basic(borderline)bitch.
which is an oxymoron in itself. but i'll sure take that oxy, moron.
ugh… see what i mean?
my borderline brain is a malformation of gooey tissue,
an absurd abyss of the paradox,
a glitch in the matrix
spawning, spreading, sickening.
oh i know i‘ll be alright.
but not tonight.
oh i know it‘ll be okay.
someday.
i didn’t lose my mind.
it was never mine.
just a prescribed ride.
peel off my skins,
taste the fuel running through my veins,
the ink forming my flesh,
thick dust covering my bones,
a long lost free sample made of generic genetics.
oh i know i’m just some girl made of spikes and waves.
but what if i’m a pearl in a rusty cage!
hold me, kiss me,
release me.
see me, hear me,
believe me.
leave (with) me,
maybe? i don’t sign my poems with my name, because it never belonged to me. i don’t even like it.
julia. named after John Lennon’s dead, estranged mom; killed by a drunk driver.
julie. a nickname given to me by my estranged, mostly dead family; killed by their own hands or some degenerate time-delayed virus.
jules. nobody ever called me that. i like that name the best.
radford. divorced abuser history.
gehrlein. dead dad history.