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Apr 2019 · 285
Julia Betancourt Apr 2019
i used to think i'd be here forever;
in a city that looks different every day,
in a house where i have my room to stay

i used to think i'd find my place here,
give the world around me meaning,
let my life unravel itself like ribbon

i think it's foolish of me to believe in anything
when all times i find how i'm broken,
how the lives around me keep on going

i feel left behind in this empty orbit
where the constellations won't show me home
or how to escape the woods

i think i shouldn't leave them,
i should stay here and leave myself to be wrapped-
choked by tree leaves and branches

i think it's best to let them cut through my skin like butter,
let them grab me and pull me closer
since no one else will do that ever

i think it's best to leave me to die alone
and let my body decay like dead palms
and let me be one with the earth again

i came from stars so i should make myself the ground
so someone has something to walk on
and i should flatten myself and all

i should make myself mean nothing
it doesn't last when i mean everything,
i used to feel so safe in my bed

i used to speak to him late at night there,
he used to see my face and hear,
my voice can't even be remembered that well

i think i try to fill his space with someone else
and i'm not even with anyone
i try to pretend i'll have someone

i think i've given him every reason to stop it
and i don't know exactly where his heart is,
it's long passed me and my absence

his absence feels like an elephant
and i can't stop myself from noticing it
sometimes i think i should stop my eyes from opening

sometimes i want to just quit loving him,
let this addiction be different from others,
it's hard because i cannot see the damage

sometimes i want to just quit loving him,
but wishing it’d end has never really been how
i think there's nothing left to do now
Mar 2019 · 227
Julia's Ex-Lover
Julia Betancourt Mar 2019
I should feel like the world is at my fingertips
Like I can hold it in my hand like the ball of a lollipop
Absorb sweetness with a split tongue, since

I try to taste both Hell and Heaven
I try to make the pain delicious
And then men come running to my table

They want a piece of this;
Brokenness in the form of a likeable woman
They see cracks in my skin and know they can get one

I preserve pain and hurt like a Goddess,
Together we have a last supper with my bad experiences
And they decide which part they’ll steal for dessert

They desert me and together they forget me
And I remind them I can die so easily
But the men keep to their word once they leave

Why do people think they have all the time in the world
Or that their friends can’t die in seconds
Why do men make me their puppet

Why do people think they hurt no one
Or do nothing,
When they always leave someone

Always leave someone or be left
Drag or be dragged to death
Be or make a complete mess

I am messed up inside, I swear
Even Beelzebub could not wear and tear
Could not crack through the ground like I do

A heart of cement sits in my chest
Because stone cold me is best
And that is the only way to pardon with the Devil

He dances and bartends mixing serotonin levels
Making drinks, watch them poor out
I drink until my teeth fall out

Until my gums are numb and I can’t make a sound
And I think it’s funny, a smile without any teeth
The list of long days and weeks ahead of me

The long list of names that read like the blues
The times I fold at the sight of his shoes
Heavy black boots too big for my feet

A new dress made from a white bed sheet
I preserve pain and hurt like a beast,
I let it grow inside me like trees

The roots sprout tangled like cobwebs
Make themselves at home like he did
Like the dust bunnies under my bed

Like the dirt that fills holes in my lungs
My melodic way of coughing up blood
He runs his hand along my back to help me breathe

But that only makes it harder for me
And I’ve been broken in half since,
Because he is both Hell and Heaven

And God knows we both can’t have it all
Or maybe he knows I can’t handle it all
So I am given nothing at the most

He deserts me and a few days later he forgets me
And I remind him I can die so easily
But he keeps to his word once he leaves

Why does he think he has all of the time in the world
Or that his friends can’t die in seconds
Why does he make me his puppet

Why does he think he hurts no one
Or does nothing,
When he is always leaving

Always leave someone or be left
Drag or be dragged to death
Be or make a complete mess

I am messed up inside, I swear
Since he loves to shoot me down and leave me there
And crack a smile when no one else will dare

He has driven me into the pavement
And made me a fossil for his new collection
The few, independent women

Who he has turned upside down inside themselves
And makes me feel the worst things I have felt
And uses poetry to give himself a rest

The words read like song lyrics
He dances and toasts to new curly-haired girlfriends
His signature drink is a hopeless romantic

A heart of cement sits in my chest
Because stone cold me is best
And that is the only way to pardon with the Devil
Feb 2019 · 480
True Performer
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
I imagine the lights as the last few things I see before I die
The twinkle in my eyes, shut
And there isn't anymore blood

There aren't anymore cuts
Or broken designer luck
Or time to make up for what you've done

Might as well do it now
Because if it keeps going like this,
I am not going to make it

I'll do it on stage
Where all the lights are turned to me
And I cannot be unseen

I'll do it while I sing
My favorite tune or lullaby
My voice will send chills down their spines

I'll be singing my last goodbye
And going out like real performers do
The big finale follows me to my bedroom

It'll happen slow so you can watch
So you can see me grow distant from it all
So you can feel my loss

I bet you'd never thought it'd happen now
That there must have been more room for me to stay
That would mean you have been blind to me dying

Every single day
Feb 2019 · 748
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
I thought I’d give her a chance
Let the night draw me in like a stencil
Forget him in purple light in a smoke trench

I thought I’d give it a chance
One night to live like him;
Among alcohol and blazed paper rolls

I gazed helplessly at the lighters
Entranced in hoping one of them would drop theirs
And light the floor on fire

I imagined that the fire would follow the alcohol worm spilt on the floor
Wiggling its way to my feet
And then I felt sick— and wished I didn’t eat

I wished I was skinless bone in that light
Or could be blown away like smoke
I wished I was the redness around their eyes

I wished I could disappear in the nighttime
That I brewed quietly like their breath
I wished I was the liquor in the bottle and the keg

Once I arrived it didn’t feel right
The men eyed me like prey
I said I’d give it a chance so I stayed

I made a witching hour out of dance music
With drugs and alcohol as my ritual
And I let dolls dance around me like voodoo

I let myself go for a moment in between
And gazed helplessly at my feet
And hoped her wood floors would open up and eat me

I imagined a hole in the ground the size of me
I imagined a ghost in the mirror who looked just like me
I imagined him drinking

Then she fell down the stairs
And they stared, her face gleaming in the light
Her smile made her an intoxicated angel

She looked like peace,
Lying on the floor
Hardly moving and spaced from it all

I looked at her and imagined if she were dead
Reminiscing over how closed her eyes were
And I was jealous of her

It was ****** the way they took pictures of her
Like she were nothing more than a sad, drunk mural
And I imagined I were dying in a room full of people

I imagined I were Hannah
And that I were the floor
And that I never wanted to be anything more

That I would let my body exist on its own
With no soul, and let mine dance along
In between fence wire

Then the police were there and I saw it
I saw me in the back of the car
In handcuffs, or covered in blood, or gone so far

I imagined them shooting me in the back
I imagined everything went black
And the basement were empty

I imagined I were the only one in the room
Like I was the only one in agony
And that the sirens would lead me to the balcony
Feb 2019 · 244
Pretty Little Girl
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
There are people all around me
But I face the wall
Dying and yet failing to be free from it all

I can hear them just outside
Their voices fade like my eyesight has
They fade like everything I used to have

I know how to let go better than anyone
I let go better than a man
I let go like I'm ******

I let go like I'm meant for pain
I let go like rain
I let go like I'm him

He can think he's better at losing things
But I know the greatest loss
I know bigger holes in my heart

I know deeper cuts
And horrible luck
And how to get away with the bad stuff

I know how to make myself starve
How to make myself bleed
And dress up like a perfect figurine

I know how to make sadness look pretty
I know how to make it look clean
So you cannot tell the difference

I let go of everything I could be
What he could have let me mean
I let go better than he

