On Paper

On Paper      8-1-12

I wrote your name on a crumpled piece of paper.

I colored it with hearts and stars surrounding your every letter.

I wrote it over and over again.  Smiling within every thought of you.

I even ironed out the wrinkles with the heated expectation that ran through my hands.

Pubertal, I sat for years upon years, relishing in the wonder of your return and if it would reverse my awkward impatience.

Somehow within the years, I went from wistful writing to sudden scribbling.

It became more of a sporadic event when I realized you were such a nomad--

no schedule, no objective, no theme, no intention,

no point.

But, pubertal I sat for years upon years, adhering to the hope that maybe you had written my name down somewhere in your wayfaring mind.

Upon your return, I was surprised you accepted the invitation to see me.

Your attentiveness was greatly appreciated, but you cut it far too short.

Our ball was in your court, but you let it fly right past you.

Our chance dangled in front of your eyes, but you never even opened them.

I relished in our potential, but you barely gave an effort.

I’ve finally apprehended that my colossal dreams

just can’t fit into your life’s insolvent horizon,

and I don’t even want to try to squeeze my substantial significance into your trivial spectrum of idiocy anymore.

Yet, pubertal I still sit here staring at this old, crumpled piece of paper.

My tears smear the scribbles into stains.

Is it that you are not good for me or am I just not good enough for you?

I can’t seem to do it, but I know I have to.

Since my name has never appeared on your list (and never will),

I MUST muster the strength to scratch you off of mine.

It’s time to finally erase you

and to comprehend the reason why this piece of paper was so crumpled to begin with. 

Gone

Gone 7/7/11


You told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone.
Words from a waning mother to a forlorn daughter.
Words that have resonated with me for years.
Echoing back and forth in the grottos of my detested psyche.

You told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone.
Said with such a veracious tone, I almost believed it myself.
Said in the tone of maternal love that I will always associate with your voice.
That melody I immerse myself in day after day.

You told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone.
So many conversations spoken before that dreadful day.
So many words expressed between our solemn eyes
until our salient conversations abruptly reverberated into a noxious silence.

But you told me I’d be okay
if ever you were gone!!
I wish I believed you.
I wish you were right.
I wish you were here.

Because I’m nowhere near okay
now that you are
gone.

10 Things I Hate About You

10 things I wish I would have known 10 years ago

The man you are dating is gay, sweetie.

You will not get married by 23.

You will not have kids by 30.

Your dream of moving back to Charlotte will be hindered by your sudden, mockable fear of solitude. It will hit you like a train.

Your bad luck with men will continue. (and get even worse through the years, if you can even imagine that!)

You will be your own and only company night after night.

Reading PEOPLE magazine will become the only thing on your Friday night's schedule.

You will find that there is a little bit of solace in solitude while living in Atlanta, Ga.

You will desperately wish your married friends were single and that your single friends were married.

You will drive yourself insane, slowly but surely, not necessarily for not knowing what you want from life, but from your life not knowing what to do with your crazy self.

Stranger

I was looking through poems tonight and found one I completely forgot all about. I hate that as time passes, it seems to take some "friends" along with it on its journey. I hate that good friends somehow, someway turn into aquaintances. It happens so quickly, yet I seem to notice our fallout so slowly. I had such good times with them back in the day, but now its like they can't even remember my name. I started stiching memories with them...years ago...why am I always the one left with the half-stitched quilt? I do have a tendency to not let people too close to me. When I tell you I have been hurt in past friendships, I mean I have been shattered. Completely broken. Completely blindsided. I just hate- despise- that I ALWAYS end up the one who seems to hurt the most. The one affected. The one who sits by the phone, waits for them to come to me, yet I'm always the one who gives in and goes to them. I'm almost 30 and can't seem to get over what happened to me 14 years ago. I tried forgiveness, it worked for a little bit, but then I was forgotten----again. And again. Guess it's time I realize the vailidity in the statement: "As I age, I find that my friends grow fewer and fewer, but those that remain become truer and truer." Thank God for those strangers who became my true friends. But I can honestly say that I am not thankful (and thoroughly confused) about those friends of mine who chose to become my strangers.


Stranger

We were stuck in a flash of light.
Moving swiftly.
In and out.
Over and above
the rest of them.
Plastered to each others’ minds.
Never alone.
Always together.
We moved.
Fast.
You moved me.
Quickly.
I loved our flash in time.

Blinded by reality.
You pushed me aside from the side I was on.
You left me in the corner.
Alone.
Suddenly confused.
You knew me too well to become a stranger.
Yet, that’s all you are now-
not even an acquaintance.
An ubiquitous stranger.

Ironic, how close two people can be
and how much it can hurt tearing the last part of the stitch away.
Ironic, how much irony
you can find in realizing that “confidant”,
that genuine friend,
has forlornly become your
strangest stranger.

RAIN ON A SUNNY DAY

That's right, folks! My poetry book has been officially published! I have poems in there dating all the way back to 1997! There is seriously bound to be a poem about you in there, so check it out and BUY ONE! I received my book in the mail yesterday and ran through my house screaming. (I am not at all immature in any way.) Here's the link:

http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/1793170

Sincerely,

Julie (the Poet who knows it)

You can't be "it"...you just can't be.

That’s It? 11/1/10


As much as I don’t want to believe it,
I do.
You just might be all I will ever get.
The manipulation in the silence of these years without you
makes it seem like you never left me.
You still tug at my emotions,
opening a whole new wave that forces the breath out of me at times.
You are still the shadow in my past,
ignoring the fact that I step on your memory every single day.
You still stalk the door of my conscience,
continuing to frighten my future.

At a time,
what seems like eons and eons ago,
I thought you were my destiny.
Fate may have proved that notion false,
but why then am I still stuck,
plastered against the walls of our snippet in time together?
You have managed to push aside our memories,
maybe every so often looking back at them,
but I doubt you study them like I still do.
You came to our conclusion a long time ago-
you just didn’t have the heart to tell me how I could let go.
I am still relentlessly probing our abortive relationship
for no other reason than
frenziedly wishing against you being all I will ever have.

Brakes

Brakes 3/17/10

In meeting you, my turbulent life suddenly went peaceful-
quickly and urgently, I found myself falling silent.
I felt my soul screech to a halt the moment I you snuck up on me.
I thought I was finished,
I thought I was through,
that no one would ever look at me like you did again.
A surprisingly funny valentine
that made me squeamish in my hazy thoughts.
You taught me to feel again,
your eyes told me how to accept the flutters again,
and your subtle actions reminded me that I was there again.
Back in the days when nothing else mattered
but someone else’s recognition that I existed.
Back in the days when I couldn’t help but smile every time I thought of him.
Back in the days that I wouldn’t want to do anything other than spend it with him.


So, excuse me when I say
that your abrupt rejection surprised me more
than your superfluous recognition.
The whole situation is just a bit odd to me.
That you’d follow me around like I was a Goddess
right at the moment I wasn’t looking.
And, yet, quickly turn your own conniving back on me
right at the moment I turned around eager to acknowledge you.

Baffling through this deafening screech of a halt,
I know my poise will be forever perplexed.