Author Archives: Julia Robinson

Point of inflection

Date - August 18, 2014     By Julia Robinson

in surges
of hormonal waves
bomb thoughts of death
by the kettle;
as I sip sickly sweet tea
my mind tortures me
images of burning
at the stake.

Do other women
go through this?

I collapse in bed unable
to stop howling
to the stars
veiled by the glare
of the sun;
unaware of reason
for this bellowing pain.

Pretending herodom
I actually try
to lift my head.
Leaving behind
a tear stained pillow
I stumble
around cruel ideas
out of the room,
from this floor
where my feet ambulate
and head into the woods.

Another’s pace
is walking me
vertigo slow
I am half blind
stuck between worlds;
A heave stops me
my breath shallow, fast
too close to…
in the emergency
my hand moves to my head
I tap
tap tap tap
on the sensitive
body soul points
i tap
thinking behind the
waterfall before my eyes
‘what’s the point?’
but its enormity
shimmers behind the shadows
a shaft of light
shining through the dark:
this is the heroic beginning
the hardest point of all:
a first tiny gesture of peace
even as the bombs continue to explode.


Date - July 1, 2014     By Julia Robinson

Bang! Here again
my beautiful walls
reduced to the sheerness
of falling curtains of tears,
safety lost
as flies become monsters
buzzing in my shadow.
All I withstood
as the month flew by
comes up through me
hounding my nerves
into the desperateness of a fox
too exhausted
to run any more
from the baying
of the hounds.

It is here again – the unwanted guest

Date - June 11, 2014     By Julia Robinson

I: Between Moons.

Protected by layers

of university papers

I am a woman

emasculated by

blue cowboy jeans

that stride into the world:

a mental smoke screen

disguising the stranglehold of

an invisible western burka

that leaves any femininity

out in the cold.

II: The Unwanted Guest.

That bitch is here again

Without as much as an invite

Squatting in my body for

An eternity of days

scaring me and my loved ones

into egg shell walkers;

her barbed tongue

puts salt willingly

into the unhealed wounds

of my loved ones

without permission

to use my voice.

Her force of conviction

Weakens me to wondering

if she is actually the real one

imprisoned the rest of the month

in the jail of my negation

allowed only now

her true expression

as I, a sweet fake

as silent as a traitor,

cower in our mind’s corner

impotently observing

her harsh rule,

as my false smile

covers over the stench

faking normality.

III: A Bloody Surprise, again.

Reduced to the rip

of primeval pain

crusading up from where

we once had a tail bone

crashing into

fertility’s death.

Mourning sneered at

by vomity blood

curdling into

thick sticky

balsamic vinegar.

Body pulsating

ripples bigger

than its physical

falling into

borders dissolving.

Straightening into

a last protest,

my stomach splits in two

too weak to hold out

as the pain knocks me

heavily back inside;

Unable now to reach

the fantasy

of the disappearing

outer world,

hanging on to a

threadbare hope

that the tiny blue pill

will hold out


this rush

of ghastly femininity.

Wolf howls to the ovulating moon

Date - May 12, 2014     By Julia Robinson

Cry bitch cry you fucking loser

sobbing over split milk

believing in the power of love.

How does it help you now,

you fucked up wall flower,

how does it help you now?

Break through your stinking innocence

meet the bitch you really are

drunk on the power of your dark sting

your own pretense

as you dance like a flower

your vibrant colours

stealing from passing low-lives

as you all the buzz

manipulate them with cruel talent

into pollinating your animal desires.

in your weakness

as you believe

so they will

all petal like and

sickly sweet


The full moon means ovulation

Date - May 12, 2014     By Julia Robinson


imprisoned behind

invisible glass.

I am ship wrecked

floating flotsam

in the torment of waves

threatening to drown me

in harsh edged tears.

Head temporarily

above water

I gulp for air,

while others outside

calmly continue

unable to throw a rope.

The day looms

crashing against

my fragile shore.

Out of ovulation

Date - May 12, 2014     By Julia Robinson

The colours have returned

flooding into the world;

the leaves are green again,

not grey,

the petals on

the leaves

dance their beauty

tickled by halos of sun.

There is no dull drizzle now.

I can feel again,

I am me again.

Protected once more

By the metaphor

that yesterday seemed

nothing but a false

mantle over

the basement reality

of instinctual horror.

Alive again,

I breathe in with gusto

the delicacy of love.