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Julia Rose Jun 2021
We were a waltzing marathon
Eternal box steps in the ballroom
In my dreams, we danced forever

I wore you like a cloak and
your skirts brushed against my ankles
with every twist and turn

My skin sings when I dance. Every inch is fire. Even behind my ears,
in-between my fingers, the tip of my nose
and bottom of my chin
When I dance I feel it all
Draped around me, I felt you all
You were so heavy…

I wore you like a mourning robe
It was so sad to dance with someone so sad,
but in my dreams, our dance was picturesque
Sadness can be beautiful.
stuck in a cycle, step after step
Julia Rose Apr 2021
God dipped Her brush in caramel paint, pulled

back the bristles and splattered marks on you.

           Constellation countenance. 'Ryan', mosaic, 1999, on-skin.

           Dusty dazzles speckle from your forehead to your chin.

Shut my lids so I can fingertip my cheek. In my head, I have them too.
Julia Rose Mar 2021
I’ve made my bed. The sheets are fresh and white,
with crisp corners tucked in safe and tight
Now all I need is you. Come and lay on them.
I crave your swerves and harsh stops

I crave your dashes and jagged edges
The sharpened point I grip pledges my oath
spilling you from the tip
but only when I can muster it

The phrase goes, you fail me
but really it’s me that fails you
You’re inside me. I always make my bed for you
yet on some nights I have no room

Sometimes I do it right
Sometimes my sheets are scripture
Sometimes I can write.
                              Until then my bed awaits your hue
                              I’ll sit with my pen. I’ll ponder as I wait for you
Julia Rose Mar 2021
i would like to be a tree,
             who would
               ever look
              at a
             and think,
                                 ‘This is not beautiful enough’?
Julia Rose Jan 2021
I’ve been this way before;
sprawled out stagnant on the bed,
pen poised above paper in
front of me. But
falter now.
What do I say?
I’m not so sad anymore.
Alone in my room.
I feel the difference now.
I have my own company,
myself to admire, a beautiful
once-stranger who now is my friend.
No, I will never be alone.
I can’t believe I ever thought
was alone.
I’m not so sad anymore.
Julia Rose Dec 2020
Here lies the one who thought
they were not enough
(and others agreed).

Browning tips of posthumous pain
rise above the dirt;
I can see she still is hurting.
Lush to feet, oh, and feet do visit,
is the grass of tombstones otherwise.

Will this be me when I am dead?

I want my grass to grow;
I'll crave sweet water when my
bones are dust completely.
(Will you water me?)
My bones will someday dry.
Someday, I will die.
Will you remember me?
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