I am taking requests!
I did this when I used to have a LiveJournal and it went fairly well.
There is no limit on the number of requests one person can place.
The requests will be filled in the order they are posted.
Try to specify anything you can about the piece you want written.
Leave prompts in the comments.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A Quick Update
To everyone who has been reading "If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll" (aka Mikayla, Rose, and Kiri):
I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.
I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.
Holly's History
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.
In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.
The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.
Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.
There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.
---
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.
In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.
The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.
Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.
There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.
Friday, May 29, 2009
This Is An Open Letter
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
For Kiri (Like Woah).
---
I consider me.
And I consider you.
--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.
In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.
I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.
I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.
---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.
You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.
----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.
I consider me;
I consider you.
For Kiri (Like Woah).
---
I consider me.
And I consider you.
--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.
In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.
I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.
I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.
---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.
You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.
----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.
I consider me;
I consider you.
Mini Golf
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
"Your turn!"
Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.
Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.
I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.
"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.
Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"
I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.
Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.
"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.
He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"
"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.
He failed.
Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.
When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.
"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.
"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.
I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."
She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.
"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."
I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.
His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.
He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.
"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.
She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."
I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"
"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.
I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--
"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.
I laughed and started down the stairs.
---
"Your turn!"
Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.
Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.
I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.
"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.
Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"
I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.
Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.
"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.
He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"
"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.
He failed.
Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.
When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.
"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.
"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.
I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."
She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.
"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."
I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.
His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.
He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.
"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.
She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."
I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"
"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.
I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--
"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.
I laughed and started down the stairs.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunflower
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.
---
Yellow and brown.
I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.
I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.
I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.
"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."
He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.
I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.
Yellow and brown.
The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.
It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'
His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.
"Thanks, Danny."
I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.
My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.
My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.
This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.
---
Yellow and brown.
I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.
I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.
I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.
"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."
He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.
I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.
Yellow and brown.
The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.
It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'
His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.
"Thanks, Danny."
I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.
My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.
My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Maybe (Won't Get Me Too Far)
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
Maybe the morning will wrap you in her
slender arms and carry you past the sunset
into today, where we're all waiting.
Maybe the twilight will strangle you with
thick, black fingers and powerful threats
that push you forward into violent sleep.
Sometimes, I wonder where you are
when I wake up and find the house empty.
Sometimes, I wonder what you're doing
when I'm trying not to think about you.
Maybe noontime will capture you in her
sun stained eyes and you'll fall in and get lost
until the brightness fades.
My mind is covered in thoughts of you like
messages on a bulletin board that
swallow my attention span and bury me alive.
Sometimes, I wonder how you are feeling
while my heart beat beat
-----beats ------------and
beats at the thought of you.
Maybe when the sun and the moon mingle in the sky
we'll meet again and try not to get burned
by the forecast or Father Time.
---
Maybe the morning will wrap you in her
slender arms and carry you past the sunset
into today, where we're all waiting.
Maybe the twilight will strangle you with
thick, black fingers and powerful threats
that push you forward into violent sleep.
Sometimes, I wonder where you are
when I wake up and find the house empty.
Sometimes, I wonder what you're doing
when I'm trying not to think about you.
Maybe noontime will capture you in her
sun stained eyes and you'll fall in and get lost
until the brightness fades.
My mind is covered in thoughts of you like
messages on a bulletin board that
swallow my attention span and bury me alive.
Sometimes, I wonder how you are feeling
while my heart beat beat
-----beats ------------and
beats at the thought of you.
Maybe when the sun and the moon mingle in the sky
we'll meet again and try not to get burned
by the forecast or Father Time.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
Part XVI of a story with a working title!
---
The stage behind the curtain was dark. Michelle was washed in the shadows, standing just next to the light that was leaking in from the hall outside. That light was harsh in the hall, but, it was softened by its journey through the window in the door. Elena and Michelle were wandering around backstage, bored because they weren't needed on the stage.
"Do you see that light?'' Elena was leaning against the wall, rolling her head back and looking up at all the cracks in the wall.
Michelle looked up and followed Elena's eyes. "Oh my gosh, where is that coming from?" As she shifted her feet and her eyes back and forth, the light moved in the opposite direction.
