i’ve always wanted to be a writer. i started out wanting to write books, then poems, and now screenplays.
however, poetry has always had a special place in my cold, dead, little heart.
it’s always been a way for me to express my emotions, good and bad. well, usually bad, but i have written happy-sappy-in-love poems and silly limericks. i just haven’t written nearly as many happy poems as i have sad.
maybe that says something about me.
anyway, like i’ve been saying, poetry has been such a coping mechanism for me. from being rejected by the boy i liked in middle school, to writing about my depression, anxiety, and eating disorder, poetry has always been there to turn my pain into art. and i’ve always loved it for that.
recently, i had a horrible semester at school. that’s a story for another time, but i often found myself in the study lounge in my apartment complex, sitting in front of my notebook and just bleeding words. and through airing out my pain and hurt and anger, i felt so much peace. and hope.
i also discovered my love for digital art and design. and after a while, i found myself combining my words with my art to create a visual and verbal representation of my emotions. it’s been my therapy. i know most people don’t really care, but sharing these pieces means the world to me. even if one person, just one person feels my words, i’ll feel accomplished.
and less alone.
here is a sestina i bled:
a sestina for los angeles.
i live in the city of angels,
the land of palm tree painted skies.
sunsets, orange like the sweet, juicy fruit,
and red like the tails of devils.
i swim in the waters that are the perfect shade of blue,
and walk in city streets where the lights never seem to turn off.
but then i saw the lights turn from bright, to dim, to off,
and the streets were dark like the abandoned halos of angels.
the sun’s golden haze was replaced by storm clouds of dark blue,
and thick smoke from glowing fires clouded my serene skies.
those city streets filled my mind with a thousand devils
begging me to try their forbidden fruit.
and with each bite of that fruit,
i felt a light inside of me turn from bright, to dim, to off.
the illusion of the angels in my city turned to that of devils,
and i watched my sanity fly away on the wings of my angels.
the more I stared at the superficial, perfect skies,
i grew to hate the color blue.
how are you supposed to stay sane under a sky that’s always blue?
or in a garden where every tree bears the same fruit?
i stared at palm trees every day and begged them for new skies,
and prayed for those lights to turn back on, yet they stayed off
as i lived in the city of angels,
surrounded by devils.
i cowered in fear of those devils
and felt nothing but blue.
yet at night i cried to my angels
as i stuck my fingers down my throat to surrender the forbidden fruit,
that i hated that the lights were off
and i hated the city known for blue skies.
but then i decided to change, and so did the skies,
as i fought back against the devils
and switched my light to on from off.
i swam in the ocean again and learned to love blue,
and looked for gardens that grew different fruit.
and I felt world glow like the halos on my angels.
i take pictures of the skies
when they’re grey, orange, and especially blue.
i ignore the city’s devils,
i think I’m allergic to their fruit.
i think it’s beautiful how the lights never seem to turn off
in the city of angels.
aside from tankas and haikus, sestinas have always been my favorite form of poetry to write. i love the repetition of words and changing their meanings. it’s art the way you can do that.
xx,
julianna
julianna marie 
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