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The New - a poem about a boy, by julii hall



It’s not always about you, girl!

It is not about the skies

of the gods finally opening, answering

a massive majority of those

prayers thought so pointless.

It is not about where you’ve been

or where you’re going or where

you couldn’t go or who you couldn’t be.


It is all about him, for the first time ever.

It is only about getting to know

“another awesome person”.

And It is more than anything,

about a quiet boy you’ve met

from an even quieter Ohio town

somewhere north of yours.


It is fun. It’s about what is hidden

behind those umber brown doors

that he uses as eyes to see you

(and we won’t mention

the quirky smile that

makes your heart melt.

Every. Damn. Time).


Be available and be open.

Make it about the present,

always try to be “here” now.

Because the memories

inside the deepest

daydream never compare

to the true touch, the ephemeral

feel of his presence.


But go, girl. Unwrap

the fingers that hold

saws and nails and forks and

knives to carve, paintbrushes and

bike handles and your breasts

and delicate folds in a way

that expels the experience of

someone wholly paying attention.


The opportunity to open yourself

to a real man, described

to the most solid of definitions:

who is always absorbing,

understanding, pondering and

figuring. Perhaps, even

concluding. However never

confirming, verbally.


Read the squeeze

of hips and waists.

Lips speak without

vibrations but the

subtle language is

best learned by listening.

Knowledge, awaits.

Don’t hesitate.

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