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Jul 2022 · 329
A CAT IN THE ALLEY
Julia Rose Jul 2022
A CAT IN THE ALLEY
               (I don’t want to hurt you)

Blind and bleeding stray
cowers from approach.
               (“I only want to help you.”)
Stumble, step away,
the fresh red signs my forearm.
               (“I’m sorry to disturb you.”)
Later, I will thumb the marks
while laying with my boyfriend.
              What if I had claws?
              What more would I be guilty of?

I, too, am angry
and vulnerable, huddled
in the corner of this dark,
wet world.
Jun 2021 · 114
How we moved
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
Apr 2021 · 233
cinquain to your freckles
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--
                            only when I can muster it.

The phrase goes, you fail me,
but really it’s me that fails you.
I mean, You’re inside Me,
not the other way around.  

When I can't speak
it's because I'm thinking
too hard about what I
could say.

I make my bed
but there's too much
room for you to lay.

What if I write wrong?
I'm not often strong
enough to risk it.

Sometimes I do it right.
Sometimes my sheets turn scripture.
(Sometimes I can write.)
                              Until then, my bed awaits hue.
                              I ponder with my pen.
Mar 2021 · 244
Androgynous
Julia Rose Mar 2021
i would like to be a tree,
                  for
             who would
               ever look
              at a
                 tree
             and think,
                                 ‘This is not beautiful enough’?
Nov 2020 · 95
Sunset man
Julia Rose Nov 2020
If one were to capture
the sun’s great departure every night
into a man,
would he be loved for only
minutes daily
too?

The sunset is known by so
many but understood by
so few
Oct 2020 · 184
Do-over
Julia Rose Oct 2020
I crave death quietly;
a cotton blanket caressing me;
this life is one not meant to  
be.

Death, I would not seek you out,
but if you asked me for a dance,
I would.
Because I know without a doubt
Death would be another chance.
Oct 2020 · 114
As he sleeps
Julia Rose Oct 2020
He gives me a kiss.
Unconscious. And I would do
anything for him.
Sleepy haiku.
Oct 2020 · 71
To be held
Julia Rose Oct 2020
I hugged myself one night.

Amidst angry words I heard
despite their silence;
among the eyes of those
who were not there;
against anything and
everything I’ve
ever done;

I hugged the flesh that carved itself;
engulfed the form I’ve never known;
I kissed my heart, too weak to fight;

I held myself one night.

And oh,

What it felt like to be loved.

(Finally.)

— The End —