"I don't know!" Elena was staring at it, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Michelle stole some glances of her, petite, blond, and beautiful. Pale like a porcelain doll. Her shirt was a bright but soft blue that hugged her body and wrinkled as her body moved. Michelle liked that blue looked in the shadows and in the light. She liked the softness of her hair that swung past her shoulders and tucked easily behind her ears.
"Is there a room on the other side of the wall?" Michelle asked, tucking her hair behind both her ears and keeping Elena in her peripheral vision.
"Yes, isn't there?"
They kept their heads lolled backward, their eyes glued to the crack in the wall that was leaking that angelic light on them. Elena had a smile spread on her face like marshmallow fluff. Michelle was in awe. She almost didn't want to figure out where the light was coming from.
"That's amazing," she whispered quietly.
Part XVI of a story with a working title!
---
The stage behind the curtain was dark. Michelle was washed in the shadows, standing just next to the light that was leaking in from the hall outside. That light was harsh in the hall, but, it was softened by its journey through the window in the door. Elena and Michelle were wandering around backstage, bored because they weren't needed on the stage.
"Do you see that light?'' Elena was leaning against the wall, rolling her head back and looking up at all the cracks in the wall.
Michelle looked up and followed Elena's eyes. "Oh my gosh, where is that coming from?" As she shifted her feet and her eyes back and forth, the light moved in the opposite direction.
"I don't know!" Elena was staring at it, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Michelle stole some glances of her, petite, blond, and beautiful. Pale like a porcelain doll. Her shirt was a bright but soft blue that hugged her body and wrinkled as her body moved. Michelle liked that blue looked in the shadows and in the light. She liked the softness of her hair that swung past her shoulders and tucked easily behind her ears.
"Is there a room on the other side of the wall?" Michelle asked, tucking her hair behind both her ears and keeping Elena in her peripheral vision.
"Yes, isn't there?"
They kept their heads lolled backward, their eyes glued to the crack in the wall that was leaking that angelic light on them. Elena had a smile spread on her face like marshmallow fluff. Michelle was in awe. She almost didn't want to figure out where the light was coming from.
"That's amazing," she whispered quietly.
I'm getting more and more biographical.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
"They're not gay."
"They are so gay."
"I think they're just friends."
"Nerds."
"Band geeks."
"Faggots."
Max and John walked down the hall together, shoulder to shoulder, before school, between classes, and after school was over. John was taller by an inch or so, so he would lean down closer to Max's ear sometimes, so that he could be heard over the constant buzzing of the hallway.
"Have you heard the shit they talk about?"
"Shitty anime and some lame online game."
"It's sort of funny--"
"--one's so big and the other is so little."
Some kids like to laugh at them and point out their flaws and the weirder things. They hung on the details that accentuated their strangeness and dissected the things that made them stand out from the crowd.
"What about their clothes?"
"All those track suits that Max wears!"
"And all of the weird tshirts with animals that John wears!"
"I think Max is funny."
"He's a grade below us, isn't he?"
Speculations flew. About their musical and sexual preferences. About how they spent their time outside of school. About their grades, their other friends. People watched the way they walked and the way they talked. Some wanted to be like them, to know them. Some wanted to avoid them.
"They are such freaks."
"Have you heard how many people talk about them? They're more popular than you."
Max had a way about him that made certain people want to be around him. John was reliable to stay faithful to his personality, rather than changing himself for others. They were both unique in that way.
They made girls like me smile.
---
"They're not gay."
"They are so gay."
"I think they're just friends."
"Nerds."
"Band geeks."
"Faggots."
Max and John walked down the hall together, shoulder to shoulder, before school, between classes, and after school was over. John was taller by an inch or so, so he would lean down closer to Max's ear sometimes, so that he could be heard over the constant buzzing of the hallway.
"Have you heard the shit they talk about?"
"Shitty anime and some lame online game."
"It's sort of funny--"
"--one's so big and the other is so little."
Some kids like to laugh at them and point out their flaws and the weirder things. They hung on the details that accentuated their strangeness and dissected the things that made them stand out from the crowd.
"What about their clothes?"
"All those track suits that Max wears!"
