningful life
when yours is covering the screen?
How can I get rid of you,
without having to say goodbye?

Because under all these linguistic strategies,
under poems and prayers,
the truth is that I am in love with you.
I, on purpose, hold you close.
The only stories I see among the stars
are the ones you step foot in,
the ones I’ve written for myself.

I am a dreamer with multiple dreams.
I am a novelist for two worlds.
I want to take the path not yet taken,
with a go-pro following the one that has.

I don’t want to lose you.
I’m terrified of losing me.
Sep 2021 · 2.0k
Juliana Sep 2021
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about probability.

What is the probability that two brothers decided to go textless?
What is the probability that a little girl developed cancer?
What is the probability that millions were moved by her story?

What is the probability that I decided to join a board game club?
What is the probability that I decided to go on my phone one morning
instead of paying attention to class?

What is the probability that I would be the first to respond to a Reddit post?
What is the probability that I would be brave enough to start a server?
What is the probability that you logged onto Reddit?

What is the probability that you saw my post?
What is the probability that we met?
What is the probability of all these things happening together?

I think you’re the reason I’m starting to believe in God.

I think us finding each other was a miracle.

It’s a miracle that with every branch on every timeline,
we happened to climb onto this one.
It’s a miracle that we get to exist in the same lifetime.

Think about it, one little changed decision,
and we never would have found each other.
The world is full of dominos,
and every single one had to fall into place perfectly.

Look at all the little ways the world fell into place perfectly to let us exist together.

Tell me how you couldn’t believe in miracles.
Sep 2021 · 2.1k
American Girl
Juliana Sep 2021
I flipped through the pages,
taking in every word as scripture.
This is how my body will grow,
this is how to get a boy to like me,
this is who I’m supposed to turn into.

I was just a little girl.
I couldn’t have told you
my favorite color, I still don’t know
what I want to be when I grow up.

I just turned another page.
And I knew.

I had more fingers on my hands
than trips around the sun,
but even so young and so naive
my instincts were stronger
than fiberglass.

Something was wrong.

But I didn’t look like those pictures.
I didn’t hate myself.
I didn’t do it on purpose.
None of the words fit
to what I was feeling
but they were calling to me.


Juliana, you are us.
Juliana, you don’t have to eat that.
Juliana, something is wrong.

I was so young.

How did I know so young?
How did I only find out today?

Little Juliana,
what else did you know?
Aug 2021 · 1.0k
Juliana Aug 2021
hello, i have a crush on u. 2 years now.
youre the cutest when u r wearing your
glasses hehe

i have loved you since you were 16.

March 3, 2017. At lab. Your hair is long.
You're wearing a white shirt.

July 10, 2017. You're making a poem.
Your eyes… I fell in love with those eyes
of yours.

November 14, 2017. There are no words
to express my love for you. I love you.

Hey, juliana, cheer the **** up. you're
worth it.

I miss wrapping my arms around your

I’m sorry for all of the pain that I caused.
You deserved a better end to high

I'm still missing you every day.

I still wish that someday we'll see each
other again, I really want that museum

If one day you ever find this just wanna
let you know that I still love you and I
always will.

I’m not sure how to love anyone else but
you. Can we try again?

you made quarantine really fun for me.
thank you for all of the wonderful
memories :)

you said you’d let me know if you ever
thought less of me. you never did. you
just left.

Don't forget to love yourself & always
choose to be happy :)

i can't get over you and it's been almost
5 years since we last saw each other :(

Hey, Juliana!! Hey, self!! I know it's hard
but please keep going. Everything will
be okay soon :)

He’s ok. Just tryna keep him sober. He
deserves to be happy so that’s my goal.
Take care ***

I hope the kid is doing fine.

I hope you're doing well. Always
remember to be happy. Always put a
smile on your face.

I hope you're happy wherever you are.
You'll always be my greatest love.

i love you so much momma u deserve
the whole world <3
Found in and Inspired by the Unsent Project (
(Lines with asterisks should be right justified and in italics.)
Aug 2021 · 1.6k
An Arbor to the Moon
Juliana Aug 2021
I remember a Tuesday afternoon,
the closest star falling
behind the hilltops,
its leftover magic piercing
its way in between the trees.
The leaves, a canopy above
our heads, an arbor guiding us
to the moon.

I remember holding your hand
when we stopped, the car
growing quiet as I turned off
the engine. Our hushed laughers
as we got the blankets
out of the trunk.

I remember laying them down
on the dirt, the ground damp
from that morning’s rain,
the stars vast and endless.
Each one another day
I wished to spend with you.

I remember pulling you close,
your curls ticking my cheek
as you lay your head
on my chest. My fingers
rubbing along your back,
your arm, your stomach.

I remember never wanting
to see another sunrise.

I remember never wanting
that moment to end.

I remember you.

I remember when I used
to love you.
Aug 2021 · 179
we, or you and me
Juliana Aug 2021
I don’t know what I’m more terrified of:
Losing you or us never getting to meet.

Is it possible that after a hundred little memories,
the distracted handholds, and good morning kisses,
one day I won’t want to see your smile anymore?

Will the way I lose you be easy or hard?
Will I just walk away, a single tear swiped
from my cheek, the phantom feel of your fingers
flicking it away for me, or will it be a storm,
monstrous, will I recognize myself when we’re over?

Will it be my choice, or will fate pry us apart,
two pieces of plywood that should be glued,
not nailed. Is our loss a sacrifice
the world has to take to move on?