I let go of me
I let go of sleep
I let go of all of my dreams

I know how to leave
I know how to do it clean
I make sadness look pretty

I know how to leave
I know how to bleed
And make myself look pretty
Feb 2019 · 344
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
If the pain was psychosomatic
Then the placebo would have been enough for me
So would have been my dreams

And everything
Everything would have been enough for me
Everything would have been great, I bet

But the pain is not
And still, everything will be
I have lost the love I had at first

So goes the life within me
So does pain make a mansion out of me
So births a smile without any teeth

Then hands will grab my face
And he will make a portrait out of me
Use a knife to curve my lips up

And make my smile look brand new
Then he will take my pieces, helplessly broken
And stick me together with glue

"Oh, look!" he'll say, "how lovely!"
How lovely I look while I decay!
While I bleed he'll say the red reminds him of roses

That I remind him of beauty!
But he does not want to see me during the day!
Because dark is only meant for night

And he will tell me I should stay!
"Oh, lovely Angel!" he likes to call me
But only a true lover would know angels are all dead

So dead I am
So do I fly away at night while he is sleeping
So goes the life within me

So he no longer notices me
And I am twirling on broken glass with bare feet
Outside his window by the city where he first kissed me

Dare he remember and that might **** him
So you would think from how he talks
Or how he never looks at me at all

In a red blood dress I spin endlessly
And he will tell me he wouldn't change me
And he will call all of this destiny!

He will say destiny is what killed me!
And made me an Angel for an end to some months
Because I had to die in order to become one

And after he's made me a portrait I will be more!
A poem or book or some decor
That masks my pain as artistic pleasure

That uses my blood to paint a version that's better
Whichever it is that they will buy
That I am not counting down the time

And maybe they will believe this was all just for show
And that anything was never wrong at all
I guess that is better, I bet

Let the darkness swallow itself whole
And disappear into the wall
And pretend you didn't turn the lights off
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
I regret not knowing any better than I did when he still loved me.
I must have been inside of a wind tunnel- for months- not hearing anything.
I must have been deaf or something, I must have been too boring,
I must have been annoying.

I think I am annoying.

I regret not being as confident in myself as I was two months ago, for my
entire life.
I regret wasting away like smoked cigarettes on street corners.
I regret decaying like it is my job.

I regret that the things I have seen have not been good.
I regret that all signs in my life tell me it is falling apart.
I regret falling apart when I still had something to grab onto.

I regret not having anything to hold onto, now, and dying because of it.
I regret dying, but not because I don't like the idea of it.

I regret not living at night but rather during the day with everyone else.
I regret seeing everyone on a daily basis.
I regret my choice of boyfriends.

I regret what I used to think love is.
I regret not thinking of my parents as teenagers once.
I regret forgetting what my dad's old house looks like.

I regret coming back to the city and tying him to everything.
I regret seeing his face in red and blue and gold lights even though his is
I regret wanting to wrap my state in my hand and close it off to newcomers-
but if I did, I'd probably crush it.

I regret wanting to travel because I will never visit the places I talk about.
I regret being a better hopeless romantic than he is, which makes me worse.
I regret being a musician because I need pain in order to do it.

I regret feeling like the main character in each of my favorite movies.
I regret thinking I am special or interesting enough to have a movie made
about me.
I regret writing a book about my life as if it isn't a story that has been heard
a million times before.

I regret believing writing a book would change my life.

I regret changing the way I believe in things. I regret making God a force
that is connected to my pain even though I swear he has nothing to do with it.
I regret thinking He should have nothing to do with me, because I use him
in my writing and possibly risk my chances at Heaven.

I regret that I gamble my relationship with the Afterlife because I think nothing could
be worse than here.
I regret thinking life on Earth is Hell, because the Earth has nothing to do with the hell humans have made it- the hell that I, a human, have made it.
I regret that I have made life on Earth a living Hell for myself.

I regret that I am so good at manufacturing existential crises out of thin air.
I regret that this air feels too thin to breathe in for more than a day.

I regret giving in when I probably shouldn't have, or thinking giving in was
the problem when in reality it is just me being too weak to deal with average,
everyday problems.
I regret that everything feels like the end of the world.
I regret seeing myself as one of the few people who will never experience
marriage because we think we'll lose parts of ourselves if we do, and we have
already sacrificed too much that if we give one more piece away, we'll de-exist.

I regret seeing myself as one or all of the few people because even when I think I am not alone in something, I swear I am truly alone.
I regret feeling alone around him.

I regret merely going through the motions again, instead of living.
I regret not feeling like I'm living, and not living because I'm not feeling like it.

I regret wanting something to change when nothing will.
I regret not knowing if I need to change or not.
I regret disappearing the more I loved.

I regret loving more to try and feel less like I have disappeared.
I regret relying on him loving me to not feel invisible.
I regret having my confidence knocked out in the first few rounds from a
punch that wasn't even all that bad.

I regret feeling in extremes, because he thinks his sister should be like me.
I regret having reasons for why she shouldn't be.

I regret not being myself in light because otherwise people will see too much
of what they don't want to see.
I regret relating to an abuser's music because it is sad enough, but if it wasn't
this sad then I probably wouldn't listen to it.

I regret needing sadness because now that I have it, I won't let it go like I
was let go- like I am let go every single time, and that is probably one of the
reasons I am like this.

I regret being like this.
I regret pretending I am not like this to preserve their innocence, or something
like that.
I regret not even knowing why I do half the things I do.

I regret regretting all of these things that mean nothing to everyone else.
I regret this poem.
Feb 2019 · 174
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019

the more i feel,
the more it hurts

and the more it hurts,
the more i feel

then do i keep feeling?
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
This train ride
Is the only thing that connects us now
It is the only thing left that’s running
From me to you
It is the only thing that’s still moving

For once I am back,
I am not leaving again
Once I am home
I am not leaving it behind

I made this mistake once
Of thinking I could have left
Everything that killed me
That tortured me and pursued me
All of the pain that subdued me
But escape isn’t possible for the thing
That is in me
You need to know, my love
Because I know, now
This pain created me

And I owe it to this pain to let it destroy me

See I am sitting and I can tell something isn’t right
This train moves too quick and the breaks seem too tight
And as a whole the train itself is shaking to be loose
And if this train tips over, there is nothing you or I can do

We have to let this happen
We have to let us die
I keep thinking of how many people are on here
With more valuable lives than mine

It’s not because I’m lonely
And it’s not because I’m me
It’s because even back in my small space there with you
I’m so insignificantly free

I’m going back
Because I realize this is all I’ve known
This feeling of being nothing
Makes it so much more plausible

Makes it so much easier to understand
I have lived this way forever
And it only makes sense
To go back to feel it there

It only makes sense
To leave you behind
Because if I take you with me
Then we’re both going to die

This train ride
Is the only thing that connects us now
These tracks that run through the one island we’re on
You are on my island, the island I’ve lived on my whole life
And there’s so much of it you haven’t seen
And there’s so little you know of me

Your entire life in a different state
Is my entire life with you here
Because although you have come to me
You know nothing of what I used to be

You know nothing of what I’ve done,
What I’ve become
Where I’m going
What I want
In this life that keeps insisting otherwise

I realize this train is my lifeline
Once it stops, the movie is over
The song is done
And there are no more wonders about
If we’ll ever be something

No more worrying
No more drinking
No more thinking of me
But never being open to talking

Maybe you don’t think of me
As much, I thought you did
I thought you would
I thought I could do it

I thought I could do this

This train ride
Is like my veins in my body
Like the alcohol that runs throughout his sitting next to me
I am looking away from him and pretending it is you, instead
I am pretending the smell
Is the taste and array of your breath
This is our connection
Watch it go, farther away

Watch it disappear
Watch it get smaller and smaller
Watch it move on to something other
Than what’s always been right here

Watch it sway, watch it crumble
This train is me
And I realize you’ll be sad
You didn’t get to see it leave