"And all of the weird tshirts with animals that John wears!"
"I think Max is funny."
"He's a grade below us, isn't he?"
Speculations flew. About their musical and sexual preferences. About how they spent their time outside of school. About their grades, their other friends. People watched the way they walked and the way they talked. Some wanted to be like them, to know them. Some wanted to avoid them.
"They are such freaks."
"Have you heard how many people talk about them? They're more popular than you."
Max had a way about him that made certain people want to be around him. John was reliable to stay faithful to his personality, rather than changing himself for others. They were both unique in that way.
They made girls like me smile.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I'll Remember
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
You give me a warning:
learn to drive.
And then I slide out of the seat
and into the booth
that you reserved with
your purse and a broken
napkin dispenser.
Four of us with dollars to change
ready to be spent on
unruly, unblinking machines
who will gobble them up
faster than we can manage
to feed them.
Who cares?
I'll empty my pockets
for a trio of circular promises
that can follow our fingertips
and lead our palms
into memories we are making
for days when we want to reminisce.
---
You give me a warning:
learn to drive.
And then I slide out of the seat
and into the booth
that you reserved with
your purse and a broken
napkin dispenser.
Four of us with dollars to change
ready to be spent on
unruly, unblinking machines
who will gobble them up
faster than we can manage
to feed them.
Who cares?
I'll empty my pockets
for a trio of circular promises
that can follow our fingertips
and lead our palms
into memories we are making
for days when we want to reminisce.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Love is a creature of habit.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
I know exactly what this is about, but I won't admit it.
---
Yes, when I picture that day, I see those wispy, smoky clouds dumping buckets upon buckets of water on our heads. I see you clinging those pizza boxes to your chest and looking for the dumpster. I see him, all cocky smirks and cigarettes. I can see it all as if I'd just gotten home, and my hair was still wet.
A memory like mine if a gift and a curse, some might say. I know the smell of the wet gravel in the parking lot and of the mud that we kicked up. The feel of the dirt that stuck to me with a little help from the rain.
The thing is, I don't always remember everything. It comes back to me in bits and pieces. Strips that I have to reassemble and make into one coherent thought, as if someone had taken my life and put it through a paper shredder. (Which, in essence, is what happened.)
I remember you.
I don't think I'll ever forget that day, though I'm still not sure what most of it meant. I'm highly confused most of the time, but, I don't usually like to show it. You confuse me, and so does he, but, I don't like telling anyone. I like to look smart, even when I'm dumb. And I can be very dumb.
I remember the rest of them.
No one else seemed to care that the three of us were building walls, walking in circles while they worked and ran to finish what had barely been started. We were bundled up in jackets and our own self assurances. They didn't look twice, and I sure as hell didn't want them to.
I want to be able to say all of the things that I felt then. I remember all of the feelings all too well and all too often. But, I keep them locked up on a cage in my chest, tearing me apart and holding me together at the same time.
Love is a creature of habit. And so are we.
I know exactly what this is about, but I won't admit it.
---
Yes, when I picture that day, I see those wispy, smoky clouds dumping buckets upon buckets of water on our heads. I see you clinging those pizza boxes to your chest and looking for the dumpster. I see him, all cocky smirks and cigarettes. I can see it all as if I'd just gotten home, and my hair was still wet.
A memory like mine if a gift and a curse, some might say. I know the smell of the wet gravel in the parking lot and of the mud that we kicked up. The feel of the dirt that stuck to me with a little help from the rain.
The thing is, I don't always remember everything. It comes back to me in bits and pieces. Strips that I have to reassemble and make into one coherent thought, as if someone had taken my life and put it through a paper shredder. (Which, in essence, is what happened.)
I remember you.
I don't think I'll ever forget that day, though I'm still not sure what most of it meant. I'm highly confused most of the time, but, I don't usually like to show it. You confuse me, and so does he, but, I don't like telling anyone. I like to look smart, even when I'm dumb. And I can be very dumb.
I remember the rest of them.
No one else seemed to care that the three of us were building walls, walking in circles while they worked and ran to finish what had barely been started. We were bundled up in jackets and our own self assurances. They didn't look twice, and I sure as hell didn't want them to.