Or even worse, what if I never even learn your name.
I don’t want to be just two ships passing in the night.
I don’t want to touch your hand as you give me my coffee,
unaware that this hand belongs with mine.
I don’t want to meet your eyes in class,
pulling mine away without a second thought.

It’s one thing to be the person that was,
and another to be the people that never were.
Aug 2021 · 514
Juliana Aug 2021
Do you ever wonder
who you’d be in another life?

Did you wake up today,
with him by your side?

Did he absentmindedly
take your hand, link your fingers
through his, kiss the back
of your palm, all before
fluttering his eyes open?

Today if you’re sad, will he
drive you to the bookstore,
following you around while
holding all the little worlds,
picking out a few he’d know
you’d love, slipping them in the pile
while you’re in another aisle,
just so you could find
a new surprise later?

To another me,
if you’re out there:

Are you happy, making sure
to take each and every moment
for granted, because you know
your mood could crumble
in a heartbeat?

Do you make sure to splash
in the puddles, love the feeling
of rain soaking into your boots,
clothes sticky and drenched?

Does it make you feel alive?

I hope you chase the sunshine,
texting your friends at two
in the morning, driving to
their house in a van, half-dressed
and without a single thought,
I hope your road trip is miraculous.

I don’t need to wonder
about who I’d be in another life.

I am confident.
I am a trail-blazer.

I am a leader.
I am powerful.
I am strong.

My wardrobe is filled with perfect suits,
dainty and gorgeous, badass and black.

I wear white because I look like an angel.
I wear yellow because I stand out.
I wear blue because I am careful.
I wear red because I strike fear.

I could ruin you with a single glance.
I could love you harder
than you’ve ever been loved.

I will never be a second thought.
I am an avalanche.
If I want, I’ll become your world.

I am me.
Aug 2021 · 184
Untitled #21
Juliana Aug 2021
I didn’t mean to say goodbye to you.
What I said, I thought would be a hello.
What I did, I hoped would make me see you more often.
When I dreamed, I always dreamt of you.

But it’s been an entire day, my love.
A day without one of your gorgeous hellos.
A day without your dance, a day without your hugs.

Today, I have been surrounded by love.
Today I am safe, I am happy,
but I don’t get to share it with you.
Today, was a goodbye.
And I’m sorry.
But I promise I’ll see you again soon.
Because I need you. I love you. I’m yours.
Aug 2021 · 326
Juliana Aug 2021
I want to be anywhere but here.

I want to walk the streets of Paris.
Pitter patter of heels clicking the pavement,
moonlight glowing on your skin,
bread waking us up in aroma cloud
just as the sun begins its rise.

I want to go on an adventure.
Let’s race to see who can get across
the bridge the fastest.
Teach me how to skip stones.
Will you give me a kiss
for each leap the little rock takes?
Pull me out of the water when I fall,
I want to walk across that log with you,
I want to go splashing in the puddles.

I want a quiet afternoon.
It could be dark and rainy,
we whisper the seconds in between the storm,
or the sun could shine,
brighter than you say my smile does.
I want to nestle into your body,
the blankets covering us both.
I’m melting into the pages,
another world a vivid dream inside my mind.
You read over my shoulder, making a mental note
to recreate the date on page ninety-four.

I want to be spontaneous.
Wake me up on a Tuesday, and tell me
we’re going for a photoshoot.
I’ll put my feet up on the dash,
Taylor Swift blasting from your speakers.
You can’t sing, nor can I,
but I’ll still laugh when you trip over the words,
no matter how loud and proud you yell them.

I’ll tell you how to pose,
chin up, no down,
a little to the left, there.
We’re perfect.
My favorite day now captured forever.
I brought the camera, but you have your phone.
Will you take pictures of me when I’m not looking?
Do I look beautiful?

Tell me about your dreams.
Tell me about your favorite fact,
the one that you learned in the third grade,
and is obvious now,
but completely blew your mind.
Did your friend teach it to you?
Who was the first person you had a crush on,
tell me about the time that they talked to you.
Did you know I used to want to change my name?
Did you know I’ve always wished we’d meet?
Did you know I long to fall in love?
Did you know I’m terrified that I’ll never get the chance?
Did you know I live in the present, mostly to escape the future?

I want to be anywhere but here.
Aug 2021 · 765
a thankful apology
Juliana Aug 2021
This is an apology.

No, not a notes app apology.
You deserve more. This apology
is a thank you.

So thank you.
For being the people I needed, right before
I needed you. Thank you, for showing me
to the stars. Thank you, for teaching me
how to feel.

You arrived as a black wave, a dark abyss
coating the horrors yet unknown to me.
You held me near, a guidebook of pages.
I focused on you, blind to the evils surrounding me.

I loved you. I love you. I thank you.

The horrors haven’t left me.
I don’t think they ever will.
A mask will always hide my face,
I will always come running back to you,
I will always think of you when I’m alone.

But these days are brighter than when we met.
These days I look towards
the blue sky, not a dark wave.

These days I focus on joy.

These days, I let my love for you,
be a background, not my home.

So, to you,
I apologize, and I thank you.
For everything.
Aug 2021 · 437
Juliana Aug 2021
There’s a technique in Japanese ceramics,
where a shattered object
is glued together with gold.

In other cultures, other communities,
they would pick up the large pieces,
careful not to cause any cuts, any more harm.
They would take an empty trash bag, place
the pieces in.
Then, grab a broom, sweep up the crumbs.
Brush their hands off when they’re done.

The bag would be *******,
left outside until the garbage came on

But not this time. Not with me.