Once I am done,
I am not starting over again
Once I am here,
I am not ever leaving

Once I am alone,
I have pounded this road in, jack
Once I am home,
I am not coming back
Feb 2019 · 233
Tonight I'm Going Home
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
You can have this city
If it means I get to breathe
If it means, I get to reconnect
With this other half of me

For twelve nights now
I've tried to see
How I can be so enjoying
And so fulfilling,
And yet so empty

I am both the entertainer
And the curtain drawer
The nail and the hammer
And yet I've never felt better
Being all of the ground under

I am safer and this feels normal
To live in the background like shadows
And I'm following you around
But I know you'll never catch me
Because it's simple, why would he

It's simple that, to you, I never am to be found
With all of this beauty that surrounds,
Why would you ever think or care to look down

Why would you ever even think to look at me
When I am so much of distortion and thorns
Rather than pretty petals and leaves
I'm more like the remains of a rose's corpse

I'm more like the broken branch on the tree,
I'm more like
The bottom of the sea
I'm more like everything other than anything
You had seen in me

I'm more like nothing
I'm less good at holding,
I'm more broken
I'm less alive, and—

I don't want to seem like
The demon of the night
But angels don't break like me
Angels save, angels love

I'm nothing but love that
Is never enough

So you can have this city
If it means I get to lay beneath it
If it means the water washes me
And there's no trace or a footprint

For over twelve nights now
I've tried to see
How I can be so enjoying
And so fulfilling,
And yet so empty

And so I'm going home
To be with family
To be in my room, with my ceiling fan
That knows just how mad I can be

I am safer and this feels normal
To know I could actually lock my own door
And these four walls have seen the way I've grown
And what I've kept inside me for so long
And it's simple, why would she

I've been doing this for eighteen
And it's simple what it means
Home is where I brew
And I will die here, too
Feb 2019 · 320
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
I wish I were home
That way I could be alone
In my bed fit for one
And no bigger, rather
Just as I left it
It is only for me

I wish I were home
So I could not think about my mom
And how she doesn’t know
Her daughter is dying

I wish I were home
And I wouldn’t hear my roommate’s clothes slide off
From man hands that will never in this life
Reach to me

He is across the room in the bed next to me
And the four, 12-inch tiles between are a universe
And he does not see me
He does not know I am listening
And I hear what he’s doing and I’m crying—
Because I know, now
She is something I will never be

This is something I’ll never have
Just me and my bed
So much bigger than my one at home
How long do I sit here pretending I’m sleeping?

How long do I stay as the lives around me are collapsing?
How long do I keep trying?

Do I dare tell him, now
In this dark he cannot see me
That the sound of your tongue on her body
Makes me want to scream
Makes me want to throw myself up at the ceiling
Makes me want to leave

In my own room
In my own bed
It is only for me

And, God, I wish I were home
And I wish I were an angel
And I wish I were Calypso
And I wish he loved me,
So I wouldn’t have to lay here so quietly

But it’s never hit me harder than tonight,
That I am the dark tunnel
That drowns out the light

The people here don’t know who I am
They don’t know what I’ve been,
What I’ve done
They don’t know I can remember every single one

One of the times I felt dark
Had to do with feeling like I’m sinking and dying
And this is now
The worst night of my life
And I’m crying

This darkness is ruining me
It is grabbing me and subduing me
And I am going out like they do in movies
And the song is the sound of
Him ******* my roommate

And I wish, God, I wish
I wish I were home
That way I could be alone
In my bed fit for one
What a love story it is
******* the left gets fingered
And ******* the right writes a poem

And she will be alone for the record
She’s got them beat and she knows it
And the sleep medicine only has her more awake for the moment

And I hope you ******* liked it
I hope you had to grip the sheets so tightly
And I hope you had screamed so I could have pretended it was me
And I hope he’s gone by the time I wake up
So I don’t have to remember it
And I hope you’re gone
And I’m gone
And I know that soon I will be
Because this life is as unexciting and unfulfilling as can be

And I know, love, I’m stunning

I hear the fireworks break right next to me
And I don’t need you to think—
Because you’re not the one who will die from drowning
And you’re not the one who will feel so lonely
Who will feel like her favorite poet
Who suffocated herself with gas from an oven

And I can feel the heat
And it’s burning,
I can tell
In pain you see angels and I go through hell

But it’s never hit me harder than tonight,
And I’m sinking
And it’s dark again
I’m hearing singing and I know I’m going—
And good God, this life

This life is only for me
Feb 2019 · 312
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
She says she loves him
Down to the bone in which she’ll begin to carve into
If she is like me
The bone that he grips tightly,
Making patterns of her skin
Whether spirals or mandalas

He touches her like she is weakened porcelain
A plastic doll that is only good for his use
And she lets him

She says she loves him
Because she wants so badly for him to be herself
And I won’t tell her she reminds me of 13 year old me
Who wanted so badly to feel like she deserved to breathe
Stripped confidence levels as low as the concrete
That younger me scraped her knees on
Never knowing that one day she would be the ground
And the thing that keeps cutting her now is me

He sleeps in her room at night
Then he leaves and forgets her and she pretends she does, too
She forgets herself
And I won’t tell her she reminds me of 15 year old me
Who snuck into his jeep,
Followed roads to his home
Then snuck into his bedroom
Then his basement when his mom came home

The way he treats her is the dirtiness I’d carry
The way he leaves her is the sound of the TV
That kept playing while I entertained him and he wouldn’t even watch me
The way this is normal for her
So she doesn’t fight
And I won’t tell her she reminds me of 16 year old me
Who made her body a home for anybody but the people who lived there
The way he uses her is how unnatural it felt
How it feels that he is the last one I remember
That he is the last one I touched in a November

The way he makes her think it is her who decides whether
They rest with eyes open together or not
The way he makes her believe it is her fault
It is her fault
And it is my fault

And it is our faults
That keep us nailed to crucifixes made of not wood
But pain and insecurity
Of being a woman loved solely for what makes us women
But if we were men, we’d be lonely
If we were men, we’d be nobodies

No bodies seem like they carry enough blood and warmth except his
And I won’t tell her she reminds me of 17 year old me
Who would rather change for him than let him accept me for me
Who let him tell me what I should do with my body
The way he calls her back in on some nights like a dog
Is the guilt I felt when I couldn’t please him
The way she is his one night stand, for more than one night
And never a friend
Is the deadness that sprung like tree roots when I found he’d been with her
That he’d be with her, from now on

She is lost in the way he has lost love for her
And I won’t tell her she reminds me of 18 year old me
Who let cages hold me instead of his palms and his cheek
His face and his hair that feels so feathery
That feels like what it should be
The way he makes her question herself is the times over and over again I refused
The spirals on her skin are the circles I have been running in
The way he traces them with his fingers to make her think she could get him to want her is how I became lost
Chasing him then chasing me then chasing something I couldn’t see
Chasing nothing
Chasing something I couldn’t be
And should never have been, a one night stand for more than one night
And never a friend
This is normal for me
The basement and the bedroom and November is where and when I breathe
Where I see myself falling in deep, maybe
Because he doesn’t deserve a mind this ugly

She says she loves him and it’s scary
Because I said I loved him
And I said I loved him
And I said I loved him
And I said I loved him

And I know she doesn’t mean it
And I know she thinks she means it
And I won’t tell her the way she doesn’t know her worth reminds me of me

I say I love him
The circles I’ve drawn are the reason I keep finding myself in the same position
The same spaces I keep walking in, getting deeper and deeper
Like the spirals on her skin

Yes, there are patterns to my pain
Periods webbed together like mandalas
That have all kept me caught

This is normal for me

And I say I love him
But I don’t want to catch him

And I feel sorry for her—
I’m sorry.
Feb 2019 · 149
End night
Julia Betancourt Feb 2019
At the end of the night
Know I love you,

Even if us two aren't right.
Jan 2019 · 155
Where Dark Figures Eat
Julia Betancourt Jan 2019
I see you in my sleep
Entwined in blackened rhythms,
I see you standing right in front of me

Then darkness grabs you quick
And I am drowning in a black sea,
I see you in my dreams
Left thoughtless to images of stranger things

Is this what my mind imagines it to be like when you leave?