I want to be able to say all of the things that I felt then. I remember all of the feelings all too well and all too often. But, I keep them locked up on a cage in my chest, tearing me apart and holding me together at the same time.
Love is a creature of habit. And so are we.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Justified Excuses
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
I could sing you a song, but, my throat is sore.
I could walk with you
down pathways and sidewalks
but my feet are blistered.
I could write you a story, but, my hand is cramped.
I could lay with you
in this bed all day
but my schedule's packed.
I could give you a smile, but, my cheeks aren't cooperating.
I could hug you
long and comfortable today
but my arms are tired.
I could love you, but, my heart is sore
and blistered
and cramped
------------------------------from beating so hard for you.
It's packed
------------------------------full of the lies, promises, and names you dropped on my toes.
It won't cooperate with your bullshit anymore
because it's just too tired.
---
I could sing you a song, but, my throat is sore.
I could walk with you
down pathways and sidewalks
but my feet are blistered.
I could write you a story, but, my hand is cramped.
I could lay with you
in this bed all day
but my schedule's packed.
I could give you a smile, but, my cheeks aren't cooperating.
I could hug you
long and comfortable today
but my arms are tired.
I could love you, but, my heart is sore
and blistered
and cramped
------------------------------from beating so hard for you.
It's packed
------------------------------full of the lies, promises, and names you dropped on my toes.
It won't cooperate with your bullshit anymore
because it's just too tired.
If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll
Part XV of a story with a working title!
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
There was no practice on Wednesday. During school, it was easy to promise herself she would work on her lines when she got home. She promised herself during almost every class. Homework and running lines, she told herself again and again.
But, the couch and the laptop didn't receive those plans so well. They much preferred having Michelle sit around, eating potato chips and pretending she was getting work done. It was sad, really, and she knew it was. But, some part of her was shouting that she just couldn't help it, and she was listening to that part.
When her brain started getting bored of scrolling through random pages on the web, she tried to distract herself with romantic plots. None of them seemed to matter without any real faces to put in next to her. She tried one of the old ones she used to run over and over with Vincent, but, it didn't feel right at all. There were no sparks with anyone. Maybe you should've let yourself be sick over him for a little while longer, she told herself. Then this wouldn't be so weird and boring.
She knew that idea was no good, though. The sickness wasn't just a metaphorical thing. It was a literal sickness that would tie her into knots almost every night. Knots a boyscout couldn't recognize or undo.
She thought about Terrence for a little while, but, that didn't particularly work. He had nice thick, brown hair that Michelle liked a lot, but, she wasn't too interested, and neither was he. John was cute, so, she tried to imagine herself with him, but, it didn't work either. She didn't even know John, so how could she daydream about spending time with him?
Sighing, she shut the laptop and stretched out on her back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Her bangs fell in her eyes as she reclined, but, she didn't brush them away like she usually did. She let them sit there, filtering her vision in dark brown fringes.
Slumps suck, she thought to herself, trying to build up the energy to stand up and do something productive. No energy came, though, so she stayed on her back, staring at the ceiling and berating herself for making such bad decisions.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
There was no practice on Wednesday. During school, it was easy to promise herself she would work on her lines when she got home. She promised herself during almost every class. Homework and running lines, she told herself again and again.
But, the couch and the laptop didn't receive those plans so well. They much preferred having Michelle sit around, eating potato chips and pretending she was getting work done. It was sad, really, and she knew it was. But, some part of her was shouting that she just couldn't help it, and she was listening to that part.
When her brain started getting bored of scrolling through random pages on the web, she tried to distract herself with romantic plots. None of them seemed to matter without any real faces to put in next to her. She tried one of the old ones she used to run over and over with Vincent, but, it didn't feel right at all. There were no sparks with anyone. Maybe you should've let yourself be sick over him for a little while longer, she told herself. Then this wouldn't be so weird and boring.
She knew that idea was no good, though. The sickness wasn't just a metaphorical thing. It was a literal sickness that would tie her into knots almost every night. Knots a boyscout couldn't recognize or undo.
