the watch poem

your watch so carefully mirrors
you
small and delicate
holding mature treasures
from a memory past
pretty, unimposing
rounded and white faced
full of promise for
stability
and idle dreaming
of time

spectrum

september 9, 2013.

I want to isolate a part of you through a spectrum 

and project it on all my walls

then blindfold you to take away your eyes, 

because they mean something.

pratt design incubator

I was featured on the pratt design incubator's meet the interns column for my work with rubina magazine

july j. billie

I don't even know where to start, daddy. I think I should start by saying that I forgive you. I forgive you for giving in at times, for falling, for not being there. I forgive you for the misunderstandings and the missed opportunities and for the mistakes we've both made. you were always someone I looked up to in some way or another. I would eat up every single thing you told me, all the facts and stories and fighting techniques. I treasured every moment I had with you because from an early age I knew they were limited. I knew it when you moved out, when my sisters and I would stay at your apartment and eat jiffy popcorn, when you weren't there on my birthday. I was so mad at you, daddy, and for a long time I was confused and didn't understand. but now I do, and I regret the time I lost getting to know you. I realized that it takes two people to form a friendship, and I wish I had started to hold up my end sooner. but that doesn't matter because in the last two years we did everything we could to be in each other's lives. sure, we still fought, and things hurt and I was so mad at you and destroyed by the things you did to yourself, but I fucking loved those two years. you came to my graduation, which means so much to me I can't describe. you visited me at columbia. you told me how smart you thought I was, and I made me so fucking happy. you were so smart, daddy. I'm so grateful you supported me in those times, and I'm so grateful I was able to make you proud. I want you to know that I got my strength, my intelligence, my determination, my patience, my tolerance from you. even when you didn't think you were teaching me, I was learning. you may have had your qualms about fatherhood, but I have to tell you that your three daughters are amazing. not only in their communities, but they are good people. and they are smart and grounded and tough. that's because of you, daddy. I love you so much, and I've been missing you. I missed you every time you went away, and I'm missing you now. I'll miss you forever, and I'll love you forever. I wouldn't have it any other way, no other daddy, nothing changed. I wish you could have helped yourself, but I forgive you. always know that. and there were a million things I wish I could have told you, but never had the chance to. I'll find a way to let you know. I love you, I love you, I love you. nothing I ever write will show just how much I love you, make me satisfied, but it's the least I could do for you. big kisses on the cheek, big hugs. rest in peace, daddy. things will only get better from here.

patchwork from the seminole tribe

I wrote an article profiling the art of patchwork and it's effect on seminole culture for rubina magazine

concerned about insomnia

dreams fume between inches of thickness to bear nothing

but fragmented eyelids, only patches to separate

desire from this ache in my mouth and fingernails

this delta of carcinogens from heart to capillaries

//

days float apart between nondescript evenings

running into each other like sharpied letters on canvas

carving initials of belongings; you belong to me

but beyond the bleeding I am unsure.

//

I am unsure

I am sick

and I am tired

//

I am desperate to feel some sort of comfort to reaffirm

that this could be something more than transient, shallow

that there’s an image of me inside you on a loop

but maybe je t’aime can’t exist off of winter’s lined paper

//

and I’ll admit, my floor admits, my hands admit

I can’t look at my body without thinking of you

in its solus its naked, dissociated, dark

sporting scars from fingers only I can see

//

only a leaving I can feel, like the night, you are gone

when I decide to resign to a reflex that hasn’t quite ripened

it casts a shadow twice my size, haunting me and saying

I’ll take care of you, but I am forgotten.

a guide to living as a 19-year-old with nothing going for him/herself

art by: tia blais-billie

may 21, 2013.

hate yourself?

throw away half your clothes and buy new shit

do 50 sit ups and floss your teeth

go to the movie theater at midnight

write inspirational quotes on sticky notes'

stop eating so many chips

think you’re stupid?

read a fucking book

try to do well in school instead of the bare minimum

give everything an actual, whole-hearted try before dismissing it

finish what you've started

feeling alone?

call your friends to hang out

text someone you like talking to

walk next door and have a conversation with your sister

look through old pictures you took of people you love

wanting to die?

write a poem

write a terribly terrible short essay

write a song

write a song and sing it like you mean it

STOP READING THAT FUCKING TUMBLR/GET OFF OF TUMBLR IN GENERAL

sit in bed and stare at your wall instead of crying or puking (not that that would happen)