I was shattered, left to fly away with the wind.
I’d been destroyed, most of myself sturdy and
but no longer together, cracked and
a vase thrown against a brick wall.

But slowly, I was lifted up onto a pedestal.
My bigger pieces were cherished, my dusted
flaws wiped away.

With love, I was recrafted,
my broken parts held together with gold.

A gold made of love.
A gold made of friendship, and belonging,
and home.
A gold made of you. A gold of togetherness.
Happy Esther Day
Jul 2021 · 1.2k
Of Butterflies and Branches
Juliana Jul 2021
I opened the gifts one by one,
knowing that the softness I felt
under the antique Santa Claus paper
was yet another bundle of fabric,
more clothes to add
to my ever-expansive wardrobe.

One by one, the patterns were revealed to me:
some plain black cotton,
a Paris print with a sparkly pink tower,
paper cutouts the size of my favorite dolls,
and at last, a sewing machine.

I remember a roomless memory,
my mother and I hovered over the machine,
the internet failing to teach us
how to maneuver the thread.

“We’ll try again later,” she said.

Now, I open the drawer under my bed,
remove a dust-covered box,
running my fingers along the top of it.
I remove the as-new machine,
my failed future.
I walk to my computer, switch taps
from a Buddhism study guide
to an empty Google Docs.

I wonder if I was a seamstress in a past life.
Did I watch my family create the cave paintings
while I sat in the corner, hide on my lap
with a splinter of bone in my hand,
feeling nothing but bliss?

Did I live in the Edwardian era,
tailoring a perfect three-piece suit,
a walking skirt, my daughter’s chemise?

Did I ever pass my grandmother
in a secondhand store,
with my goal of finding a perfect neckline,
my favorite sleeves, a plaid pattern.

Did I find them among the stained and unloved,
did I make them into something beautiful?

Was this not a flashback, but a foreshadow?
Was this a hint at my next life?
Will I do the same with my daughter,
passing down the cotton and glittered tower,
hugging with triumph when the machine roars to life?

Will I be there at her first fashion show?

What if there is no past or future.
What if my soul is me, unchanging, stable.
What if I’m a butterfly,
every passing second another cocoon?

For I am a tree,
and these memories
are my branches.

My left arm holds the present,
the current reality. I fail to sew
even a button, but my dreams
reside content.

With my right arm,
I hold another present,
equally as real.

In this world, I made my doll a dress,
a bedspread with the leftover fabric.
In this world, I am not a poet,
and I don’t often dream.
In this world, my floor is my stage,
this fabric is my home.
In this world, I know not of other realities.
In this world, I live buried in my ignorant bliss.
Jul 2021 · 309
Starburst Hues
Juliana Jul 2021
A marbled masterpiece,
a wanderer exploring ice
which floats among the stars.

Oh to smile
at the twinkling lights of a city,
a little village town.

To feel the wind
brushing my hair
like a man his favorite companion,

the boat cutting through water
like a knife scraping a slice
of fresh Italian bread.

No, today I didn’t watch the sunset,
no flamingo clouds
with starburst hues.

But today was filled
with my favorite trilogy:
art, wisdom, and love.
Jun 2021 · 63
We Could Be Neighbors
Juliana Jun 2021
You’re just a person.

You’re chill, and calm, bending down
to put a band aid on our scraped knee.
Telling us you know it hurts, but the jelly
will **** the bacteria. We ask
“what is bacteria?” You tell us.

It’s simple, yet complex.
Millions of little societies on our skin,
in our hair, on the pavement.

You teach us
through our tears
the world’s beauty.

But then, you’re just a person.

You can be a firecracker, yelling expletives
as you stub your toe, at the mess in the living
room, at how we messed up an already
imperfect world.

You can be so excited to do the thing
that you never explain to us
what that thing is.

You want to do it all,
and you want to do it all
right now.

And I realize, you’re just a person.

You have hard days. You forget to drink water.
You love the feeling of printed pages underneath
your fingertips.

You have to hold back tears letting go
of those who’ve wronged you.

But you laugh. And you care.

And you’re a person.

You’re no different from the stranger at the house
three doors down. You’re no more worthy
of telling your stories then they are.

You’re just a person.

I tell myself that one day, maybe I should
knock next door, ask if I can come inside,
and see what they have for a story.
Dedicated to Hank Green
May 2021 · 203
An Ocean’s Secret
Juliana May 2021
Love the ocean more
than a dark bar
on a Friday night.

For there are plenty
of fish in the sea,
yet nobody is here for you.

Love the ocean more
than a summer night’s air,
for only one
can leave you breathless.

Love the ocean more
then the stars,
because one’s a mystery,
without ever
having to leave home.

Love the ocean,
because it’s telling you
you’re human.
May 2021 · 888
Secrets of a Skyscraper
Juliana May 2021
How does it feel,
to know the secrets
of an entire city?

I mean, you can see

The handshake
for a sold deal,
a new cooperation,
a million jobs created,
another million destroyed.

How does it feel,
to see a ***** street rat,
a plastic bag of sugarcane,
vermin taking their pick
of Chinatown’s lovely leftovers?

How does it feel,
to see children
turning into fathers?

To have them grow,
hoping, praying,
that one day they’ll
be as tall as you?

That the children
will fly among the stars,
angels cursed to play tag,
for just a little bit longer.

How does it feel,
to know that one day,
your favorite will slam
his apartment door
closed for the last time,
bags packed into boxes,
driving into a tunnel,
your line of sight gone,
never to return?

