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Julia Apr 2013
My two worlds collide
On an almost daily basis.
The world inside my head,
And, well, you.
It's like, you're what I wanted...
Or what I thought I did.
But now that I have you,
I'm second guessing
You.
Me.
Everything.
You pick me up
On Friday nights,
Kiss my forehead, and tell me
Just how beautiful I look.
But...it's not how I pictured it.
It's not like the movies.
I don't get those butterflies...
I get an overwhelming feeling
Of numbness and
Apathy.

My head is filled with little voices
Consciences, perhaps, of different backgrounds
And motives,
Each putting in her own
"Wisdom" on the matter.
They ask if I have told you,
But it's just not my truth to tell.
This one doesn't make much sense. . . So if you don't get it, I don't either. Still needs editing.
Julia Apr 2013
As I peer through distant memories,
One day sticks out in my mind--
The day my mom handed me a ******* bag
And said go make something pretty
Back then, that was all it took to be inspired.
I ran to my bedroom, grabbing scissors on the way,
And constructed an enormous bow
That I wore as a crown,
And for the rest of the day, I was Princess Julia.
Life was much easier back then.

But things are different now.
In the back of my closet, hidden in the darkness
Is another black plastic bag with my secrets inside.
My hopes and dreams, bitterness and fears,
Insecurity and all of my worthlessness
Are consumed by that black plastic bag.
Each night, I sit on my bed, and empty my brain.
I write it all down, and give it all up
To my black hole of emotions,
If only for the night.
My writing portfolios is due this week,and this piece has to be included... :/please, if you have any criticisms, or ideas to make it better,let me know! Tell me what you think!
Julia Apr 2013
Flutter.
Your eyes flutter,
And you're almost asleep
My beautiful baby.
Some day soon,
Your heart will flutter
Like your innocent,
Sleepy eyes.
Julia Apr 2013
If Time is leaves falling to the ground,
Or the smell of soft, spring rain,
Fetch me a chair, dear,
That I may sit before the open window,
Taking in the four seasons of my life,
Each distinctly beautiful.
Let me watch the tulips blossom
And absorb the springtime sun,
While watching myself bumble
Through childhood,
Lacking the knowledge of corruption
That I'm cursed with today.
Let me see myself fall in love for the first time,
When the summer heat beats down,
Seeing everything as delicately beautiful.
The ocean's waves
Will come and go, like the relationships
I may or may not save.
When the leaves change from red to brown,
I'll remember my children,
Business trips, and a plethora of soccer games.
My husband will romance me every night,
Recaptivating my heart,
Making me fall more and more in love.
Remind me of the happy times,
When winter's icy fingertips
Send chills down my spine.
Reopen my eyes to the stark beauty
Of not just my seasons,
But life itself.

And when it's time,
Let me pass onto my next life.
I like the idea of time being a metaphor, but am not quite sure I approve of the product...
Tell me what you think!
Julia Mar 2013
I dreamt of the mother I hope to become
Last night, when my family was fast asleep.
She sat with her little girl,
ready to strum her guitar,
singing a soft lullaby
to keep bad dreams far away.
She kissed her daughter's head,
Whispering a soft prayer,
and closing the door.
Her husband held her in his arms,
As they danced in the soft kitchen lights,
Revealing her protruding, pregnant belly.
Another baby on the way,
Another life to bless.
Julia Mar 2013
Music encompasses
My very being.
It's not a passion,
But a lifeblood.
Stay in tune,
Be inspired.
Julia Mar 2013
Desperate.
What comes into your mind
With that 9 letter word?
Teenage girl.
Throwing herself at boys,
Giving herself away.
Or perhaps,
The image of someone
In trouble comes to mind.
I'm still young,
But I know desperation.
Nothing spells
D-E-S-P-E-R-A-T-E
like the guilty look
In a mother's eyes
When she lacks the money
To feed her children.
Her own hunger pains
Flee from her mind
When she hears her little girl's voice
Asking about dinner
Or hears her tummy growl.
Growling like everything that's wrong
With this world.
I'm all too familiar with that look,
All too familiar with that word.
Desperation isn't a "four letter word"
But it should be.
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