I see you when I sleep
When closed eyes leave no witness,
But always keep you right in front of me
And watch your life and body dissipate

Soon you are invisible
And I am drowning in a black sea,
I see you in my dreams
Listening to seraphine and metallic malaise

Whistles blowing sound like wind dancing through rain

This is where dark figures live
I dine with them as beasts
We dance at dusk together
And move on to grab each other
I let their hands move on my hips
And love the ways they grab my waist

Then darkness grabs us quick
And we are dancing in the black sea,
Swimming with our demons
And all of the men of my dreams

This is where dark figures eat
And quench the hungry beasts
I notice that they’re starving
And invite them to feed on me

Then darkness grabs me quick
And I am drowning in a black sea,
I look and he does not look at me
And I know, now, that I’m not sleeping
Jan 2019 · 862
Calypso’s Ground
Julia Betancourt Jan 2019
I never needed any pillars
Didn’t want them-
Wanted to give myself the feeling
No one else could

I wanted to be enough for myself
And I was
Then I wasn’t-
Embedded in the idea
That amazingness like him could love me

I let him in my chamber
Let him feel around my pillows
Let him warm me in the warmest parts of me
And lost myself in ignoring
That maybe my bed is not big enough

Maybe my brain isn’t quick enough
I realize too late,
And then my heart is not filled enough
Now my body is not sure enough

About my placement in a city
That used to make the world larger for me
Then the lights shine like his bedroom’s
And I think I really must be Calypso
Because the men are always leaving

I fell through the floor one night
Because I questioned if he’d need me
And then I let it, so the ground swallowed me
And I let it keep making me bleed

I bleed in constellations
And poetry,
Like he does
I bleed in love

I bleed in longing and goodnight’s
And feeling like I’m missing something
I bleed in wishing I could see him
In this moment
Instead of sleeping the same as I did

When he was one thousand miles away
I bleed
I bleed
I bleed
But this heart will not stop beating

Maybe it doesn’t get enough
And the mind inside of it won’t think too much
I keep asking myself when the time will be
Where I have bled enough

Maybe it doesn’t get enough
And the mind inside of it won’t think enough
I keep asking myself when the time will be
Where I now bleed too much

But my pillars have grown curls as patterns
My hypnotic energy is wrapped in jeans
Dark eyes show more than oceans that hug this island
I have sailed myself to
Where he is gravity

He pulls me down but keeps me from drowning
I am floating, on water
Like ghosts do above attic floorboards
But I am bleeding like I’m living

I bleed in constellations
And poetry,
Like he does
I bleed in love
This heart will not stop beating

Maybe it doesn’t get enough
And the mind inside of it won’t think too much
I keep asking myself when the time will be
Where I have bled enough

Maybe it doesn’t get enough
And the mind inside of it won’t think enough
I keep asking myself when the time will be
Where I now bleed too much

But I’m living in a world surrounded by galaxies
Where down is up,
And grip is too loose to stay
And black holes keep on pulling

And he is gravity.
Jan 2019 · 405
Julia Betancourt Jan 2019
I know all of the pain in the world
I hold it in my hand like gold bullet casings
They melt into my skin like metal rings
Wrapped around my finger bones until I feel the chill
Until nothing else feels real

There are bruises above my knuckles
Where they sit beneath the layers
Black and blue flavored markings
Look like dirt ingrained in skin
Skinless I can be if that is what you’ll savor

If it’s savory, tastes sweet and sugary
Black and blue are just my own two personal flavors
Creations I’ve made from digging nails into backs
Of barrels filled with black moods
And dirt underneath my fingernails

For one night, I can forget them for her
Let the soul inside me breathe clean air
As if I am not bonded to pain in pleasure
Pleasure for them and pain for myself
Like saved plates only ever filled with leftovers

And I have tasted none of them
Tasted none but one but I have more than one ring
And more than one bruise
Because I feel more than one type of pain
Losing is an incision sewed by miscommunication

Implanted in a thought process that has become
So ****** from listening
I listen to you list your wounds from my rings
That become brass knuckles when I touch you
That become how I loved you

And soon your fingers begin to feel broken, too
And snap when they feel me
Last touch against cracked glass
Shattered pieces sing against me
And there is no sound when I scream

Soon I won’t be able to hear you sing anymore
I won’t laugh at the jokes I should
I’ll feel like the dirt underneath your fingernails
The grime I ground against you
Shot at you and beneath you

And hopefully you will hold pain in your hand, too
Hold it in your hand like gold bullet casings
They melt into your skin like metal rings
Wrapped around your finger bones until you feel the chill
Until nothing else feels real

Vowed to be savory,
Black and blue flavored markings taste sweet and sugary
Skinless we can be if that helps to feel the chill
Until nothing else feels real
And together we are bound by the pain I made us feel
Jan 2019 · 112
writer's high
Julia Betancourt Jan 2019
Last night I couldn’t let another body
Touch mine
Even though his was just as soft
His hands did not graze quickly over
They stayed put in places for seconds
Sometimes minutes at a time
Like I was the earth itself

My body is not meant to be touched
Or so, I tell myself
Letting walls down means being held
Being held means holding
I don’t want to hold him

I don’t want to hold anyone
I want to be alone
Alone is safe haven
Where depressing pigment is worn in confidence
I want to be alone with myself
Where I can win and lose in two,
No matter which of the halves are left on top

I don’t want him on top of me
On top of me means I am under
I have been underground for months at a time
Trapped by different permanents
Whether demon or person

I don’t want to be a person with feelings
Feelings mean being pried open,
Mean my nails have grown weak in my door crevice,
Mean the floorboards are ready to be lifted

You shouldn’t try to lift me from this
As if you could
As if you would

Last night I couldn’t think of another body
Touching mine
Even though they may be just as soft
Their hands graze quickly over
And find new homes to stay in by nightfall
For days, sometimes weeks at a time
The home inside me welcomes barely

My body was not meant to be touched
As long as I told myself
Cages are meant to be kept around me
Locked in means locking you out
Write poems about wanting to hold me

I didn’t want to hold anyone
Wanted nothing but to be alone
Alone is safe haven
Where depressing pigment is worn in confidence
Being alone with me is part of a muse
That replays how people break in two,
No matter whoever’s halves are left on top

You knew not to be on top of me
Not to ever let me be hurt from under
I have been underground for months at a time
Scarred by different permanents
Whether demon or person

I didn’t want to be a person with feelings
You were careful not to pry me open,
Undress drapes unhooked like shower curtains,
Upon wet stone floors begging me to slip

You wouldn’t ever let me slip
As if you could
As if you could
Jan 2019 · 558
Julia Betancourt Jan 2019
I do not know what I am
But she does-
Just as she envisions me,
I am intertwined with her fearfulness
Drowned out by a glass of wine

She is nervous
She thinks with the more I see
I will trade in everything that has made me
Sell it for some false narrative
One night where I feel I fit in
Or maybe, a man who does not see me
For everything she has made me

She thinks I don’t enjoy it
She thinks
She thinks
She thinks
She never says what she is thinking

She feels just like my father,
Sneaking in the dark
The difference being it is what she is
Swallowed whole by
And that of which he feeds

I guess-
They do not know what they are, either
They do not know what each other, is
Or who, exactly, they married
And I do not know what I am

I am intertwined in his nervousness
Tightly embraced for what feels like a strangle
Because it is wrong
In the form of another woman