How does it feel,
to know that he might
love the ocean more?
May 2021 · 427
r e l a x
Juliana May 2021
Under a blanket of deadlines,
of exams proctored by a machine,
eye movements consistent
with a learner’s lie,
I found solace tonight.

I decided not to give a ****.

My computer remained unopened,
a calendar a forgotten application,
not a thought given
to the glare of a grade book.

My bed was warm,
the cloth of sheets and PJs
wrapping around my body like a hug,
hiding me from the ghosts,
shed from the television screen.
Ghosts that wiped my tears
after the hours of repeated drama.

While my sheets slept,
I opened a page.
No, not a page full of fact,
the monotonous monster
which is studying,
but a separate world.

I ceased to exist,
become one with a novel,
falling deeper,

I won’t even remind myself
that tomorrow, I’ll have to work.
Apr 2021 · 310
Juliana Apr 2021
Hey Mommy?

When I type bat instead of cat, do the letters get mad at me?

Is it a vacation, a retirement to the land far away,
full of words I’ll never get to know,
or did I send them away to crumble into pixels?

Is that forgotten apology chopped up
into little pieces in the back of the computer,
a plastic box under the harddrive
that Daddy gets to clean out
when he refills the printer ink?

I want to read the book filled with all the lost letters,
the one where my fourth-grade book report
comes after the job application you were never qualified for,
but just before the neighbor’s college essay,
deleted so his own Mommy could help him.

Hey Mommy?

Can I ever check on them?

I hope they turn into a book about superpowers.

I’d be sad if these keys turned into nothing more
than a scrapped poem or a forgotten apology.

Hey Mommy?

I miss the forgotten letters.

Do you think they ever miss me?
"Hey Mommy?", "bat," and "cat" should be italicized.
Apr 2021 · 544
Juliana Apr 2021
I hope every day
brings you as much joy
as you felt riding down
that Florida highway.

I hope you can drive
with the windows down,
sunroof open,
a convertible as safe
as your recurring fairytale.

I hope the wind
blows through your hair,
the humidity feeling
like a warm hug
from the clouds.

I hope the music is loud,
and you know every word.

I hope you’re present.
Apr 2021 · 309
Untitled #20
Juliana Apr 2021
Strands of brown scattered
every which way, my hand
runs through my hair again,
my breathing deep.

Papers seemingly scattered,
a groove permanently centered
on the futon so deep I could fall,

Until my dreams
become my reality,
the words in my brain
painted onto the landscape,
my characters as real
as actors, newfound friends.

A knock on the door
snaps my thoughts back
into a file folder,
circled back to when
needed the least.

Who’s there?

The door opens,
breath catching
like a wish upon a star,
a man dressed
in a black suit standing
in the doorframe.

I’ve seen him before,
not once, but once
for every season,
a repeating figure
as familiar as my heart,
as unique as days
in the calendar.

I call his name,
the version matching summer
when the warm rays
fated to blind his brother,
when his sister destined
to lay across the asphalt,
her last breath a song,
voice fluttering,
soaring among the eagles.

The man says hello,
I ask if he’s real.

He assures me he is,
he has escaped the confines
of a page, allowed to dance
in the breeze, stroll in the sun,
find his way to me.

I ask of his family, his girl.
He answers, matching
to my memory meticulously.
His turn to present a question to me.

An offer to accompany
him to his world.
To feel the safety
of those pages,
the serif text wrap
around my body,
my organs spilling
onto the page
adding to it all
of my being.

I could find my home.
Be with those I love.

I answer him.
Pretend the formatting saved (first 'deeper' should be indented once, second 'deeper' indented twice).
Apr 2021 · 540
adhd: disorder
Juliana Apr 2021
twenty students in
perfect little rows
worker bees in training

a crooked child
shakes his hand
a silent celebration

he knows the answer

it is not one
of math or science

he cannot tell you
who won the war
but he can tell you
what makes the world

he can tell you
that knowledge is
about more than
just facts

that what’s interesting
isn’t always what’s

behind those
failing grades and
messy locker
is a child who longs
to learn
a child who is
a child who
isn’t meant to be
just another
worker bee

some children
are meant for more
then the target
of a flower
Apr 2021 · 744
adhd: hyperactive
Juliana Apr 2021
my lips
are a doorjamb
blocking all
but a wail

my words succinct
yet you cannot
hear them
Apr 2021 · 402
adhd: attention deficit
Juliana Apr 2021
my attention is deficit
like a bird with no worms
to find

he teleports
to his next location
a jolt of electricity
from one streetlamp
to the other

never soaring
he has no wings to flap
Apr 2021 · 251
Juliana Apr 2021
i am a flower, the dream someone longs for knowing, cotton candy clouds pink as the fairy’s magic kiss. the hand which curls over your cheek just as the moon crescents the sun, an eclipse of love, the darkness around which the world turns.

i am a dancer, my dress a costume, the silk covering my insecurities, turning like a top when i prance and skip through the jungle. the leopards love me. they chase the sun, frolicking in the dew-drawn leaves, the monkeys cheering as they watch the race.

i am stardust. my hair is fire, concealed only by my bun, i am careful not to burn you.

