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1.2k · Apr 2018
a note to my parents
julian Apr 2018
when will you realize
that the red, uniform lines stained on my sheets
arent the result of a ****** nose
arent because of un-bandaged scratches
but from
your words
your actions
your inflicted pain
your refusal to accept
your ****** parenting
your ignorance
of my pain
of my depression
of my anxiety
of my sexuality
of the way i feel as i see myself in a mirror
and think
what am i
who am i
why am i like this
when i pray to the gods i dont believe in
asking
pleading
begging
for some comfort
to know that im not a mistake
that im not worthless
that im not unloved
that im not hopeless
although i feel like it
although i feel like ill never make it
although i feel like nothing will ever get better
and that im destined
to be the one who brings about my own downfall
to be the one at the trigger
to be the one holding the knife
to be the one who tied the noose
to be the one who opened the pills
the poison i pick is the feeling of nothingness
this is my future
this is what i spend my time pondering
while cleaning the blood from my thighs
while washing the broken glass that cuts my skin
while splashing water on my face
while brushing away the tears
while practicing how to smile in the mirror
while rehearsing my lines
while pretending im fine, dont worry about me
while trying to seem like
im always here
im always happy
im always feeling
but
you wouldnt know that
would you
It's been about a year since I posted this. To anyone who feels similar to how I felt, keep going. Even if things don't improve, you owe it to yourself. Anything is better than ending your life or harming yourself.
julian May 2019
its been a month
funny how time flies
it seems only yesterday
you were there
laughing
smiling
holding my hand
singing along to showtunes in the car
we were happier than we had ever been
i shouldve known it would end
life has a hard-on for ******* me over
ruining all the good in my life
.
.
.
whyd it happen to you
of all people
.
.
.
we had a lot of plans
college together
an apartment in the city
maybe getting married
adopting a kid or two
spending another thirteen years as best friends
and then some
but those plans never work out
do they?
.
.
.
i dont know how ill move on
.
.
.
i listened to the cd
the karaoke we did at the arcade two years ago
livin on a prayer
we were fifteen
freshman in high school
even when youre scream-singing
you have an amazing voice
had
you had an amazing voice
i envy the angels who hear you singing now
save a song for me
.
.
.
i hope this finds you
wherever you are
i figured polaris would help
.
.
.
you are my home
always have been
always will be
.
.
.
farewell
.
.
.
ill see you soon
julian Jan 2020
We are told that life is sacred, but how?
How could something so sacred be taken so easily?
Treated so roughly?
Completely destroyed?
Life is beautiful, yes, but only part of the time.
Life is tragedy after tragedy after tragedy speckled in with moments of light.
Light that gets lost in the void of pain and misery that seems so symbiotic with life.
Were we always this way?
Living life only to suffer- to make others suffer?
Was there once a time that we were a species of love in this cold expanse?
Way back, some long time ago, could people live without fearing their own?
Part of me wants to believe that is true
But somehow, the belief evades me.
Perhaps it’s that I know how much we can hate
How deeply we despise
How a mother can look to her child and tell him to suffer
How a father can tell his child that he deserves no happiness, not if he has any say in it
And he has.
Perhaps it’s that I’ve experienced first hand the realization that what should be the purest love is conditional
That we can be dropped in a heartbeat over a simple disagreement
That everything they’ve done for us and everything we’ve done for them means nothing.
Life is sacred, yes, but there will always be the sacrilegious
And they do not rest.

— The End —