She thought about Terrence for a little while, but, that didn't particularly work. He had nice thick, brown hair that Michelle liked a lot, but, she wasn't too interested, and neither was he. John was cute, so, she tried to imagine herself with him, but, it didn't work either. She didn't even know John, so how could she daydream about spending time with him?
Sighing, she shut the laptop and stretched out on her back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Her bangs fell in her eyes as she reclined, but, she didn't brush them away like she usually did. She let them sit there, filtering her vision in dark brown fringes.
Slumps suck, she thought to herself, trying to build up the energy to stand up and do something productive. No energy came, though, so she stayed on her back, staring at the ceiling and berating herself for making such bad decisions.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Better and Worse
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
Happy Mother's Day, Mommy. I love you.
---
Whether there is a storm on the horizion
or promises of sunny skies,
I find myself pondering plans to make with you.
These years that pass are full of
love and memories that I want to
keep forever, and for better, and for worse.
Let this poem be the flowers
that I'll probably never buy you
or the card that I refuse to make,
and let my words be tangible
for you to have and to hold when I
might be far away.
There aren't enough thank yous to
speak or to think that could
express the gratitude you instill
when you raise me and love me
for better or for worse.
Happy Mother's Day, Mommy. I love you.
---
Whether there is a storm on the horizion
or promises of sunny skies,
I find myself pondering plans to make with you.
These years that pass are full of
love and memories that I want to
keep forever, and for better, and for worse.
Let this poem be the flowers
that I'll probably never buy you
or the card that I refuse to make,
and let my words be tangible
for you to have and to hold when I
might be far away.
There aren't enough thank yous to
speak or to think that could
express the gratitude you instill
when you raise me and love me
for better or for worse.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Full Grown
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
I used to believe you when you said
that those long walks on the beach
where romantic and loverly,
but, now I know better and my
vision has gotten better than the
20/100 that I used to be.
In the middle of the night,
this beach house still shivers and shakes.
Her boards are old and unsteady
and her eyes are veined and bloodshot,
but, she'd not going to stop
standing just because you're
trying to tear her apart.
I sleep tight knowing that you're
out there, somewhere,
trying to smile when you shouldn't be.
I sleep tight knowing you're
getting exactly what you deserve
because I used to believe you
when you made me promises,
but, I've come a long way from
the places where I was small and naive.
Now I'm full grown.
---
I used to believe you when you said
that those long walks on the beach
where romantic and loverly,
but, now I know better and my
vision has gotten better than the
20/100 that I used to be.
In the middle of the night,
this beach house still shivers and shakes.
Her boards are old and unsteady
and her eyes are veined and bloodshot,
but, she'd not going to stop
standing just because you're
trying to tear her apart.
I sleep tight knowing that you're
out there, somewhere,
trying to smile when you shouldn't be.
I sleep tight knowing you're
getting exactly what you deserve
because I used to believe you
when you made me promises,
but, I've come a long way from
the places where I was small and naive.
Now I'm full grown.
Story, An Untitled
Part XIV of a work in progress.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
Maybe I'll title it soon.
---
This school is kind of awesome when it's empty like this, Michelle thought as she walked through the lobby to get to the front doors, where she would wait for her mom to pick her up. She felt light, despite the literal heaviness of her bag and the metaphorical heaviness of having forgotten to wear her coat on a day that had summoned a flurry.
In the gymnasium, she could hear the band kids practicing and down the halls there was the sound of track kids' sneakers on the tile. Michelle liked to see if she could walk in the beat of all of it, combined. Most times she didn't succeed.
When she reached them, Michelle stood behind the front doors and stared through the glass at the parking lot and at the snow being whipped around and wondered how long it would take for her mother to arrive. She kept her eyes peeled for the green of the car (or for any movement at all), and she was focused, but, she couldn't help but notice the small lump of black in her peripheral vision.
Ande.
Michelle didn't turn her head. She kept on staring through the window in the door at the parking lot.
After a few moments of silence, Ande stood up and walked outside into the snow with pounding footsteps and no jacket. She kept her hair down and her arms tight to her sides. Michelle couldn't help but laugh at how determined Ande always seemed to be to prove that she could make it seem as if she didn't exist. The angry staring at the floor as she walked never worked, though. Michelle knew she was just trying to avoid eye contact. It looked freezing and Ande looked foolish as she stood outside, the wind nearly knocking her too-thin-frame completely over.