this is my reality, my safest seclusion, as to hurt you, i could never. this black hole is a solitude.
based on a picture found here:
Apr 2021 · 210
Untitled #19
Juliana Apr 2021
a reuleaux triangle attached to the ball
the curved aluminum clunk on the heel
with one stomp, i give my power to you

silencing my screams, you yell for me
with every brush and scuff, you sing a song
of an endless symphony

yet, when naked, you move like an animal
a quick pounce, your point sharp,
taking flight, soaring
like a bird turning
from snake to angel back
to a wildebeest hitting the marley-floor
with nothing but a soft patter
your energy escaping back
into the earth ready
for your next adventure
Juliana Apr 2021
pre-date jitters
perfect posture
pick me up at eight

social scrolls
late-night strolls
forehead kisses
mr. and mrs.

couch cuddles
midnight movie
head on shoulder
kiss on cheek

forget me not
forget me never
i am yours
forever and ever


Fingers trembling; lips dry
Make-up reapplied seven times
Back straight; ****, he’s late
Smooth your dress, try not to stress

Timeline trailing; a tagging trend
Neither wants to see the end
Hand in hand, the stars above
He points out which she reminds him of

Back at home, when they’re alone
A kiss on the head, she’s ready for bed
But with ring in hand, he asks for a band

Kids asleep, eating leftover Peeps
Mundane Mondays come only once a week
Television sounds softly; lights are down low
Her head on his shoulder, his kiss on her brow

Mini blue flowers
A reminder of their vows
To grow old together, and forever they shall
"****, he's late" should be in italics
Apr 2021 · 67
Untitled #18
Juliana Apr 2021
small as a mouse
cute as a dog
puppy-sized elephant

evolutionarily adorable
lost to both time and humans
Juliana Apr 2021
I am bamboozled.
The instructions are
a monotonous contradiction.

For every tale
I read of traitorous bloodlust,
of holy hypocrisy,
my motivation to finish
this ****** bibliography
escapes my body,
flailing itself into
the constellations.

I am left nothing more
then a gelatinous sack,
a sorrowful student
resembling some
squashed cranberries.
Apr 2021 · 281
Chaotically Comfortable
Juliana Apr 2021
.1. Grey which shines
like the light
of a thousand stars.

The stress of schoolwork
spreads through my veins
like a rollercoaster,
the classroom a carnival.

A ceramic dog resting
atop the microwave.

Say hello.
His name is Gerald.
He watches over us.

A minor god the only thing
getting us through our majors.

2. 256 unmade rocket ships.
A castle made of bare bears.
A tower only reached
by the dwindling of time.

3. Bones held together
in a garland, our guards,
warding off the evil spirits,
our fortress safe
from goblins and ghouls.

4. Memories marinated,
pretty polaroids posted peculiarly.
Traded the white squares
for red packets.

Ketchup displayed,
hoping for plates of fries;
enough to feed an army.

5. You bite them,
and they’ll bite back.

Tropical tastiness tattooed
just under 800 times.

On pillows and placards,
lamps and lights,
dressers and drawstrings.

6. A secular resistance,
screaming with pride
and holiday cheer,
specific holiday undecided.

The forest in which the bunny
came and laid his eggs upon;
plastic snowballs among them.

The star a sign from God:
a backwards babe dangling,
marron and gold streaming down,
hands holding us up,
willing us to awake another day,
to add another holiday to the tree,
to get to June, the *** of gold
at the end of the rainbow.

7. Twinking in another time.
Multicolored lights
souring every which way.

As bright as us,
sometimes more.

8. Peppa Pig and her porky pals.
Resting on the windowsill
outside their houses and
play structures.

Perfectly posed as we
ponder profusely.

9. Spheres of fine fur,
floating and sinking
like waves to the tide.

Alive yet not quite sentient.
Bubbles popping
as they reach the surface.

Richard: the plant hastily named.

Third, the one which longs
for elsewhere, its potential
breaking as it reaches the ground.

10. Seven seats. A pair of twins,
studious rocking at their desks,
tucked in, patting their head
as I scratch mine.

The lost triplet, tucked away
near the door, perpetual time-out
for a deed never dedicated.

A hidden fourth,
lost and forgotten,
unneeded and unnamed.

The fifth, the blue moon,
the favorite, the one
never picked last.

A sixth, the found friend.
A grandmother who wheels around,
baking. Bertha is beautiful.

The last, a grey futon.
Permanently perched
is a student, laptop chugging,
these words written
as they’re read to you.
Apr 2021 · 395
Juliana Apr 2021
On the wooden tiles,
the tanned shade a reminder
of tiny grains of sand,
the border to the ocean,
to the unknown.

On the wooden tiles,
where words flow out my fingertips
like a snowboarder slides
over serene snow,
leaving a scraped scene in her path.

On the wooden tiles,
where I do my best thinking.

A journal to my left,
the reminder of my past.
My memories.
A melody of murkiness clearing
into lines of text,
serifs removed
as I’m reminded of the truth.

A font is a beautiful thing.

My mind is a font
of which I paint with lead,
little lines, circles, and swirls
transforming before me,
recorded for eternity
in the open notebook to my right.

Right where I form my future,
my wishes,
my dreams.

Dreams created on a
teal and tanned typewriter,
erasure impossible,
only blocked out and burned,
escape imminent,
awoken as I turn off the screen.
Apr 2021 · 319
Juliana Apr 2021
Winter comes and goes,
white fleece coating games of tag,
petals of all colors shriveling
into an anxious fret,
buried in the soil
just as those before them,
only to grow and flourish in the spring,
a new game of tag emerging,
a new friend found,
included like family from day one.

A family may be tied
with the thinnest of knots,
a frail reminder that blood
is nothing more than a liquid,
draining as the dust settles,
going extinct as the calendar renews.

