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Julian Mar 20
Hello, my friend,

They say life's what you make it
But I swear, sometimes it feels like
Life's nothing more than a canvas
Painted by every heartache and heartbreak.

You've got these hands that shake like earthquakes,
And a heart that's been through wars
More times than you care to count.

And you don't know if you're a mess or a masterpiece,
'Cause every stroke on this canvas
Feels like it's come from someplace else.

You've got treasures buried deep inside you,
But sometimes they may feel like gilded garbage,
And you can't tell which is which.

You've been to the bottom of the well,
And you've looked the devil in the eye,
And you've come back with nothing but your poetry,
And the rhythm of your aching heart.

Sometimes, my friend, you wonder if you're anything
But depression, and a lifetime of grief,
And you don't know what sets you apart
From the agony that surrounds you.

But even when the strongest souls
Start to lose their fight,
You're still here, reaching for the light.

So if this life is what defines you, then let it be known
That you are a survivor, a warrior, a force to be reckoned with.
You are the sum of every joy and every pain,
And every moment that has brought you here today.

And when the darkness threatens to consume you,
Remember that you are not alone,
For your poetry and your heartbeat
Resonate with so many others who have fought this battle too.

And even though the road ahead may be uncertain,
Take comfort in the fact that you are not your sadness,
You are not your suffering, you are not your mistakes.

You are a masterpiece in progress,
A work of art that is still unfolding,
And your story, your voice, your heart
Are all essential parts of the beauty that is you.

So keep going, my friend,
Keep fighting, keep creating, keep living,
And know that no matter what comes your way,
You are loved, you are valued, and you are enough.
a style i'm working on, a birthday poem for a friend
Julian Mar 8
Today, I tended to my tulips,
Uncertain if they would bloom,
Once, I planted their bulbs with care,
But now, with labor, I presume.

When I was healthy and whole,
I sowed these seeds with grace,
When I could rise from bed with ease,
And greet the morning's face.

Not truly happy, but somewhat better,
I watched them grow with care,
Their petals the color of the sunset's ember,
Or the golden sun's fiery glare.

Instead of my apathy,
I must write with a softer hue,
Perhaps this is a new beginning,
Or an old one, anew.

I strive to be strong and sound,
Ate breakfast and took a walk,
Though the battle within still goes around,
And my arms remain locked.

The urge to harm myself, a foe,
But my tulips may yet bloom,
Perhaps this means I can let go,
And let old wounds resume.

I fear to reveal hidden scars,
But today, I tended with my all,
My tulips that I thought might falter,
Perhaps I can again stand tall.
Julian Mar 6
Tick-tock, time flows,
And winter, soon departing goes,
Or has it gone, already flown?
Tick-tock, time marches on.

But I, I've lingered long,
Like a statue, not so strong.
All bones and skin and agony,
Pouring into itself constantly.

Sleep eludes my weary soul,
But worse, I've forgotten my role,
Lost the penance I swore to keep,
Left alone with a cost too steep.

My soul, not worried, but I'm concerned,
For the price of redemption to be earned
Is insurmountable, so high,
The greatest suffering, nigh.

Tick-tock, time moves on,
Soon I'll be gone, long withdrawn,
And none will notice, I've disappeared,
For I, never belonged here.
Julian Feb 9
And, oh, this heart
Bears an abundance of sorrow,
While my soul is left
With pockets barren and void.
Julian Feb 9
But, alas, that proved our undoing, my love.
When the hour arrived to bid you farewell,
And consign you to an earthen crypt,
I could not bring myself to release you.

And so, I descended to the underworld,
Where I offered my soul to the grim reaper,
In exchange for a reprieve from your loss.
He accepted my offering without a second thought,
Devouring my essence whole, without a shred of mercy.

Yet, through it all, I felt not a single twinge of pain.
For the agony of losing you was far greater,
Than any torment, the reaper could inflict upon me.
i write better sad stories
Julian Feb 9
The conclusion of our world, my love,
Does not meet its end with a faint sigh
Nor a resounding explosion.

Instead, it fades into an unbroken hush,
As the cosmos is interred in peaceful stillness.

The gods ask me,
As to how I have persevered,
And I share with them my secret.

For even in the face of everlasting solitude,
The void resounds with the melody of your name.
Julian Apr 2020
my friend,
in the morning
the sun might not
reach your floors
but it will still shine
bright, and blazing
as it always will be.

and the flowers
might not bloom
in time to greet you
but they are growing
and growth takes time

and the coffee
might not be enough
to wake you
from your slumber
but it will belong
in the palms of your hands.

i cannot promise
that life will soften
at any point,
or that the world will be gentle
enough for you to live
without bleeding,

but i can promise
that if you keep breathing,
you stand the chance
to change the life you’re leading
into a future you can call home.
you deserve that life ahead of you.

and even if
you do it all alone
the world is made better
for harboring your heart

that loves all things
life has torn apart
and gives them the peace
they have been dying for.

you are the healing
that comes after the war,
the strength that helps
others rise from their knees.

you are the heartbeat
amidst the suffering,

the humanity itself,
amidst the stone.

it is you who opens the blinds
to let the sunlight in.

it is you who reminds the birds
that it is time to fly again.

and i am sorry,
we could not be the same for you.
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