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Julia Volpp: Poetry Collection


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.


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