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Juliana Ward
SO THEN WHAT’S REAL
I liked it I didn’t love it I only love things That make me cum Blood is after all The cum of the heart The man at the gas station knew me From reading the eulogy I was buying a gas station rose To put on her grave And he pulled her name out Like a lengthy and radiant horn A white curtain To wet and experience Sensual color In all forms In all moments I feel like a polaroid With these borders O sweet life Pearlescent nails Hidden glances I can’t write about you right now I light wood to smell smoke What does a series do? Every mark made a metaphor This is not a bird It is a metaphor This is not an absence I’LL BE YOUR MIRROR
my bride my crush my lovely friend Elena Helena Alexandra Lysandra Leonard Cohen lily of the valley sad lavender queen dark blue song give me anything to smear across my chest a humble bunch of violets a room of thick white roses I’m never out of things to say I could see myself in a tower and love myself even when the color scheme changes I could eat a jar of Nutella if I had it in me to please if you really really want something should you just take it? if you think about someone for days at a time are you in love? in conclusion: I hate my landlord I don’t believe in ghosts when I saw Molly on King Street she was in poppy it felt like she was the only character in the world and I was happy just looking at her back I was surprised, sure I was in love, sure sure, I was treated like a mistress a hotel a thick white rose bush a pile of dirt I went to the movies everyday fooled around like a sonnet sucked water through a straw so bittersweet to say goodbye like that like the wind through the banking app does wearing heels make you healthier? does the flower have more agency than the sun? like a spider’s wrist in a tennis bracelet will I ever be tender again? THE BRATS OF THE NIGHTTIME FLOCK TO EACH OTHER drenched in crystals I walked to my own grave yellow birds were malting I shifted my very name into a vision of complete ecstasy and once it released I had to bury it again chimes don’t leave me now in the yellow dirt I petal my vanity like the shell of an egg on the resurrection I rubbed one out of the black and into this memory of the self like a quarantined silver field mouse and felt the dazzling cold wind against my back time is so brutal and doesn’t care about you it has so many other girls to text tonight I showed X my bedroom through my window he saw the polaroid of my ass in a lilac thong I don’t want to show him anything from this sterile gallant trite war I am just floating broke and married and married and married |
