Autumn, and the leaves
bleed red, as if the stems
carry blood through these fragile veins. I
do not like to think of things as alive.
Every color is too
full of grace for my unyielding eyes. To
heal, I stop my breath.
Just to hold these seconds,
let them melt into my skin. I
mark the space I pass through,
not to defile, but to make holy, as
only spaces in poems can be.
Pouncing on what is
quantifiable. Immortalized. The world is too
real so I
search for words instead, spinning black ink
to spiderwebs I wear like color.
Underneath, I am greyscale,
vision fogged, a windshield’s frost,
‘xcept I never put in my contacts,
zealously inhaling the images of others.
About the Author:
Julia Volpp is a rising senior from Northern California. When she's not scribbling poems on Post-It Notes, she spends her free time reading, dancing, and crafting.