He is scared
He thinks with the more I see
I will forget to see myself, and then
I will be lost in my own absence
Give it all up for
One night, with a man who does not fit
And all I will be is weak

He thinks I will fall weak
He thinks
He thinks
He thinks
He never says what he is thinking

He feels just like my mother,
Who is always on edge about him
As he is always on edge about me
Together, they are always on edge about me

I guess-
They do not know what I am, either
And I do not know what I am
But I recognize I am both; swallowed whole
By the dark and it is absolutely what I feed off of

I guess-
I am like my mother
And like my father

And we are all like each other.
Jan 2019 · 154
Julia Betancourt Jan 2019
He feels like water,
In my palms that soften at his touch
Cleansed of old fingerprints and DNA
I thought I wanted to keep

In my blood,
Sliding through and warming me
With more pressure in certain spots

I am so warm
I cannot remember when I was freezing,
If I was freezing,
I must have been too frozen to feel it
I must have been too busy sleeping

I must have been asleep,
Because in what I feel now I know I have missed this
I know I almost missed it

In three months I swore myself to be healed
In healing, I had given up my right to feel
I haven’t felt some things and then
I felt it all

It felt good, then horrible
Then good again

Now it feels like water,
In my palms,
In my blood,

It’s easy

And keeping me from dying
Dec 2018 · 95
Julia Betancourt Dec 2018
When you stand balancing over me,
I do not see him.
I do not feel him,
Miss him, I—

I remember all of them.
Every boy I have ever given my body up to,
Whether it was only at the sight of the crevice that pillows my words,
Or the entirety of my existence.
I let them have it.

Let them crawl atop the tethered grass that’s been ripped out of its place
And make a bed.
Let them make a bed even though it does not comfort me.
Even though that isn’t even where I sleep.
I let them dream,
Let them dream until they tell me that is exactly what it feels like—
Like a dream because it all must be a movie,
Because every movement is so translucent,
So unsurprising and superficial.

So expected and too perfect,
Too familiar because I’ve seen it so many times over,
When you stand balancing over me,
I do not see him.
I do not feel him,
Miss him, I—

I remember all of them.
Every boy I have ever given my body up to,
Whether it was only at the sight of the crevice that pillows my words,
Or the entirety of my existence.
I let them have it.

When you stand over me I feel powerless.

Powerless because I am not in control of my mind, because my thoughts are not mindful of everything I’ve been through.
They try to forget but they cannot erase what has happened to me,
Cannot erase the red and blue that surrounds my eyes because I rub too hard,
I think too hard,
Because it isn’t that I don’t want you to,
It is that I don’t want to be the one to give it to you,
And suddenly I remember all of them.
Every boy I have ever given my body up to,
Whether it was only at the sight of the crevice that pillows my words,
Or the entirety of my existence.
I let them have it—

The resolution of an empty bed that I refuse to lay in when it’s warm,
And even if it’s mine,
My resolution is that for you I have nothing more than empty promises.

I promise you can fill my space when it gets cold.
Dec 2018 · 115
Julia Betancourt Dec 2018
If only you knew how it felt-
That the few inches between us in the bed
are not something you wish to bridge.
You let them grow inside of themselves, instead,
Without lifting a finger to reach me,
Or turning a cheek to look at me.

It has been three months since I've disappeared
and you have not called me.
You have not thought of me.
I am a bleached memory that has begun to look
better washed out,
Like I was ***** before
When it was sore,
Like you were always on the edges of things.

If only you knew how it felt-
To see my eyes and not think of anything.
To not feel anything.
To be free from everything that encapsulates me.
Like I was ***** before
When it was sore,
Like the eyes didn't show anything more.

If only you knew how it felt-

Knowing that you don't love me anymore.
Julia Betancourt Dec 2018
They never love all of me.
Only some of me.
Nov 2018 · 326
Taste of Freedom
Julia Betancourt Nov 2018
They stopped killing us as slaves and started killing us as citizens
When citizens meant slaves but just to a different system
Because the system wanted to give us a taste
A whole new creation of black men and women who know the taste of bullets
Because bullets are the backbone of their existence
Piercing through their backs and their children's
Tell me you’re sorry but it has to be like this
200 years of slavery and we still live like this
I’m constantly asking myself when I die will I be anything more
Than a hashtag and a sweatshirt with my face on it?
Will I still be shackled to the blackness that’s been a magnet for ammunition?
A magnet for the hands that cuff me before I never made a bad decision?
A human designed for target practice?
Told to prove the way the world looks at me wrong
When the quality of my life has already been determined
When we’re arrested for crimes we didn’t commit and over packed into prisons
When the ghettos are already built so they can leave us to be deserted in
When my neighbor’s body is already laying in the street
When Trayvon’s already been dead for over six years
When Danye Jones is left hanging from a tree like from centuries ago
Told “Just don’t be Black”
Because being Black is a threat
You say you shoot to protect
But my people have been starved since the day we were stolen
Taught to work in the white man’s world but never to rise above him
Taught our culture is ugly unless it’s appropriated and copied
Upon this platform built on the backs of my ancestors hung like decorations
Do I know a single black body in America that isn’t scared?
Do I know a single black body in America that isn’t told by this country
Not to be Black
Because being Black is a threat
So you box us inside of a stereotype until we become colorless
Born into a cycle of fearing my life because you hate my skin
While white men are left free to Las Vegas, Pittsburgh, Parkland,
Orlando, Charlottesville, Kentucky, Charleston
Told not to be Black
Because the white man is the threat
They dig Black into our brains enough and they hope we forget
That George Zimmerman was found not guilty
Tamir Rice was less than thirteen
That being Black in America is the slowest genocide in history
To not breathe because they’d rather see us die of suffocation
Gentrification because we can't taste freedom
Because freedom tastes like lead casings
Freedom means walking down the street but not being able to do it after evening
Or anytime if it means wearing a durag or hood or black skin
Freedom means beatings
And freedom means bleeding
Bleeding until five officers have gotten enough kicks at Rodney King
Until Martin Luther King's killer feels like the dream has died with him
Freedom is bleeding
And freedom is - - - breathing heavy because I’m running and they still claim to be “policing”
They still claim to be policing
I’m - running and they still claim to be policing
I’m - - - breathing, I’m running, I’m bleeding
… I’m bleeding
Sep 2018 · 189
Julia Betancourt Sep 2018
Can you tell I notice your hands are empty when you go to grasp Mommy's face?
Do you watch me see your eyes look passed her shoulder and never at her,
Like all of what is there are only left overs,
A broken soul erased after each night that you come home late because of "traffic"
Do you see her shrinking until she's bone and broken, broken bones
A skeleton in the dungeon of marriage
Faded into nothing but the silhouette of a woman
Do you see her?
Is she not pretty anymore, Daddy? Is she not pretty?
Does her face seem to droop when she walks into our living room?
Are you too busy watching television to know her nails are so short they bleed?
That last night she didn't eat,
Her stomach says she's feeling sick but by now it's been a week
Are you worried at all?
I've watched my mother shrink because a man thought he was too man to love her
Not man enough to love her forever
Now I am engaged to the reality that some women are fated to be thrown away or kept under the covers
My mom is a woman
My mom is a woman who has been pried open by her husband
Left to damage and to renew her vows to her own self destruction
I've watched my mother die inside because of a man who lies
I should have known as a 24 year old Marine you must have had a love for war
Then you brought it back with you and put it into your relationship, into your job, and into our home
Now 25 years have fallen and Mommy can't think straight anymore
Now I see her shrinking until she's bone and broken, broken bones
A skeleton in the dungeon of marriage
Faded into nothing but the silhouette of a woman
Her shadows on the walls are getting smaller
And her voice a lot quieter except for when you're fighting
And I ask you if she's leaving
You want to tell me
"Mommy does nothing wrong,
But Mommy is not enough for me and I’ll forget you remembered I said this when I tell you that I hope one day you’ll grow up to be like her,
I hope one day your brain will shrink so you think you need to settle for a man who will never give
I hope every inch of your being is ingrained and bestowed in his name
Then you'll realize the reason that I still come home and the reason that I pray are the same,
It isn’t because I know I did wrong,
It’s because I know I’ll always be forgiven
That’s why I tell you to always look out for Jesus because Jesus has always looked out for me,
When I felt her hair and body brushed up beside me,
Saw different colored skin on the bed sheets and forgot my own family"
Tell me why you did it, Daddy
Tell me why my mom is one of those women who will never feel worthy
Tell me why because she loved, now she's hurting
Tell me why when I meet a man who wants me I ask him which parts he would pick out of me,
Sew into another skin that may feel more meant to be,
May be more soft, maybe
Smooth instead of my roughness is way more pretty
Mommy told me better sewn, because at least then there's still pieces of me where he was stitching
But I'd rather be wrong for you, because my father taught me I can be a wife and you will still choose otherwise
Tell me why I am not right for you
Tell me why I am not enough for you
Tell me why my mother and I have shrunk until we're bone and broken, broken bones
Skeletons in the dungeon locked by the men who swore they loved us
Pried open by them after they promised they wouldn't hurt us
Faded into nothing but the silhouettes of women.
Do you see us?
Aug 2018 · 221
Julia Betancourt Aug 2018
become one with pain,
and you'll live like me.
or don't,
and you'll die like me.
Aug 2018 · 926
I Don't Blame Anyone
Julia Betancourt Aug 2018
I don't want you to search for why,
or how I could have done this at a time in my life
where I was so close to getting out.
The truth is that I will never get out.
I will never live a life where I am not in pain,
or questioning the meaning that I have in others' lives,
not wishing that I could drown in rain,
or questioning the meaning that I have in living out the rest of my life,
not wishing that I could drown.
Truthfully, it makes no difference.
It is like I am in pain but no one is listening.
Everyone chooses to close their ears and tell me, instead,
that it will get better.
I have learned and accepted my life.
I have realized that the rest of my life consists of one under the control
of a mental problem that makes everything feel like the end of the world.
That— every time something goes mildly wrong— I feel like I'm dying.
And when it's worse, I feel like I just might as well do it now.
Nobody can change or save me— no amount of love, or song, or piece of art,
or poem, or person— can help me hang on forever.
People are undependable, which is why, out of all things, it makes sense
why even I couldn't keep me alive.
You should never put your life in someone's hands, and I did—
I put them in my own.
I made myself keep fighting until I felt even the tiniest feeling of
purpose or passion, and I told myself that even the tiniest amount
of happiness was worth it.
But that's not how you would see it in a separate scenario.
You wouldn't tell me to keep myself in a relationship where the other person
only ever gave me the bare minimum, where they only made me happy
one day a week, in that minute where they made me feel worthwhile.
You wouldn't tell me to continue on through all of the feelings of
worthlessness and uselessness and insecurity because, that one small moment
where they make me happy is worth it.
You would tell me to find someone better.
You would tell me I deserve someone better. Then, I would try to find it—
knowing only way too late that I will never find someone that could
possibly give me everything I deserve.
Those people do not exist.
And for me, being alone has never worked quite well.
Because I get in my own head.
I think about all of the things I am not, and how I don't even care to fight
to become them. I just don't care.
I shouldn't have had to fight for this long.
But life seems to disagree. Life seems to keep telling me the battles
will not end, and I think it's the same for everyone.
I just think some people don't want to have to go through it anymore.
I just think some people don't want to not feel alive anymore.
Some people finally are honest with themselves and think, "Why am I doing
this to myself?"
It seems I do to myself what others do to me.
Except it's worse, because I am with me for the rest of
my life, and I can't get away from me.
Aug 2018 · 226
If Love Is An Ocean
Julia Betancourt Aug 2018
If love is an ocean, then I am the floor underneath it
Pressed down upon by miles of heavy sand and
the water that makes me drown

