Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Julian Dorothea Sep 2011
plastic
tables and chairs
pinks
blues
yellows

leftovers lie on the table
paper plates stained with chocolate syrup
beside the foam
fossil of a milkshake

brown
fingertips and corners of lips
dinosaurs and tiaras

table napkins wipe away
giggles and smiles

wooden table
little words etched in
hearts, crosses and names
jagged lines through the middle
random doodles
curse words

stained with grease, an empty pizza box
soda bottles all over the sticky floor
a single can
of beer, empty
touching a hundred lips
curious little sips
awkward conversations,
air thick with secrets and lies
confidence and cockiness

*clean white table cloths
long-stemmed flowers
crystal wine glasses
silverware


no one quite fits into these

knees always banging
and cutlery always clanging

no one quite fits into these
Julian Dorothea Sep 2011
apple

did you imagine red?
so did I
which is weird because the apples I eat are kind of yellow

asia

I said asia
not China

I remember the time
my history professor told my class to imagine asia
I thought of an exotic
country
with arab sheiks
and snake charmers

the Chinese
the Japanese
chopsticks
and the orient

it was then that she pointed out
"haven't Western ideas just messed with you?"

and it was then that I realized
"Wait; I'm Asian. I've lived in Asia all my life."
how come I saw it as something foreign
and strange?
I've never even seen the things I imagined.

I remember when I watched Big Bang Theory
and the four friends sat down to Thai food
Raj made the mistake of asking, "where are the chopsticks?"
which led to Dr. Sheldon Cooper saying
(in this paraphrased version:)
"they don't use chopsticks. They use spoons and forks.
The fork doesn't go into their mouth.
They use it to push food unto the spoon, which then goes into their mouth."

I sat there thinking..
well that's weird

when a couple of months later as I watched the episode again
I realized
that's how my people eat!
that's how I've always eaten..

the houses I picture in an average neighborhood
are two story
concrete structures
with shingled roofs

cul-de-sacs
and oak trees

my own house
is one story
of brick and wood
it is beside a highway
and surrounded by guava trees
and coconuts

I don't even know what a picket fence is.
just some random thoughts..:)
Julian Dorothea Sep 2011
My favorite music is imperfection
the little breaks
the husky
inaudible screams
the short breaths
the ahs
the un-understandable pronunciation
mispronunciations
the weird rise and fall
and awkward syllabication.

Like a cd that's got just enough for one last spin
rough
scratchy
perfection of imperfection

My favorite music is imperfection
off key harmony
and drunk, smoked-up throats
the hard breathing
the sharp little pitches
the accents
the sudden switch from singing to speech
the guitar that's just a little too loud
the drums that are a little too fast
the back up singer that forgets the lines
or the lead singer too drunk to remember what his own hands wrote
prolonged Ssssss....
off time beats
and ****** up base lines

Imperfection's my favorite music.
Julian Dorothea Sep 2011
Another song
another poem
and all I read,
and hear
is myself.*

I borrow other people's words
because somehow they're better than mine
at expressing my inside

maybe the thing is
that no matter how alone we feel,
there's always someone out there
writing
putting down
capturing what that alone-ness feels like
Julian Dorothea Sep 2011
love you.:)

when deep inside it's
'I'm not sure'
fake electronic love
vague posts of
'this is what I want to tell you!'
yet *you
has no name.

in person a plastered smile
wearing masks of
'everything's fine'
'no of course it wasn't you'
words hidden
ambiguous
easily retractable

secret

was that post for me?
well then this one is for you

answering vagueness with vagueness
in this fake electronic love

with hearts beating
to nothing but cowardice.
Julian Dorothea Sep 2011
she speaks

(a book
sandwiched in)

between ahs,

(pageschaptersvolumes
of bookmarks)

her words drown in
the syllable,

her

ah…
         …

                    ah..
                      ideas

are uh…



nothingbut


spaces.

overshadowed
hidden

is her voice
and the ideas that no one else has

stolen.
Julian Dorothea Aug 2011
I loan my heart
to anis mojgani's hands
thin and perfect
with a wideness that can hold the moon,
the earth,
a word.

their quiet rising
and falling
their cannot-be-bottled-
up fidgeting

mesmerizing.*

that I too may learn
to express
myself
no shame
no fear
no doubt.

just me.

certainly.

with conviction.

my heart's beat
will thump
thump THUNDER!

I don't care who stares
It won't shut up,
I won't let it.
let their brooms bang on the ceiling
send for the cops!
call my parents!

I don't
care
I'm gonna shout *******

I"M GONNA SHOUT!!!!
Next page