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Julia Aubrey Jul 2015
I watch them drift gently back toward the shore, hands intertwined. "So, this plan of yours...You start with avoiding him?" I sit silent for a moment, listening to the licorice kisses, and when I look over, there's genuine sympathy to think about him as a regular person, and not feeling the sun seep all the way into my soul. It's like watching dragonflies buzz, and just like that, I see the clutter for what it really is. They're memories, and once he's gone, they're all I have left of him.

(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Jul 2015
he underestimated her in beauty. an attraction to fake for calling truthfully real. side comments for fun; some lies, others anonymously touched with fuzzy feelings. no good thoughts before actions came with him, and the effect was shocking on a content soul. who would've thought how strong a few words could last? who would've guessed that a trashed mind could be fulfilled with a small tug of the corners of a strangers mouth? while a being of such isn't rare, the souls true heart speaks for it's self. If something in her beauty meant anything to him, he would've spoken up before now, not lied again and again to the one honest answer that stands before him.

(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Apr 2015
this world confuses me so.
we are all made equal without ever really being equal at anything comparable side by side. in fact we aren't.
we are told to respect others while they could never in a million years respect us and what we believe. we can barely respect ourselves.
we are expected to build up our soul from others with the known thought that the very first soul was alone, yet we still are told that we have to have someone to accent us. we never do, but we still choose to believe so.
we were each molded differently like a potter molding his masterpieces, but due to reflections and gravity, the idea of beauty and ugliness haunts our every action. we could never get the thought that we were beautiful past our ears to begin with.
we are told to take a leap of faith by the only people who haven't ever taken one themselves as they sit and wait for a terrible outcome, so they can move along thinking they made the right choice to stay put. the only way to move forward is to actually move yourself, not watch others move for you.

(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Aug 2015
I have no need for what I want, for what I want cannot be what I need.

I want the deep breaths of an adolescent to grow louder,  to overtake dreams that haven't been true since the last generation swept them up from dusty hallways.

I want the smell of old paper to succumb the thoughts of those who want to change the rotation of life as it comes, making their life worth it.

I want the wrenching love held in everyone's heart to be pumped through every word and action used to be "the better part" of the story, to be caressed against the grainy surface of doubt, filling it with grace, and to be smeared along the cracks along ever weak solider in need of a purple heart.

What I want isn't always what is needed, but I'd often like to think it is.

(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Dec 2015
is it the ever flowing images that keep me "going", that keep me "from moving"?

quite confusing, in both ways.

in some ways they allow the blood in my veins to rush to my cheeks when I chose, even sometimes by surprise, but in others, I can barely fathom a moment without them, the memories.

if I were to be living without the images of you, I suppose I would begin to visit you in dream; like someone I have never met but would like to.

you are a dream in all honestly...at least now you are.

there is a nauseating rush now, like a cracked mosaic, like a weak cherry tree in the late fall, like an yelled secret in outer space; and all I suppose is real, are the words I say in my sleep, the longing I remember when I wake, the pain I feel later in the day when I try and remember every arrangement of letters than passed my lips, your fruit punch stained ones.

a third is good, a third is bad, and the other third is neutral...

stuck in the middle, consuming both the good and the bad, blending in camouflage.

I cannot tell which is which.

-Julia Aubrey Rhodes-
Julia Aubrey Sep 2016
What do you do when you heart is a mute?
You know how it feels but its feelings, at times, seem untrue.
Beating not only for one, but two lives alone,
out of rhythm it is, like a old broken phone.

How can you tell what it wants when it barely speaks,
all your feelings bundled deep in the veins of stardust you keep...
my you keep them so very hard to find, so hidden from every aspect of your mind.

So you allow you body to take guesses at what your heart wants,
living life under pressure of choices the aren't always smart.
Is it possible to love more than once, or twice at a time?
How about never at all?
Is hate such a crime...?

Hopefully your heart learns to speak or write some form of brail,
because darling someone will read it and kindle it well.

(j.a.r.) Julia Aubrey Rhodes
Julia Aubrey Jun 2015
the remarkable thing is that in all of my confusion about you, I really knew from the beginning all I needed to know and then some. I knew that this glass panel I had placed before me was mucky and soaked with dirt; I was seeing the full picture, but through the wrong lens. I don’t think about you much anymore, maybe once or twice every now and then, but all of the bundles of escape and the masks of summer were torched in all of our distractions from reality. time has moved like it always does, and our minds have evolved to our own separate desires. for you that would be the fake laughs and twisted foul calls you don’t fully agree with, and for me, well I’m not really sure at this point… maybe it’s my decoupage of memories that keep me going, or maybe it’s just the benefit of the doubt. sometimes, I picture all kinds of wildflowers; purple, yellow, red, and white, and I try to imagine them as the serenity in my life, so out of the ordinary to be left unnoticed. that’s exactly how you have become, just a plain old wildflower in my life left on the side of the highway.


(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Jul 2015
A circle.

We were sitting in a circle together playing a game of tag with our eyes, trying to steal the thoughts and actions of the other when you looked at me in that way.

I talked to you all the time just like I did everyone else, and then I realized how I really saw you.

"you smell nice." and "that was cute." made things more genuine when they passed from your lips.

I mentally winked at myself like you did at me the first day.

fingers intertwined as you made jokes about holding my hand, you tried to make it less awkward by only making things a bright red color.

leaving was like standing up through a sunroof at full speed, so breath-taking that you don't realize how easy it is to slip until you lift your hands high.

(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Aug 2015
how can I feel like flying and dying without you.

~ a ten word story

(J.a.R)
Julia Aubrey Dec 2015
I cannot seem to understand those people who view others as a utensil, a get away, a fancy party.

When you are yourself, that is all you will ever owe them.

Even in grief, debt, and self doubt, all you will ever owe them is for you to be you.

Could you possibly owe them a lovely touch, a tender look,  that's not too much?

Why of course you don't.

You do not owe them a night alone, a sweet word through the phone, all of you feelings known to them, you do not owe them a single thing, and if you feel like you do, there is a black screen over everything in your life.

You owe it to yourself to not worry about them.

Do not worry at all.

(j.a.r.)
Julia Aubrey Apr 2015
It's remarkable you know? I mean you were put on this earth with no unoriginal quirk in your mind. Your brain was painted with neurons of hope and expectations for the best.

When we were barely able to speak properly, and our hair ran in all different direction, our mind did as well.
We to anyone that's everyone clearly stated that 'we', yes 'we ran the world.'

Things begin getting gloomy as the fog hit our minds, and the only thing we could ever worry about was who if anyone at all admired a broken compass like ourselves.

We chased fake love until the night ran out of dust and tears, made rules, regiments, and diets to follow, and in the end, still were convinced that who we were could never be good enough.

Money piled up in our brains but never in our banks, and we began working harder than we ever thought we could under someone who's only concern was that they were 'above us'. But they weren't, not literally at least.

Consumed by time that only ever made us worry about our life even more, we left our dreams in a silver bin in dark alley.

We finally take that one wise choice that reminds us why we started living in the first place, because 'we', yes 'we run the world.'

We put our lives together like a mosaic as we take the shattered pieces, and we put them together unlike anything else ever made. We eventually find someone that will look at us, and seem how amazing and phat we are.

They can look at the way we scrunch our eyebrows when we're thinking or the way we bit our lips when we're nervous like a kid at a kid store, because they can never get enough of how remarkable we really are.

We can finally get up and propose our dreams to the mirrored image in our mind. We push our selfs to the extreme in one way or another, and whether it be good or bad, well, that's your decision.

(j.a.r.)

— The End —