If love is a home, I am the ground beneath it
Too closed off to be nothing but imbedded in concrete

If love is California, then I am New York
Too far to be seen and two things that will never touch

If love is a well, I am the bottom of it
Too hidden in dark water that everyone drinks and chokes on

If love is this life, then I am barely living
Too much pain to feel alive
Too much feeling to feel different

If love is you, then I am me
Too much to be
Just too much

If love is a home, I am the ground beneath it

If love is a well, I am the bottom of it

If love is this life, then I am barely living

If love is an ocean, I am drowning in it
Jul 2018 · 280
Julia Betancourt Jul 2018
i looked at the moon tonight
until i felt insignificant
and so my problems felt insignificant
and i will do it again tomorrow night
Jul 2018 · 926
What I Really Feel
Julia Betancourt Jul 2018
I am weak.
The dead poke fun at me,
Every time I try to envision them,
Which would be every week.
I am stolen.
Because you can tell me you love me
And I will tell you why you don’t,
And you can tell me why you don’t
And I will agree with you.
Is this what they meant by “life”?
Is this what my parents wanted when they had me?
You can tell me I am young but that doesn’t make me.
My mom thinks everyone is just surviving,
She thinks this is surviving.
I am not.
I am not strong,
Because every time something always goes wrong,
I want to **** myself but I can’t,
Because they believe the pain does not last.
But it does.

I don’t ask why I am not enough for you,
I just focus on how I am not enough for you,
Or anyone,
Because I am stuck in between metal bars,
Always feeling like the heat is too strong in the summer,
Always feeling like something is trying to **** me.
I don’t ask why I am here,
I just focus on how there aren’t any set reasons,
But I never really ask for a reason why.

A reason why I am not okay?
I am prisoner to the peaks of life I cannot control,
Prisoner to the human body, to its brain.
And how who I am and who I want to be cannot connect.
I am prisoner because life is not what it seemed,
And I had no way of knowing.
I am prisoner because I never asked to be here, did I?

My morbidness hides nothing at stake,
Because I still wake up each morning,
To a world that feels like it is moving in slow motion,
To a life that doesn’t feel like my own.
My morbidness does not mean I am going to die,
Because not all of us have the strength,
Not all of us want to have to do it ourselves.

And I have my selves,
Because they are all hopeless yet laughing,
Breathing yet dying,
But it isn’t anything you’d want to see.

You’d want to believe I am surviving not suffering,
Because that’s what allows you to tell me
I have purpose in being here.
That is what allows you to think things will get better for me,
Whether or not they will. (They won’t).
That is what allows you to still love me,
Because I am not totally gone when I am.

But if love could save anyone,
There wouldn’t be a broken me,

There would be no such thing.
Jul 2018 · 212
If I Were
Julia Betancourt Jul 2018
If I were a constellation,
I think I'd like to hang above your backyard.
Though my glow would already have been
too diminished for you to see me.
I guess-
I just keep trying.
And I guess
I just keep lying.
And I guess
I just keep thinking,

if I were not me,

if I were not me.
Jul 2018 · 997
My Significance
Julia Betancourt Jul 2018
If I was put here for a reason,
then why do I hate being here?
My five Okay Days are always followed
by before-bed breakdowns and I think
Life, itself, is misleading.
If things are meant to be,
then why do they never work out for some?
Why do people commit suicide and
die miserable?
If that is "meant to be".

