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Julia Celine Oct 27
When I break apart
It will be in a pile
Of sober, smoothed over
Crystal shards
Not one bit as pretty
As they should be
Julia Celine Oct 25
I will remember you fondly
Even though I know the truth
You only care for me
When I apply to you

Time will heal your heartbreak
Like the stitches in my skin
Disintegrating, dull and fading
'Til you’re part of me again
Julia Celine Oct 21
My lover goes traveling with a backpack of things
Her eyes are always on the distance
She is a wanderer at heart and a sentimental hoarder
I wonder how she walks invisible and still takes up the room
But she doesn’t wonder at all
When she leaves she cleans up after herself like it’s the scene of a crime
Sometimes I think I don’t know her
And I am just the things she carries
When she leaves she will clean up after herself
And there will be nothing left of me to see
Julia Celine Oct 20
I feel like a failed experiment
One that crashed and burned
Melting glass and plastic
I don’t mention it much
When I do, the mood dies
I scratch my neck with a sheepish hand
And the exhaustion creeps in
“I had so much potential,
But you know…it is what it is”
I flush a frustrated red as they look at me in pity
And try not to mention the smell of burnt hair
I cut it off and it still feels
Like it’s weighing me down
They lie and tell me I should feel proud
Because it’s a healthier thought
I smile and thank them
And I don’t tell them that I’m not
Picking myself up anymore
I could keep trying
But I just don’t want to
Keep disappointing myself
So I do nothing
And I’m disappointed by that too
There’s a weight on my chest and when I try
To speak, the words get caught
My sore throat choking them back every time
I poke at my wounds and tell myself not to do something stupid
When I go, all the salt in my blood
Will be dissolved
In the ocean I’ve become
Julia Celine Jun 26
To my old love
I know it’s hard
Do you get tired of carrying
The weight of my poetry
On your shoulders
Until I have something better
To worry about?

It’s the weight of the world
And nothing at all
Really matters

To my friends
I really feel like
I’m starting to disappoint you
And then
It starts to feel like
You are too

It’s the weight of the world
And nothing at all
Really matters

To my parents
I know you’re afraid;
I am too
But I’m really
Much more tired
Of running

It’s the weight of the world
And nothing at all
Really matters

To self-help
To patience
To glasses of water
To deep breaths
And better drugs

I promise,

It’s the weight of the world
And nothing at all
Really matters
Julia Celine Jun 2
There is a god at the bottom of the swimming pool. Whirring, he wakes me from my sleep. He scuttles like a crab across vinyl. Some nights, I stay up to listen to the song he scratches into the tile.

It’s a somber sound, settling unearthily on concrete. It wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, I know. But I do.

I close my eyes and imagine it’s the sound of the earth turning on its axis. I imagine it’s the sound of time moving, year after year. It turns and turns and I follow suit, casting shadows behind me.

I imagine the god is lonely and far away from home. I imagine he is just as lost as we are, piecing together maps from soggy, fallen leaves and clumps of hair from the filter.

He cried himself into his containment. He misstepped once and fell into this hole. I hope he curses himself for being created without wings and arms and hands that could climb out of this.

I hope he catches his reflection in bubbles every now and then, and stops to consider how his face grew so hard.

He cries out and causes waves to rise and fall, splashes around, drags the moon close and pushes it away.

I hope he knows he can do anything, believes he can do anything, except help himself.

Each morning, I clean the pool. I dissect his well-laid plans with a skimmer and make his world clear and beautiful again. All for him, of course.

I imagine he is building character, struggling in a world that was not meant for him to live in, a world meant for someone else to enjoy. We built him in our image, to do the job we don’t want to do.

I hope he wonders at the unprompted responsibility and grows frustrated each time I insist that I would not give him a challenge he couldn’t overcome. I hope he’s beginning to learn.

There is a god at the bottom of the swimming pool, learning how to grow old and tired of swimming.
Julia Celine May 23
I carried you with me
All this time
I held your hand with
Weathered fingers
All clammy skin
And cool composure
I carried you with me
And last night
When you sat on my chest
Weighing down my breath again
I imagined that you were an anchor
You are only as stable
As my patience
You are airy and insignificant
I give you matter so you can breathe
And you
Give me purpose
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