Writing (Selected Works)

Below is a selected collection of writings that I’ve done over the years before starting this blog. New writings will probably end up in a blog post.

The Bastard
By: Juleah M. Chandler

It’s not that I’m pessimistic… I’m actually quite optimistic, but if life has taught me anything it’s that you can never be too careful about things and people in general. I’m cautious. I like to make sure that I’ve scoped out all the exits before I plunge into something that I’ll regret later. I know I should be open, and I am for the most part, but you have to knock first. I’m not the type of person to tell my life story, my dreams, ambitions, wants, needs, fears, heartaches, loves, in one sitting. I give things in bits and pieces and to people who I feel are really interested in knowing me for me. Blame it on the bastards, natural or fleshed.

His head is cocked to the side, like a dog when it hears a strange noise, wondering what… wondering why…

Maybe it’s hard to believe that behind this wall is a beating heart. Maybe it’s hard to believe that behind this façade of calm is a scream waiting to escape. Lips opening and closing, teeth grinding, eyes fighting the bastard trying to break down the dam, and hands… Hands trembling, aching to reach out to some semblance of solidity before they wreck havoc… rage pumping through the vessel and feeding the roots traveling down the stream… Kill me now.

Tell me, does that sound like some cold hearted bitch who cares more about the paint on her fingers than the hand that once touched it… the hand that never did…

Call me stupid, but I hope. I may not show it because of some childish notion called, disappointment, and some stupid emotion called fear. Fear, whether inherent or bred through experience is something that clings to the top of my mouth like extra thick peanut butter and soggy bread. Like the former, fear also goes down your throat in lumps, it doesn’t slide well… Why?! Why does all this matter anyway?

Tell me, why does anything matter? What is the point of all these up and down processes… all these jumps in emotions… all these jumps in life? What is the point of anything? When everything is conceived and contrived by these bastards that claim to know everything on one thing or everything on all things when really they only think they do.

I’m sorry I can’t live up to your ideals. I can’t live up to your perceptions of how things should be because I don’t know what right is. I only know what I feel right is. I try… I try… and I keep on trying and sometimes I get tired of trying. Someone once told me, “Don’t try, do.” I do… I try. I can’t help but try because that’s all I think you can really do. There are no quick solutions, no magical snap of the fingers or twitching noses or puffs of smoke or even zaps… Honey, that’s called special effects.

They say I’m a cynic and I don’t deny it. I’m a complete and utter failure at being a one-dimensional figure. “You’re a lot deeper than you look.”

Really?! Should I feel honored you said that? What did you think I was? Did you think I was some stereotypical airhead… or maybe a piece of glass that only reflects and spits out pictures and echoes of the physical?

Try stuffing crackers in my mouth and calling me “Polly” and see what I do. There are two possible outcomes. One, I smack you upside the head and treat you like the bastard you are. Two, I play along because it’s amusing and funny. All I’m saying is think… THINK… before you say or do something because there are consequences, there always are. If science classes taught me anything it’s, “with every action, there is a reaction.”

Pull my hair… kick the back of my chair… I’ll ignore you, I’ll be sweet, or I’ll surprise you by putting my foot down on the one too many times you’ve crossed the line. Are bubbles not respected anymore? Like chivalry is dead… Like nobody gives a crap about anything or anyone but number one. Sorry you’re only number two on my list. Err… yeah that makes a lot of sense doesn’t it.

Honey, I’m not looking for a handout. I don’t even want your pity. I just want you to leave me alone… to let me be me. I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you. But who are you to think that I need to please you? I’m not here to please me or anyone else. And don’t get all melodramatic. I live by a philosophy that people should be treated not as means to an end but rather as ends. Kant was a smart man, though like most philosophers, I don’t believe in everything he says.

Sorry I don’t have milk and honey moments with people. Like every word out of their mouth is something completely precious that should be cherished. There is a difference between appreciation, respect, and idolization. You won’t see me with some political, Hollywood bound, ideological figure splayed on my shirt. To be frank, I’m not your walking billboard and it’s just creepy wearing someone else’s face next to your breast especially when you don’t know jack shit about them.

Answers are hard to come by and solutions… permanent solutions are even harder to pin down. The more I walk the more I believe that the only thing that I can give… the only thing that I can really know is what I know. I can’t presume to know what the bastard next to me is thinking and frankly, I would hope in return, he/she doesn’t presume to know anything about me, the bastard next to them.