If that is meant to be then I have been
being for a long time, now.
I can have half of my heart collapse into
predisposed, depressed ruins and quit
being able to balance on my feet,
and I will be characterized by "low self esteem".
This is not low self esteem.
This is a lifestyle,
a product of eighteen years too early and eighteen years too late,
a brain too involved to ever break through, and
life is too long.
My originality finds loopholes in your positivity.
Soon it will be 30 years too early and 30 years too late,
and my life will have never had actual life to it.
If I was meant to be,
then I was meant to be miserable.
May 2018 · 1.8k
How People Love Me
Julia Betancourt May 2018
I am not an Amazement

People do not look at me and find gold

I am a blank canvas and Empty

And there are no stars inside because everything

Exists outside of me

I’m Mad because I do not like how I caught your eye

You thought I was Beautiful

But now your eyes have faded so they can’t see this far

And so my Beauty goes unnoticed and my scars are red

I’m a Scared, pessimistic girl

With no headspace for dreams

A lot of life doesn’t exist in my world

And it feels like the trees are blocking me

Like the curtains are drawn to keep you from seeing inside of me

Like the artists don’t want to paint me anymore

Like I am stuck staring at the mirror in my bedroom that used to give me nightmares

Like in my dreams I keep asking people who have died

If they would come back to life

And every time they tell me No, I don’t deserve that anymore

No, I don’t deserve that anymore

I like to think I don’t deserve the bad things anymore

Like I am a sculpture that’s been glued to the ground

Where I cannot stop people from staring

What if I don’t want to be seen?

What if I want to be read

What if I want to be felt

For the things you can’t touch?

But they keep carving me down to a figure

They keep painting over the parts where I used to bleed
May 2018 · 178
Julia Betancourt May 2018
slipped through before leaving,
you bound past like you didn’t know

you never really learned my mystery

you never knew to find me
away from each other

loud and tedious,
with me hanging, usually shot,
waiting with the others and bored,
your trash- it’s part of the same
weird corner hemmed in,
bickering over airwaves, competing

except when they truce it
in the night- the last rainy, wrong
story- and walk out into the downpour,
we know both of them
don’t have anybody

and it’s the miracle ending
crisscross intersections for us
now that i live in fear of you,
we’d only meet after
May 2018 · 279
Julia Betancourt May 2018
I cannot write something that is Painless,
Maybe because I cannot exist and be Painless.
Because I do not exist.
And if I exist, I’m not Painless.
My Writing is nothing,
Maybe because I am Nothing.
Because I am Nothing.
And if I’m not Nothing, you’re lying.
My consistent efforts are worthless,
Maybe because my effort is worthless.
Because effort is Worthless.
And my Brain is honest.
My brilliance is battered,
Maybe because I am brilliant for being Battered.
Because I am brilliant and Battered.
And I can’t not be Battered.
There is no need for more reverence,
Maybe because I have capped out my Existence.
Because I am Sick of Existence.
And Existence is Reverence.
There is no love in my bearing,
Because Love means Bearing.
And I have no Bearing,
Because I am scared.
I am scared of my edges,
And scared of tipping.
Because the winds are not calming.
Because a piece of something is missing.
A piece of me is Missing,
Maybe because something is missing.
Because something is missing.
A piece of me is Missing.
May 2018 · 190
Julia Betancourt May 2018
I am in my own little world.

Are you trying to be in it, too?
May 2018 · 391
Written For My Anyone
Julia Betancourt May 2018
My best is half as good,
But that is to be expected from a girl
Whose parents never made her feel confident about living with a person
For the rest of your life.
I feel alone a lot,
And I am dependent on human connection only when
I start to feel misplaced by the universe.
I think in terms of galaxies rather than people,
Rather than in terms of me.
I'm useless-
But only because people can't use me.
They don't want to.
Why would they?
My hurt is not very visible,
But there is a lot of it in there.
Sometimes I play connect the scars
With my imagination,
And I remember I've failed in every aspect of my life,
Because I failed in one aspect of my life.
I'm tired of motivational social media posts,
And there are times where I don't like being around anyone.
I do not know how I am supposed to live with a person for the
Rest of my life.
I love someone,
But my best is half as good.
I like sitting in the dark in my solitude,
Because I feel like I'll be alone forever, and I am trying to prepare.
I want to be prepared for it-
So I can tell myself I'm happy,
So I can tell myself I'm meant for it.
I am tired of questioning if I can survive,
Or if my bedroom is my safe space,
If I will have this window view forever.
I am here because I feel like I failed you,
And if you are going to love me,
You should know this is how I feel at 8:39
On a Good day.
I'm tired because my Depression is still a piece of me and I'm
I laugh about it,
Because I do not want anything to be too serious anymore.
I am a writer because I am Sad,
I am creative because I am Sad,
And you can't ever be Sad like me.
I am watching lightning out my window
And thinking,
How beautiful would it be if I could do that for you?
I cry a lot,
More than normal, I think.
I want to know if you are going to love me.
Julia Betancourt May 2018
I will never have a love life.
I will live being lonely because I do not believe in soulmates,
I do not believe I am on Earth so another human being
Can **** me when they please.
All of my relationships
Don't work.
And it is not that I wish they would have,
It is that with the very last one
I tried.
I do not believe in soulmates but I will live lonely
Because a person could have been put on Earth for me
That I am not meant to spend the rest of time with.
I have cravings across bodies of water that make it easy to see
The sky is not big enough,
And the winds carry nothing but emptiness and leaves.
Love is not all that is wrong with my life.
If I had love, I still would never be
I am not satisfied with only close friendships because
Still, they cannot understand all of me.
My dishes and plastic cups all have tiny holes at the bottom,
With which you can pour water for days on end
But it will never reach the top.
I leave every cabinet open,
Because I do not like closing things.
I can't have *** with someone unless I love them,
And I won't ever have a love life
So I have convinced myself otherwise-
That virginity is just a social construct designed to
Make us feel bad.
I am worried about my mind.
It seems destiny is all only for me and my writing,
And not at all anything else.
I am worried because I do not want to be
Miserable until I die.
I am worried my Depression is what
Makes me a good writer,
And that I will be like
Edgar Allan Poe,
And we will all die alone.
My sadness
Makes me intelligent,
Makes a personality that is not too boring
For a poem about sympathy.
I exist in crooked dimensions,
Where another person could try to
Want me with their fingers but it will most likely
Die out at their eyes.
I feel everything that is broken.
I feel nothing,
I feel I do not like my neighborhood.
I feel a nice neighborhood is not enough for a
Creative mind.
I feel my worries will **** me before my body does,
And marriage is a lie.
I feel I am not seen as art anymore,
And that all of my paintings of van Gogh are just
Desperation to try,
And failure.
My brain is interconnected with
So much so that you are happier Drunk
Than thinking of me.
I do not Drink to form my sentences,
Despite what you might believe,
They are all just as Sad when I first hear them.
I believe that God is tired of me,
Or that I am selfish for using him in my writing.
I think He sees my cracked ceiling,
And expects me to believe it’s Him.
I think I am pathetic for remembering
That crack in the ceiling was from me.
He knows my walls are collapsing,
But I am still laying calmly inside.
My paintings hang around my head,
They are falling-
And I am not so afraid because I am
Falling, too.
I am worried about my Writing.
May 2018 · 163
Julia Betancourt May 2018
when i look at shattered marriages i think,


