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Jules AA May 17
I like to run in the rain,
It makes me feel human
Reminds me we’re here
And Still breathing

Winter will come but so will the
Because life is a cycle


We tear ourselves apart
Because we fear what we’re feeling
Like the skin on a fruit
Our facades all start peeling

Love is not a choice,
The moon is still there
The tide will keep rushing
When the world is unfair

And we dance drunkenly,
Euphorically because we’re
Only human
So fragile
So fleeting
So please do not fear
That feeling you’re feeling

We find our way through the dark
Jules AA Apr 5
This is my confession, though by the time you find it I will be gone.

I just wanted to know how it felt.  
We old friends reminisced on pasts.
No longer did we play in our park.
His lips moved slowly,
“Life has nothing.”
Now was my time,
He was resolved as I.
Now my desire would devour him.
Just once, I wanted to feel the warm flow on my hands.
I wanted to experience the cracking of bones,
the rush of a moment I had craved for so long,
something unforgettable.
He told me to do it. How could I say no?
It would be is final request either way, after all.
He did not weep, he was stoic
In a ring of flowers, the golden dawn of light fell upon us.
There were no final words.
A narrative poem based on a play my friend wrote long ago, cw violence, death, depression
Jules AA Apr 5
Vain, yet self deprecating
Ambitious, but unmotivated
Always a new cycle
Always a new wrestling match

In this corner, The Bull!
                                And in this corner, The Bear!
Ding Ding!

“Go, Bull, go!” I yell. I’m banking on this bet.
Little do we know, they both throw fights.
I guess I’ve got a gambling problem.
Jules AA Apr 5
funny i hadn’t seen it.
ironic, really.
truly wearing my heart on my sleeve.
but it’s good, a humorous reminder
that i’ve finally accepted it.
sometimes it’s better
to know who you are
than worry about being
a cliché.
the darkened heart
and inky tears;
they weep with me,
and smile with me,
and laugh with me,
and suffer with me.
a glyph, not to love
but to the reality of life,
life makes the heart hurt,
it breaks it into tiny pieces
makes it bleed,
makes it weep,
makes it real.
that heart on my sleeve
is a portrait
Jules AA Apr 5
i can count the number of times i've been asked to hang out on two hands.
that's not to say i don't see anyone, but it takes work.
it gets tiring,
being the only one who extends the hand.
nobody calls no more,
not even mom and pop, but that's okay.
because it's alright not to be needed.
sometimes you're just
and no matter how much you yell and stamp your feet,
no one will hear unless you speak.
so i think it's amazing when people
talk about texting
and calling people every day,
how do they matter so much to people?
and i repress my envy.
and i'm astonished by those twitter threads
saying those who don't give enough
should be deleted.
cut out.
because i've never had someone 'serve' me,
and if i did what they say,
i'd be all alone.
so even if my hands are oh-so
long now
it's better than being alone
Jules AA Apr 4
It felt like I was basking in the sun’s rays,
such wonderful warmth.
I looked at the light so long
I forgot to look down
to see the fire rising.

Unlike Icarus,
I only sought the warmth
of the loving sun,
not the freedom
not the ability to


I too was punished.
Arrogant. Foolish boy.
Thinking I could have
One pleasant moment.

O deī! Quantoperō cōnflāgrāntia mē sum!

I thought the warmth was nice,
mistaking the flame
for the sunlight’s warmth
before the blistering
and the bubbling
of my skin
as it melts,
the crackling of my bones
a brilliant cacophony like
the early morning birds
with high pitch squeals with every
of my now blackened skeleton.

O gods! O gods!
The fire! The fire!
It burns! It burns!

My funeral pyre
billowing with stinging ashes
now smolders,
my remains soon to be
discarded, and no Iris
or Mercury
will come to send my soul
to Asphodel.

I will sever my own soul and walk on my own.
Jules AA Apr 4
The night I left, the band was playing
Billy Joel, and Jazz guitar.
Your art was scattered around the room.
Your welcome voice, the sound of drums,
And rock and roll covers.
Glasses clinking amid dangling wires,
Acrobats hanging from the roof,
In the trees, always watching.
The bar was closed,
But we hung around
The Pinocchio dolls, murals
All red and purple.
And we could hear the cars go by ‘till 5 AM.
Our throats were raw from camels, conversing.
And now the band is gone, the doors have closed,
But even if the acrobats have met their ends
They live on in our minds,
Swinging from the roof,
With the Pinocchio dolls.
One of the first poems I wrote upon deciding to commit to poetry :)
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