The room echoed every noise that Michelle made, so, to distract herself from the past that was standing outside, she started spinning in circles and singing the songs from the play that she could remember. "The most amazing thiiiing..." she bellowed, losing her balance and toppling to the ground.
When she picked up her head, she looked backward into the lobby and saw another familiar face.
Vincent.
She jumped up and ran toward him, wanting to envelope him in a hug, but thinking she shouldn't. Instead, she smiled at him. "What's up?"
He nodded in Ande's direction. "Why is she outside?"
"Because she's stupid?" Michelle shot back, still fighting the urge to wrap him in a nice, warm hug.
"It's cold," was all Vincent said.
"And I forgot my jacket. My mom is going to kill me. And so is the snow." Michelle crossed her arms over her chest. She felt like a hug junkie. "Band practice?"
"Band practice," Vincent affirmed, smiling. The dimples in his cheeks made Michelle smile as well.
"You make me smile," she said, smiling, as to illustrate her point.
Behind Vincent, a few girls from band that Michelle recognized passed by, rolling instruments and things. He didn't respond to her, but, he turned around. "I'd better go," he excused himself before running off with a quick wave.
Michelle watched him go with long strides and kept on smiling at him. It was always funny, seeing Vincent after school was over. She liked it and kept on wishing she had the courage to make it happen outside of the school.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
Maybe I'll title it soon.
---
This school is kind of awesome when it's empty like this, Michelle thought as she walked through the lobby to get to the front doors, where she would wait for her mom to pick her up. She felt light, despite the literal heaviness of her bag and the metaphorical heaviness of having forgotten to wear her coat on a day that had summoned a flurry.
In the gymnasium, she could hear the band kids practicing and down the halls there was the sound of track kids' sneakers on the tile. Michelle liked to see if she could walk in the beat of all of it, combined. Most times she didn't succeed.
When she reached them, Michelle stood behind the front doors and stared through the glass at the parking lot and at the snow being whipped around and wondered how long it would take for her mother to arrive. She kept her eyes peeled for the green of the car (or for any movement at all), and she was focused, but, she couldn't help but notice the small lump of black in her peripheral vision.
Ande.
Michelle didn't turn her head. She kept on staring through the window in the door at the parking lot.
After a few moments of silence, Ande stood up and walked outside into the snow with pounding footsteps and no jacket. She kept her hair down and her arms tight to her sides. Michelle couldn't help but laugh at how determined Ande always seemed to be to prove that she could make it seem as if she didn't exist. The angry staring at the floor as she walked never worked, though. Michelle knew she was just trying to avoid eye contact. It looked freezing and Ande looked foolish as she stood outside, the wind nearly knocking her too-thin-frame completely over.
The room echoed every noise that Michelle made, so, to distract herself from the past that was standing outside, she started spinning in circles and singing the songs from the play that she could remember. "The most amazing thiiiing..." she bellowed, losing her balance and toppling to the ground.
When she picked up her head, she looked backward into the lobby and saw another familiar face.
Vincent.
She jumped up and ran toward him, wanting to envelope him in a hug, but thinking she shouldn't. Instead, she smiled at him. "What's up?"
He nodded in Ande's direction. "Why is she outside?"
"Because she's stupid?" Michelle shot back, still fighting the urge to wrap him in a nice, warm hug.
"It's cold," was all Vincent said.
"And I forgot my jacket. My mom is going to kill me. And so is the snow." Michelle crossed her arms over her chest. She felt like a hug junkie. "Band practice?"
"Band practice," Vincent affirmed, smiling. The dimples in his cheeks made Michelle smile as well.
"You make me smile," she said, smiling, as to illustrate her point.
Behind Vincent, a few girls from band that Michelle recognized passed by, rolling instruments and things. He didn't respond to her, but, he turned around. "I'd better go," he excused himself before running off with a quick wave.
Michelle watched him go with long strides and kept on smiling at him. It was always funny, seeing Vincent after school was over. She liked it and kept on wishing she had the courage to make it happen outside of the school.
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