what will it be like for me?
Apr 2018 · 162
Julia Betancourt Apr 2018
somehow i'm still a ******* loner
Apr 2018 · 182
Julia Betancourt Apr 2018
to have looked at this same sky with you
from the same place where i am standing now
Mar 2018 · 155
Julia Betancourt Mar 2018
still, my best chance is through
words without sound
but the silence can hurt
when my thoughts are so loud
Mar 2018 · 397
Julia Betancourt Mar 2018
I thank the world for the moments
Where your soul is at peace because it has broken
into all of its pieces.
At times I feel there is a God
That lets me stand still in my 9.5 tornado of a life.
The wreckage keeps me together,
Keeps me from falling to the floor onto
More glass shards and wood pieces from a path I carved myself.
The windowpane holds my head in place
While time and time again I watch the Earth continue to be ruined.
My mirrors are all broken,
And I am not complaining.
It is that moment of sad relief,
The hour where you have stopped crying
And there is no feeling inside your fingertips.
The sweet nothing is a grand lifestyle,
Forgivable for a time with no noise,
Or life.
To lay down in a bed and yet float with the wind.
I do not stop myself from feeling nothing.
When the winds calm down and time moves backwards,
The hour runs quick
And I am reminded there really is a God
Because the pain replenishes itself.
And the shards pierce through me,
back to my untouched windowpane.
And I am on the floor,
On my knees
With spit hanging out from my mouth
And a beaten brain,
In the place where I stay crying before.
Mar 2018 · 293
solstice 9:39
Julia Betancourt Mar 2018
This air runs thin.
Either that or I have just lost the desire to breathe fully,
Or I have lost it completely.
Whether or not the air is still tangible does me no difference,
Because if it's not then I'm right,
And if it is then I actually have to try.
Cleaning furniture often is supposedly good,
Since raw dust could easily be balanced out with fresh air by
opening a window.
But it does not make the room any bigger,
And it certainly does not gain back the space.
There are two possibilities if I look outside today;
One- the smog has subsided and I can finally see, or
Two- the sun is at its lowest point.
Of course, having no windows in the room is an option, too,
Because if you cannot see the outside then you can convince yourself
there isn't one,
Because if there isn't one then you don't have to leave.
Since it has been two weeks of cooler temperature
it is easier to pretend it's normal now,
Just do not give away any spare blankets,
And do not let anyone know you are freezing to death.
Be selfish,
Because that's all this world has ever shown.
Forget preparing for the worst,
Because the worst has already come,
And if there wasn't any time before then there is no time now.
Your feet are blistered from walking on beaten wood floors,
And there is barely any paint left on the bathroom wall.
You could always get new furniture,
But you cannot replace the entire house.
The cobwebs are saying there are always odds,
And the odds are never in your favor,
But if you had a broom you could wipe them away and pretend for the next few days.
Clean corners go a long way,
Especially when that is the first thing you see when you look up,
And staring at the ceiling is routine.
Everything withers,
That is why last year's birthday flowers are gone
And that is why you stopped eating every meal.
If you cried a little more there would at least be a sign of living.
But the odds have webbed together again,
And some have even found ways to the floor.
Maybe outside is different but it wouldn't make up for lost time,
And thinking only wastes more.
The air has become thin and the sun is at its lowest point,
And there are more pieces to clean.
Mar 2018 · 168
Julia Betancourt Mar 2018
it hurts to think
i hurt with words

since words are the
only thing i have
Jan 2018 · 158
Julia Betancourt Jan 2018
not seeing your face or hearing your voice is the worst kind of alone
Dec 2017 · 157
Julia Betancourt Dec 2017
on earth
i am bound by
traditions and opinions

in secret
i am bound by
everything else
Dec 2017 · 5.6k
i gave up on a culture
Julia Betancourt Dec 2017
i stopped hanging out with my friends after the hook ups went around in a cycle. first, it started small. the same voice every week. it was always, "he texted me and asked me to hook up". melancholy out of not-giving-a-**** and not condescension like she'd hoped it was so it wouldn't seem like she was overdoing it, the rest of us would say "no way, again?"

every week. then eventually the rest of them got the same text. and they'd start overdoing it, too.

my first thoughts were, "gee, we can't even ask people to **** in person anymore." but then i thought, how do you do that if you aren't in love with them?


i stopped hanging out with my friends after the hook ups went around in a cycle at parties. apparently, it's easy. first they broke the ice (when the term "hook up" just meant making out) with some attractive other of the opposite ***- or same ***, i really don't give a **** about that, either- and it'd be really special because they weren't just kissing one person, they were kissing ten. all of the others before. i found that lovely.

then after a few parties, they'd mature. ready for the next best thing, the next BIG thing, the thing that made you interesting. next it was "hey, let's **** in this bed that two or three or seven other people just ****** in while we listen to a melting *** of drunk and high teenagers scream and stumble to the worst music on the floor below us". i found that lovely.


i stopped hanging out with my friends after they thought they were acting so rebellious by drinking when no parents were home. i won't lie to you, i had a few sips. but it tasted like ****. so i offered it to one of them after i had about down to the very first brim of the top of the red solo cup. so naturally, she took it, gulping three times before she pulled the cup away from her mouth and in between laughs i heard "i'm an alcoholic". i looked her dead in her face as the cup went back to her mouth, a slight laugh saying "you're not an alcoholic", but i was already done laughing by the time she did, overdoing it, again.


i stopped hanging out with my friends after i realized they didn't know what being an alcoholic meant. i judged as they waited until five minutes after mommy and daddy were gone to crack open their super risky Mike's Hard, Bud Light and Twisted Tea. i judged the flavors. i kept thinking, "you know it tastes like ****, that's nothing close to what lemonade tastes like, have you TASTED lemonade??"


i stopped hanging out with my friends after it was clear they'd never ******* tell each other why they ****** each other off. most times they were smiling way too much. overdoing it, again. i thought, "you're seventeen and you can't tell people how you feel but you can **** in a bed that two or three or seven other people just ****** in with a hook up that's not really one but ten."


i stopped hanging out with my friends after playing Cards Against Humanity a few times and i realized i felt they were more ****** up than the cards.

it was pretty bad. and their answers were really ****** up. the sentence would say The greatest thing to happen in history is and their answer would be The Holocaust. they were ****** up for sure. but by the fifth week i didn't need the cards to think so.


i stopped hanging out with my friends after they all started dressing the same. it was like being surrounded by mirrors with different faces, all that so badly wanted to reflect the other. being atypical i started to feel typical just by sitting in between them. they stared at each other the whole time and after awhile it was like they couldn't see me because i was the only one who dressed different.


i stopped hanging out with my friends after my anxiety started ******* me every time i was with them. the voice on my left said "go home if you don't like them" while the one on my right said "you *****, if you weren't so boring you could have a few drinks and get fUUccckkIIINNGGG LIIITTT, DUUDDEEE".


i stopped hanging out with my friends after i realized i ******* hated every single one of them. i hated their culture. i hated that they couldn't say anything interesting unless they were drunk or high and even then their ideas weren't good enough. i hated that they never thought about the universe or art or how it's really ******* fascinating that the earth's lungs are trees and we're its cancer. i hated that their consistent use of alcohol got boring for me. i hated the alcohol. i hated their lack of originality. i hated the videos where i could hear them saying "hey, blow your vape into my camera". i hated the voice in their head that told them that it was a cool idea. i hated their perception. i hated how they always had to worry about everybody else's perceptions. i hated how they always agreed with everybody else's perceptions. i hated what they payed attention to. i hated that they payed more attention to who said the most but did the least. i hated that they started doing the least. i hated their values. i hated that they valued nothing. i hated that they got more than what they gave because they always gave nothing. i hated that they depressed me. i hated that i was too depressing for them. i hated that i couldn't share my thoughts for the sake of not being too serious all of the time. i hated their blank personalities. i hated that their personalities started fusing together until all that was left was one big blank personality. i hated that they were so easy going. i hated that they'd never stand for something. i hated that they were so easy going that they never had an opinion. i hated that i was alone. i hated that i was alone because none of them thought like me. i hated the way they thought. i hated their thought because they never thought it through. i hated their vibration. i hated that they made me feel singular when we'd sit around a fire. i hated their singularity. i hated that at most times i was surrounded by empty bodies with no brain. i hated that they never used their brain. i hated that i hated my brain because they never used their brain. i hated their culture. i hate their culture.

i gave up on their culture.
Oct 2017 · 226
to love me
Julia Betancourt Oct 2017
my skin is not perfect
some parts are smoother than others

i find it so peaceful
how you can touch me in every place
yet it's when you feel the roughest parts
where you kiss me and tell me

there isn't one thing you'd rather be different
Aug 2017 · 260
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
easily, i feel alone
Aug 2017 · 282
Julia Betancourt Aug 2017
i am
in love again

and i am
alive again
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