a tourist in your own youth-
Was it worth it?
she would be a woman by now
he had the potential to-

lie back and enjoy it
shooting through your veins
no love, no hope, no feelings
there’s nothing left inside you
cold, white as a sheet,
sweating,
cold-
heartless

erratic-
am i acting erratic? Who the **** are you
to tell me i’m erratic?
have you seen yourself?
blown pupils, speed-cracked face,
smiling mouth lined with E
the spots on your forearms tell me you don’t have your act together
but the lines around your eyes dance as if you were happy,
happy to rot away at the bottom of a bottomless pit,
happy to steal and score and steal and score and **** yourself slowly
have you eaten yet? Do you still eat? When’s the last time you slept?

i remember every day as if it were my last,
i remember us in the park, i remember us
in the streets, begging for change,
begging for anything
what did we have back then? Not even each other
first there’s an opportunity, then there is betrayal
who betrayed who first?
does it matter or are you just hurt because you didn’t get your fix out of fit
not soon enough-

am i heartless?
maybe so, but what does that make you?
have you ever cared about anyone but yourself-
have you ever cared about me?
me, me , me, like a film on loop in your head
no drugs can ever quiet it down

a tourist in my own youth, yeah, sure,
but she could have been a woman,
she could have had kids of her own,
she could have -
where were you when i left?
did you sit and cry to yourself because it wasn’t
about your for once? Or was it about you but this time
you didn’t want it?

are you as alone as i am?
I know you are.
the warmth in your veins has long been replaced by-
charlie took care of you

do you want to,
for the sake of old times, like,
do you want to-
let’s revive our hero one more time
let him infuse us with apathy
let him surge through our bodies
let us share-

my blood runs in your veins.

My name is Julie Chatterbox,
I do waste thoughts a lot,
I can perform my monologue,
My brain does a yap a lot,
All I have to say,
Is raise your coffee this way,
To stinking thinking, okay?
If you want an opinion, ask me,
I can indulge in repartee!

Normally this isn’t the way it goes, but this time I’ll do differently
And so I ask who are you? What is your name?
Do you like running? I do as long as I can breathe

I dream of a day where I can run freely in silent poplar forests without my lungs weighing me down

What is your favorite kind of music? Do you like pop, rock, or hip-hop?
Is your soul kneaded and worked by tender hands like Jazz? Swing?

I may not look the part, but I love classical music; there’s something about listening to Chopin’s Nocturnes that makes me feel as if I am right there with him, sitting in the pews of an abandoned church whose dead parishioners long ago grew bored of contemplating their sins. I feel as if I am gently sipping his breath like one would coffee that’s still a bit too hot, savoring the stories he weaves out of thin piano strings that taste like moonlight
It is a flavor that seldom is tiresome
I wish I could cook some for you

If you could go anywhere, anywhere in the world, where would it be?
Would you roll into an airport with your luggage in New York? Tokyo?
Would you brave the crushing heat of Cairo for a glimpse of Giza?

I would go anywhere, anywhere you’d like, as long as we come home
I’ll open the door and immediately turn on the space heater—I can sense you hate being cold
While the tea is warming on the stove, we’ll talk about your favorite artist’s best album
Listening until we’re interrupted by the shrill shriek of a teapot needing attention
And that night I will dream that my footsteps will never be lonely

I’m terribly sorry, who are you and what is your name?
I do not know; you are there and I am in here; my mouth is so dry it hurts

Neither coffee nor alcohol can spur me to action
There is nothing I can drink
I can imagine, but I will never ask
I already have, so many times

these writings,
these ramblings,
these, incoherent thoughts,

are many things to me.
i write for several reasons,
and I post my work for several more.

this, is my therapy...
this allows me to go back in time and, re-live moments, to re-think thoughts, and most importantly, re-evaluate my internal response and outlook of the situation, feeling, or occurrence.

my writing focuses upon my internalisms, my thoughts.
very few of my pieces are outwardly inspired. Very rarely is my writing based within my physical perception of what is happening around me.

I post and share, for several more reasons; some purer than others.
I share because I don't want others to suffer as I do at times, and perhaps, something in my writing will inspire a change in thought or feeling, or at the very least, allow someone to relate, and realize they're not alone.

I share so that someone, someday will recognize the true weight and reflection of my writing and be able to identify how, and why I am how I am, and help me better understand myself and the world around me, and minimize, or even eliminate this endless battle, and help me find the only thing in life that I truly yearn for:
peace.

i share also because i feel that my experiences and thoughts are common property. my creations, once made, are no longer mine to keep to myself. these words, these thoughts, these feelings are yours to do with what you please. love them, hate them, learn from them, or ignore them completely. Just as speech is common domain, so is my inner speech.

lastly, i share Because of my struggle... this is my selfish motive. I am addicted to the validation of seeing you all read my inner thoughts and react to it. It tells me I am not dreaming. It shows me that what I feel is, in fact, real and that I am not just a figment of my own imagination.

Why am I writing this?
to show you i am not merely a writer behind a mask, or truly a writer at all.
I am just a human, a person sharing my existence in the form of written words.

Thank you,
And may you all find a true, everlasting peace, and love within yourselves, and each other.

"I never knew it was toxic, until I tasted freedom with love. I never knew what it was like to be loved, without being encaged. But now I can take my decisions, I can roam free. I can be loved and be my own person. I chose what I do today and forever.
It was love before, it is love now. But now he loves me into independence. I discover more about myself. I find myself healing.The stifling breath, and aching sobs in my chest are slowly fading.  It was love before but the bad outweighed the good. Too weak and in love to leave. But I am not a possession, I am my own person."

- excerpt from a monologue of breaking free from a possessive relationship

This is my mono-monologue.

I stand alone befoe the world,
My lonely clean white flag unfurled,
Wondering when the winter sky
Will melt my wings and let my fly.

Perched upon a mountaintop
With not a soul in sight
"When will my isolation stop?"
I cry with all my might.

This is my mono-monologue.

The wind whispers
What I hoped I'd never know:
"You are so far away from them
Because you are below.

"But maybe you are
The one who lives above.
Maybe that is why
You never could be loved."

This is my mono-monologue.

I've lived a shunned life
(It can be hard to see)
Although I haven't felt much strife,
My freedom's far from free.

I do not truly know
What you mean by 'best friend'.
I'm fated to live alone
Until the very end.

This is my mono-monologue.

"And you,
my dear lady,
are the poem.
I just give it voice."