Or, in the sweetest of holy dreams,
a family may be sautered with stardust,
existing into infinity,
something even distance
couldn’t dare to separate.

That is what we are.
A living slumber,
a mother too young
to understand heartbreak,
eyes closed for so long
she may never wake.

You are my children,
brighter than the colors on a rainbow,
the trail leading to the gold
of your brother’s hair,
the trophy you’ll never win,
the ring he’ll never give you.

Because he doesn’t exist,
my angel, and like the heavens,
you shall always remain a mystery.

A mystery I will continue to solve,
but a mystery I will never close.
Apr 2021 · 3.4k
A Break
Juliana Apr 2021
A grid of nine, trapped behind
the locked box of cyberspace,
unavailable, calling for me.

The pink hues of stories and pictures,
the celebrities announcing another ad,
an AMA, capturing the repeated days.

A robotic stage, the marvelous mingling
of strangers, of friends we’ll never truly meet.
It’s hard to stay away for long.

The green and blue bubbles of simplicity.
Of how was your day. Of excitement. Of plans.
A concert of lyrics addressed only to me.

The bird which sings for all to hear.
The nerds who look up from their book
to smile a hello. The chaotic certainty
of community, calling for me.

After a day away, I’ve arrived back home,
the rectangular refuge of a reimagined reality.
Apr 2021 · 384
This Is Fine
Juliana Apr 2021
Tearing out the floorboards
in a rabid frenzy,
feeling the need to find it,
to find the source of the beating,
the pounding, the thumping.

Ripping out my hair
because it’s buried.
No, not in a graveyard,
it’s home, but here.

Trying to find some peace someday
but it’s loud and I need quiet
and I can’t find it but the thump
and the thump and the thump

But no one seems to care
that he is missing,
that this home of mine
reeks like a putrid veil
attracting birds and rats and vermin

Yeah, no one seems to care
as I descend into madness,
and the red of his heart
causes red in my eyes,
the world protruding into fire
as I take a deep breath, two.
As I try to convince myself
that everything is fine.
Apr 2021 · 154
Untitled #17
Juliana Apr 2021
The waves part
at the speed of light,
all of Heaven gathered together
into a black hole,
ceasing to exist.

This was an experiment, you see.
A multi millennia project,
the greatest, the only,
team-building exercise of all time.

It led up to this, humanity,
but it wasn’t pass-fail.
Every little win, every
act of kindness, every
giggle coming from a small
child’s lips gave us a point.
Every bit of despair
subtracted one.

What was our grade?
All the wars we fought,
collecting coins like glitter
to fill our picture frame of hate,
did we ever once think that when
He came down, when Jesus returned,
it would not be in a simple robe,
the uniform of the stars, but in a
crisp, clean lab coat,
our savor, the STEM major.
Apr 2021 · 55
Untitled #16
Juliana Apr 2021
i forgot to do
my daily poem today
so this is it, yeah
Apr 2021 · 365
Juliana Apr 2021
to be okay with one’s intrinsic self,
to march the streets, screams of joy
escaping their lips, saying this is me,
wearing colors of sunshine and pastel flags,
pinks, whites, blues, blacks, purples, yellows, reds,
fostering community, littered in hope, hope for
change, hope for family, hope is pride
Apr 2021 · 296
To-Do List
Juliana Apr 2021
X Paper two—peer edits
X Chem homework
X Read paper 1, 2—for annotated bib  
X Bio notes
    Read book—your favorite, snuggle up and drift away
X Bio Exam
X Bio reading 1, 2, 3
X Chem notes
    Read Book—the one on your shelf for ages
X Chem reading 1, 2, 3, 4
X Write paper one—second draft
X Bio homework
    Write book—this has been your dream since you were a kid
X Write paper three—first draft
X Write poem—last thing before bedtime
(lines with an "X" should be crossed out instead of the "X")
Apr 2021 · 494
The Quiet
Juliana Apr 2021
The silence is a dream not even sleep
could fix. In a universe where this blue
and emerald orb turns around
a fiery sphere, throwing itself further
into the heavens, quiet is no more
then a pipe dream.

A dull wrrr of the air conditioner;
buzzing of the fridge, freezing
of ice.

The wind and all its power, causing
the tide, letting a butterfly take flight,
the flapping of fragile wings causing
the slightest of shifts in the timeline.

It only takes a single grain of sand
to cause an avalanche.

It is an avalanche that consumes
my most waking thoughts. It is
two lovers, dancing in my mind,
stomping their feet like hooves
in a field.

It is the static. Static of the unknown,
the terror, the excitement.
What will tomorrow bring?
The next hour? Minute?

Am I who I am now, or am I
just the sum of my past selves?
Do I exist, or is my body just
the host for a colony of bacteria;
a breeding ground for the splitting
of cells… a science experiment.

The thump thump thump of my beating
heart overtakes the racing of my mind.
I am alive. I am human.

The red liquid which runs through my veins
is nothing like the green which allows cars
to soar over the highway. Green, which turns
to brown, polluting our skies, hiding the blue
of a sunny day, the reminder of the ocean.

The cars, and their voices, the beeping
and vrooming and crashing,
are a little city, a life of their own,
a world in which humans aren’t
necessary. It’s fake, a childhood

The screams, those are real.
The screams of said children falling
off play structures, of a teenage girl
planning a date, of another taking
a brisk walk, walking home
from her night shift.

I wonder if any of them count sheep.
If the numbering of one, two, three
Quiets their thoughts, four, five, six,
relaxes their mind, seven, eight, nine,
turns their daydreams into dreams, ten.

