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 Feb 13 julie
I'm eating a burnt omelette
with sides so hard I'd spit them out
and I wonder if I can spit my heart out
maybe then I'd stop feeling
all my feelings
and things wouldn't be so hard
and I wouldn't think
"am I going to snap?"
and then snap
and then pretend like nothing
happened at all.
 Feb 13 julie
 Feb 13 julie
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 Jul 2020 julie
 Jul 2020 julie
Where is the lust, it's beckoned twin,
it's dawning onset of emptiness. Emptiness
-no: embarassment.
Where is the biological imperative
in such a feeling, to feel constanstly, to live the feeling like a habit, to go along brushing teeth and closing doors?

If I felt nothing it was because I was pretending
that the cold cleansed, that moon rays laying lavishly across rippled banks of the first snow, were
somehow poetic, thus eternal. If I forgot
the conditioned response it was lost on the frugal lake,
the clear water
- still, pure -
aground encroaching ice.
 Jun 2020 julie
Nat Lipstadt
”these thoughts, become yours, more than mine, for
in the taking is the additive chemical that enhances,
making the distance closed to only those closest, here I pause,
fearful, you hesitate, do not understand, that sunshine can
blind any man, sickness humble any body, we are un-alike despite
our commonality, more than different, for we are all riddled

the words clearly clear,
thinnest writ for your gaze to penetrate.
do you yet understand?
we are all riddled.
the world presses upon our back.
we do not understand why.
riddled with the worst, bullet holes shot through and through,
some wounds old now, others anticipated and yet to arrive.

in this we have a stake, all humans can die in the same ways.
ah death, the theme that keeps coming back, endless reruns.
I am ruined, riddled with doubts, value and worth, how it is
humans exhibit the polar opposite, of qualities, features disparate.

are we not all riddled?
we are all riddled.
 Mar 2020 julie
Your smile is bright,
your eyes are brighter,
almost blinding me when
I pay them close attention.
I will not write you a love poem.
Your heart is giving and
you expect next to nothing.
The words you choose
are always the right ones.
I will not write you a love poem.
Your presence fills the room,
I love everything about you
but I will not write you a love poem.
Action is undertaken too swiftly
Hatred is tolerated too indifferently
We are infants of grace
Whose frames of references
Are usually taken out of context
And haste is a biased perception
******* she claims
I never break my word
Nor have i ever heard
A more depressing story
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