Copyright © Juleah Marie Chandler

By: Juleah M. Chandler

She sat a perfect picture in all her perfect silence
Manners perfection; the mask she wore
The milky white stream of glue dried to her palm
A literal heart in hand
She clung to puns and misguided fantasies
Laughing at her own misery
A comforting blanket to hide the pain of neglect

She sat a perfect picture in all her perfect silence
Shadows of silk and lace wrapping themselves around her
Pristine Princess; the mask she wore
Hung on white walls, a showcase
Something to be looked at and nothing more
Circus lights strung around her internal locket
Clowns; the thorns of her once youthful heart

She sat a perfect picture in all her perfect silence
Forgotten; the mask is true
Left always to be admired however, lacking to be desired
That Pristine Princess whose heart grows cold
No hand to warm her marble façade, a fragile faux waiting to be broken
Giving birth to the image of a child held within
Arms outstretched…
“Save me.”
But no one comes.

Copyright © Juleah Marie Chandler

Dog Days (Title Pending…)
By: Juleah M. Chandler

It was a hot day. That was the only way to really explain it without going into depth about everything that happened. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore except the weather. The weather made perfect sense. It was summer therefore it was hot and that’s all they needed to know. It was all she was willing to give them anyway. It didn’t matter how many clever ways they tried to coax her into sharing what was going on in her life. She just didn’t want any part of it. Things were complicated enough without having people hover around her like vultures waiting for a dead carcass. She knew what trouble sharing got her into. She knew exactly what they were going to do with their precious concerns once they got what they wanted from her and she was tired of the played emotions.

A great philosopher once said that all the world is a stage and Wylanne Northbrook agreed whole heartedly with this statement. In fact, it was her mantra. She knew that she was a player on the great big stage of life and she played her part well. She didn’t expect anything from anyone and she didn’t expect anyone to expect anything from her, though she knew full well that they did. She was coy and short when she had to speak, not giving out too much of herself for fear of being abused and hurt. She knew the power that information gave a person, no matter how small or unimportant the fact because all facts seem to have some importance to one person or another. What was worse was when something of importance or little importance reached the ears of painters. No, not the kind of painters that work with actual physical paint, though they would not be exempt from the classification of the word… ah… but painters who painted lies. Those painters, who found a way to twist and manipulate words, or change them all together, in such a way that is convincing to other people. They painted stories of false realities to alter things to their satisfaction and this kind of person is exactly the kind of person that Wylanne Northbrook decided long ago that she did not need or want in her life. She had gone through so much trouble with the false hopes of a cultured and nurturing society till she was sick of it. And it was on that day, the day her best friend, Elaine Burroughs smashed through her front door dragging six feet of sand with her from her vacation to Bermuda with her family, screaming at the top of her lungs how much she had been fooled and betrayed, that Wylanne decided to call it quits.

Explaining matters didn’t help on the situation and apologies, it was like the word never even existed because if it did, it would have to mean something, and it didn’t. Isolation was the only solution and while physical isolation was out of the question, Wylanne knew that there were other ways of sheltering herself from the disappointment of a lost friend, due to a most hated painter.

Copyright © Juleah Marie Chandler
[unfinished piece]

Emotions (2003)
By: Juleah M. Chandler

The night was cold and filled with fears unknown
The black, a sinking anchor in my soul
A night where I have come to pay my toll
No longer will my dreams be never shown
A day or night never being alone
And knowing this my one eternal role
The answer always lying in my soul
The tears and fears always being my own
Of constant dreams my head whirls on and on
So twisted I have learned life has become
And knowing this I sink and curse my fate
No longer will I be life’s little pawn
And knowing this it all comes with welcome
I do not care for love it is too late

Copyright © Juleah Marie Chandler

1 Comment


Nothing wrong with cynicism. … Or maybe I’m the wrong person to ask. But you do have some excellent points. I know the world would be so much easier if we all had minds too shallow to drown worms in, if all we cared about was celebs, fashion, and what the latest tech was. It’d be that much easier to for big brother to bend us over and take whatever.

But sorry, not that interested in it. Why would you want to treat every word someone says like it’s a delicate and precious snowflake when most of the time it’s coming out the wrong end.

However, there’s nothing wrong with pessimism. Being optimistic might make the world a brighter place, but pessimism lets you sit there with shades on and laugh as the optimists go blind. 😛


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