I wonder if the hot morning sun
awakens their thoughts, the blaring
of an alarm, a symphony, a dull song
of childhood nostalgia.

I wonder if they keep that song playing
preparing for their day. Dragging plastic
bristles along strands of hair, the minty
fresh scraping their teeth, the crunch of
cereal and breakfast toast.

The click-clack of heels out the door, a
quick “I love you,” peck on the cheek,
closing a door, opening another, tires
rotating, “hello,” “good morning,”
computer keys.

Does the buzzing fly bother them?
Does the fly feel out of place? Not
cut out for the office life? Did he
escape his egg, bringing a briefcase
and tie with him?

Does he miss the outdoors?
The wet heat of summer, the
humidity, not yet moist, the
comfortable burn of fire
lighting the air.

The air that makes you want to breathe,
run in the flowers, take photographs,
holding your lungs for just a second
while you secure the perfect shot.

Sitting down later that afternoon,
the couch you’ve had since college
squeaking underneath you, showing
the pictures to your lover, remembering
that their eyes are blue.
Strikingly blue.

Not the blue of ocean, of the tides,
but the blue of them. Their soul.
The man you fell in love with
on a Tuesday at a coffee shop.

You ask if one day
you can go back there.

He grabs his laptop, fingers
pecking the keys like one
reaches for a worm, hoping
there is some early bird special
for tickets to a different kind of bird.

A metal bird which wings flap
almost as much as a dead body stirs.

The want and need for nostalgia
is the faint sound of scales,
skin scraping, scratching
at one’s own skin.

One longs for quiet
like the pain of a dull itch.
Apr 2021 · 235
among the waves
Juliana Apr 2021
it’s just as blue fades to black, the white ripple of tide can lead to the kingdom of peace.
my belief fades in and out, ****** deeper into the black hole that is the ocean. swarming with life,
not a care for what i’ve missed out on. a school of fish, a single tidbit to be plucked out and dissected,
resisting the urge to throw my entire bucket into the fire.

i’ve never been one for seafood. i don’t even care for a taste. nevertheless, i long for the stars.

i’m told that he loves me. i’m told that he is the beacon of light, the glow of an anglerfish
in the darkness of the bone-chilling waters. i tried to swim away, i escaped, yet,
as strong as gravity has on a galaxy, have i been caught in a net, reluctantly pulled back to shore?
did i wash up willingly?

i’ve been told that there is a hallway full of sand; a trail to the stairway to the stars.
there is but a single question: do i wish to be among them?
pretend the formatting saved.
Apr 2021 · 1.2k
Juliana Apr 2021
Vanilla. The bitter scent of a coffeehouse
mixed with sweet beautiful intelligence;
perfection; spontaneity.

Words run on the pages, joy can be found
in even the smallest of things.
Grounded; confident.

The white of innocence, not a single stain,
multicolored beige brings professionalism
in all its forms.

Life is a game of who knows who.
It’s impossible not to know her.

Abstract strings are pulled and tugged
until even the sturdiest of structures fall,
leaving the remnants on the ground to be
picked up one by one.

A sole painting filled with the reds of anger,
of love. The black and white stark
against the murkiness. Even the gold,
highlighting what went missing.

One. They’re still one. A little girl,
the blond bundles pulled into two
on the top of her head, seeing the world
from her father’s eyes.

Childish; just like he was,
once upon a time.

Just like he was, when those eyes focused
on the tough blue of denim, when
a fight was never an argument,
it was a game.

Who is right, who is wrong,
none of that matters if one never
backs down. She would never
back down.

She was never spontaneous.
She was a planner. Always one
to hold a grudge, always one
to win.

She was first. First
kiss, first love,
first date.

Her hair fell down on her shoulders
in curls, down in spirals
bringing him down as he fell.

He fell hard, looping back around
to the other side. Choosing jeans
over a painting. Choosing the chaos
over the calm. Choosing the calm
of a fight over nothing at all.

It was with her
that he’d find his love story.
Juliana Apr 2021
I am not a monster.
My veins are the same
purplish hue as yours.
Pricked by the same needle,
an arrow can penetrate
my body, soul escaping
my still-beating heart.

I cling to your words.
I want to know your soul,
your deepest insecurities,
the smallest bits of joy.
I want to be in love.

The universe is a gallery,
each star a mosaic of art,
colliding and combining
to create beauty;
a masterpiece;
I could look at you for eons.


I am not to be perceived
by capitalistic powerhouses.
Life is not a final boss,
requiring each day
to serve as a minigame,
collecting coins and
jumping blocks until
I reach the Bowzer.

I live for myself,
the sole goal of
collecting knowledge
and seeing stars
until my final breath,
at which I can say my life
felt complete once I knew
that every single person
I met had smiled.

I will not live by
checking boxes off a form,
stats gathered frequently
on if I’m living it right.
Because there is no right.

There are only idealistic fantasies
that maybe if I run fast enough,
I could one day hope to reach.
There is the rustic murkiness
of yesteryear attempting to
****** its claws on my soul.
It will not win.

