Julie

Julie, the intellectual goth-girl dressed in black,
typing her dark poetry on her tangerine I-Mac.

Joy Division on vinyl plays in the background.
Too self-aware to consider her thoughts profound.

Sometimes a part of her wants to blend in,
to fuse with the stream and hide her inked skin.

She'll go to the mall, sit on a bench and people-watch
Asians emersed in hip-hop, grabbing their crotch.

An interracial couple ignoring stupid stares.
A Christian family dining after saying their prayers.

Julie understands the need for expression.
When bottled too long, it escapes as aggression.

Today, for instance, when Julie got home,
her step-dad was naked with the pool-guy, Jerome.

Julie ran to her room and swore she would never tell.
Now bruised and bleeding; she'll tell Mom that she fell.

Today will make a good diary-entry, she thinks to herself,
Glancing upward at the gun hidden on the shelf.

But tomorrow will be epic though rather incriminating,
For Julie's not accustom to entry-eliminating.

So be it. The world will have it's way.
Another TV movie about love, murder & foul play.

Now "Regret" vibrates the speakers, filling up the room.
As Joy Division becomes New Order & Julie seals her doom.