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May 2018 · 172
..
julia May 2018
..
i wasn't born
to not put up a fight
Apr 2018 · 135
without you
julia Apr 2018
i've been to hell and back,
and every time, you start to slack,
but you are my prozac,
you are my soundtrack,
and nothing sounds the same without you.
late night realizations.,
Apr 2017 · 287
safe
julia Apr 2017
i feel safer with you,
but i know i'm safer
without you
Apr 2017 · 342
2 yrs late
julia Apr 2017
now i normally wouldn't say this
but i think you gotta know
yes, I'm two years late
but did you really have to go?
and i normally wouldn't do this
but i've cleaned up my act
im not like i used to be
and i wish you'd take me back
Apr 2017 · 2.5k
blue girl pt. 2
julia Apr 2017
her favorite color is blue
her hair is blonde.
her lips are blue.
so are her fingers.
her nails are silver.
her heart is cold.
it’s winter here.
below freezing at this point.
blue.
the snow is a blue-white,
its untouchable.
cold, to the point where it hurts
she is blue.
she is dead.

blue
blue
blue
blue.
she was pale.
like a ghost.
maybe she was one.
pale.
blue.
she was smiling at me.
her lips were blue.
dark
blue.
her silver fingers
tapped along the
desk.
she had a blue pen.
uncapped, poised to write.
blue ink flowed out;
the pen broke,
ink spilling on her hands.
she didn't mind.
she told me she liked
blue.
she is dead.

she didn’t clean it up.
blue everywhere.
i went over to help her
she didn't know me.
she smiled, her lips blue.
dark
blue.
i smiled back.
i handed her a towel;
she cleaned.
the teacher wasn’t looking.
her hair was long,
cascading.
the ends of it,
blue.
her silver nails touch my
hands in thanks.
i went back to
my seat.
my friend looked at me.
i looked back.
he looked at the blue girl,
towel still in her hands.
he raised an eyebrow at me;
i shake my head.
blue girl stares at her pen,
broken in half,
the insides spilling out,
slowly then all of it gone,
wiped away like
it
wasn’t
there in the first place.
blue still on her mind.

we kissed.
it was after school.
i was standing outside,
and she came up to me.
to say thank you.
for helping her.
she was pretty.
her hair was pretty.
she was pretty.
she smiled,
i smiled back,
she stepped closer,
her blue dress blowing in the
wind.
it was spring
she was
alive.
and breathing.
blue.
i saw lots of blue.
her lips were blue.
dark blue,
and touched mine.
blue on pink,
silver on clear.
she pulled away
first.
smiled at me.
walked away.
blue lipstick on my lips
still.

i liked her.
her blue lips and
silver fingers.
they were part of her.
she was pretty.
my friend slapped me on the back
for getting
a kiss from her.
like it was a competition.
but it wasn’t.
he wouldn’t have been able to
handle her anyways.
she’s her own person,
an enigma of her own.
a didn’t understand
her myself.
she was beautiful.
she was alive.
i didn’t see her again
until the weekend.
she was covered in blue paint
in the paint store.
i needed to repaint
my room.
she offered to help.
she’s in my house,
in my room,
we’re alone
together.
i wonder if
she’ll
kiss me again.

she did kiss me.
when i touched her silver fingers,
she looked at me
and kissed me
again.
i didn’t pull away.
she pressed me
against my
wall,
blue paint on my
back,
on her hands,
in my hair.
i looked at her,
she looked at me.
we kissed again.
her hands on my shoulders,
she was a pretty
blue girl,
in my room.
she was warm.
she liked my name.
i liked hers.
i liked her.
a lot.

it was summer.
she was still
alive,
even prettier.
her hair was still blonde,
still silver.
she got a tan.
she knows me.
i know her.
i love her.
she doesn’t know.
i met her mom,
she’s also blue.
she met my family,
she loves them.
its fall,
her tan is gone,
back to
blue,
dark blue.
she said she loves me
i say i love her,
it’s winter and she is
dead.

i visit her grave,
buy her while flowers and
paint them
blue-dark-blue so
she’ll like
them.
i tell her i love
her,
that I’ll see
her soon.
i buy pink and
white flowers,
paint the white
blue.
pink for me,
blue for her.
she is dead, but
she is still
alive.
and blue.
Mar 2017 · 732
blue girl
julia Mar 2017
blue
blue
blue
blue.
she was pale,
like a ghost.
maybe she was one.
pale.
blue.
she was smiling at me.
her lips were blue.
dark
blue.
her silver fingers
tapped along the
desk.
she had a blue pen.
uncapped, poised to write.
blue ink flowed out;
the pen broke,
ink spilling on her hands.
she didn't mind.
she told me she liked
blue.
she is dead.
Dec 2016 · 439
sometimes
julia Dec 2016
sometimes, i think of death.
sometimes, i think of what it would be like.
i lie on my back and stare at the stars
wondering what would happen if gravity turned off and i fell into the sky.
fell into something endless,
something much bigger than i am.
i wonder if that's what it feels like to die.
sometimes,
i wonder.
Apr 2016 · 842
my heart
julia Apr 2016
my heart is tattooed
with the ink from your skin
my mind is rescued
with every word from your lips,

so stay and grow old with me,
hold my hand the whole way through,
i'll love you 'till hell is ice cold
just as long as you'll love me too
Apr 2016 · 505
leah
julia Apr 2016
i think i miss leah.
it makes me feel like crap.
i think i want the all nighters back,
the sandwiches and the mattress on the ground.
i think i want the cat-dog days back,
the days before boyfriends back.
maybe i'm going crazy,
i think i keep it in,
i think i think i don't.
i think i miss leah.
this is about my ex-best friend. i thought i was against her, but i came to a realization today, that maybe, i'm not.
"you don't know what you've got till it's gone"
Apr 2016 · 364
internal
julia Apr 2016
start
no
stop
go
it hurts
you're fine
i'm dying
you're trying
i can't
you will
i'll do it
stay still
only one
then some more
start with two
turns into four
start
no
stop
go
Apr 2016 · 1.7k
run, hide
julia Apr 2016
real people with real problems
stuck in an imaginary wonderland,
hiding under lies, because
what i've been running from has found me
Apr 2016 · 286
untitled
julia Apr 2016
A fight to the top
As we work our way
To the bottom.
A twisted happiness with every tear that’s shed.
Paranoia with every truth that’s told.
A smile that means help,
A shout that means love,
A fear that means loyalty.
An ice cube that’s melting,
A lunch that’s getting cold,
And a story that’s worth telling.

— The End —