This game of mine
may not be multiplayer,
nor do I have the cheat codes,
but I am having fun,
I am exploring the world,
and I will not listen—
never listen—to you saying
that I am playing it wrong.
Apr 2021 · 121
Animal Initialism
Juliana Apr 2021
Freeze Yellow Iguanas
Bees Tease Warts
Ears Tarnish Antarctica
Orange Monkeys Groove
Alpacas Knit Ascots
Nannies Babysit Anteaters
Teachers Tolerate Yaks’ Lazyness
Armadillos Merge Armys
Music Includes Axolotls
Newts Free Lizards
Not All Sloths Annihilate
Insects Dance Knowingly
Dainty Arms Require Elephants
Bathe Rabbits Biweekly
Dorky Iridescent Yellowfish
Tamborine Bearing Anglerfish
Unicorns Float Occasionally
Flinching Antelope Quake
Warthogs Torture Hamsters
Apr 2021 · 547
Juliana Apr 2021





Apr 2021 · 579
In the Heat of Summer
Juliana Apr 2021
It was a Thursday when the doctor
gave news of the small child’s birth.

She was the first girl,
the entire light
in her mother’s new world.

Daughter of the mayor,
her name would
turn up in the local paper.
Letters would be written as
townspeople learned of the labor.

It was early in the summer,
birds pecked the dirt,
looking for worms.

The nurse was late for work,
as she was a helper
at the local church.

Times would eventually turn,
but for now, little Pearl
was like a dam waiting to burst.

The curl of her lips
showed her mood was firm.
She was a wave
that would soon be heard.

Quickly, she began to stir,
her eyes starting to blur.
Her mother worried,
feared the worst,
but all Pearl wanted
was someone to
nourish her thirst.

Years later, Pearl would sit,
searching a diner
while summer went quick.

Who was a tourist,
who did she know?

She was dressed
in a purple shirt,
and glamour radiated
down to her toes.

It was the third time
the waiter returned,
this time with Pearl’s dinner,
and the courage to earn
her number while the sun
slowly burned.

She drew circles in her journal,
finding peace among the curves,
and encouraged the boy
in thirteen little words.

The next week, she offered
him her hand,
and below the evening sun,
a new journey they began.
Apr 2021 · 360
Dear Eighth Grade
Juliana Apr 2021
Oh, how a little ripple in the ocean
can create the biggest of tides.

I was never one for the water.
I was doing just fine on land.
But you,
you made me
an oceanographer.

You showed me to the fish,
and one by one,
I wanted to collect them all.
One by one,
I became addicted.

It was nuclear.
Like an atomic bomb,
you changed my world.
For the better. For the worst.

My exoskeleton was shattered,
and I was left to pick up the pieces.
I’m still here,
putting myself back together like a puzzle,
covered in grains of sand,
finding myself among the coral.

I’m hidden. I’m broken.
But you gave me my glue.
You fill up my seams.
You’ve taught me wrong from right,
you’ve left me more questions
then I could even think to answer.

I’m now a politician,
having to choose
which lies I believe,
which lies I want to believe.
What do I want to be the truth.

Because of you,
I’ve fallen into a world
I can’t get out of,
I’ve been thrown into
a wormhole I never thought possible,
like a dung beetle
I’ve had to scrape through ****
to see the other side,
and I’ve had to flush
my former self down the toilet.

But maybe I was never her.
Maybe I have always been me.
Maybe this is who
I’ve always meant to be.
Maybe I haven’t
even been found yet.

But I thank you,
I thank you so much
because now I’m on that journey.

I am on a ship
that is going to sail me
away to my future.
My neverland.

I, thanks to you,
will find neverland.
I’m so glad I lost the boy.
Apr 2021 · 375
Juliana Apr 2021
Violently hurtling
toward consciousness,
a forced perception
of reality.
Apr 2021 · 2.0k
Juliana Apr 2021
I want to step into the pages of a book.
No, I don’t mean that I want to be
the badass sword-wielding damsel
who gets herself into distress,
only to be the girl who gets
everyone else out of it.

I don’t want to be the little blonde girl
with a lifetime of bad luck,
except for the one day in which
she falls in love with the school’s
biggest *******,
yet little did they both know,
he’s actually quite pleasant.

No, I don’t want to be reincarnated
as yet another protagonist.
No, I can do without the *******.
I can do without boys in blue
—black, and blue.
Sometimes purple, and a little green.

I’m just asking…
can I be their friend?

Like, when **** gets rough,
when the hero has been kidnapped
one too many times for a single day,
can I be the one she vents to?

Can I be the one she tells first about
that kiss that stole her breath
—the one she didn’t even know
she was holding?

I want to be at her service,
holding the scabbard while she
takes the villain down,
winning his heart over in the process.

And when the book finally ends,
when the pages have closed,
I want to be in the epilogue,
her next adventure safe with me.
Apr 2021 · 638
Ode to Dust
Juliana Apr 2021
Flakes of sunbeam,
falling like the stars,
flooding the serenity.

Proof that life has existed before I did.
Proof that stories have their truths.
Proof that I will take a piece of each place with me,
and proof that I will give each a piece back.

Proof that long after I’m gone,
I will still float among the stars,
flailing about in a beautiful cascade
of silence. Becoming ugly. Yet,
in the even faintest glow of light,
I will cover everything,
a melody of which only I
Mar 2021 · 290
Untitled #15
Juliana Mar 2021
Thank you, Hate,
for teaching me how to love.

Thank you, Hate,
for bringing people together
even though you drive them apart.

Thank you, Hate,
for forcing me to look for a light
in even the deepest of your darkness.
Mar 2021 · 254
Untitled #14
Juliana Mar 2021
She was put together
like the glistening gold,
the perfect patty,
of a McDonald’s hashbrown.

He had fallen apart
to mutilated mush,
the saltless
slivers of the
school cafeteria’s.
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