A House of Empty Spaces

By Julie Sequoia Webb

A House of Empty Spaces is a collection of poetry that reflects on emptiness and growth. Author Julie Sequoia Webb contemplates her experiences in overcoming trauma, self-doubt, and learning how to love herself. In her poetry, she explores her relationship with herself and with others, along with not receivi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798822906624

Julie Sequoia Webb

Julie Sequoia Webb is currently in a PhD program at the University of Colorado, where she studies community behavioral health. She has an MPH from Brown University and works in public health. Julie spends most of her free time in the mountains hiking and skiing.

Book preview

My House

I’ll let you in my house

But you must ask to come in

You simply window shop

A beautiful exterior

Yet you can’t see inside

It’s easy for me to enter your house

It’s harder for me to let you in mine

I can’t let you in just because you like me

There has to be compatibility

I’ll guide you through my rooms

Show you my childhood memories

Smell my blooming lilies

Reading my poetry

But you have to walk toward me

Some rooms are dark

You must open the door

I want you to see that too

I’ll guide you through

And do the same for you

Then turn the lights on

Sunlight floods through the windows

Erases the shadows

My house is warm, my lights are the sun

The ceilings are stars

That illuminate my scars

Ask me questions

Pick up my books, study the titles

Look at my photos

Get lost in my ethos

Don’t sit on my couch and fall asleep

Dance in my ballroom, sweep me off my feet

Ask me about my walls, my art, my patterns

I’ll bloom for you

Unravel, layer by layer

But only if you show interest in me

If you ignore, I’ll retreat

I must feel adored and safe

My house radiates

Don’t shut the blinds

Is my house too big for you?

Is my light to bright?

I’m an original Gaudi, a Frank Lloyd Wright

My spires reach up into the starry night

My stories are the decorations

The walls are painted yellow and gold

The floors are crunchy fall leaves

My couch is a magic carpet

That you must unfold

I don’t own a TV

Roll around with me

Through my colors

Unpeel me, my weeping willow tree

Swim in my salty, warm sea

Get tangled in my hair

My roof is curly

I don’t own anything

Yet I have everything

In my house

Stay for a while

But the entry is not free

You must put in effort to be here with me

Screens

You see the world through your phone

But do you see what’s in front of you?

Is the memory on your phone

Stronger than the one in your mind?

You relive the memory again and again

But were you really there when it happened?

Preventing intimate moments

Social interactions

Anything uncomfortable

Boredom

The screen holds all our attention

Stuck in a world that’s not here

You need a new one year after year

We get them younger and younger

Soon we’ll not be able

To live without them, I fear

Soon if we don’t have them

We won’t be able to get anywhere

Are you really going to watch two hours of video?

Look through your one thousand photos

I watch the world through you

Held up in front of me

Two worlds, now three

And in it I see

Myself, humanity

And I pity

Those who cannot be here

For the only world we know

Is the one happening right now

And we are all having different experiences

Through our screens

But the screen is not alive

Then what is life?

Does it need to feel, breathe, and cry?

Can you turn on a life?

And power it off at night?

You interact with it

But does it interact with you

In the same way humans do?

Can you feel love from a phone?

A replacement for all we’ve ever known

Human touch

Has become

A game of telephone

To the future

Where screens sit on the throne

Of the unknown

And each generation

Will take us to the graveyard of imagination

What will become of us in social media land

Where we don’t know how to shake a hand

And eye contact was a thing of the past

But maybe we can make it all last

Can’t miss a thing

Our phone captures everything

But you’re not actually seeing it

Don’t you see?

Is the past a photo on my phone?

My new memory

Do our screens connect us

Or make us feel more alone

It seems all the answers have

Even more questions

But don’t worry, we have More algorithms

And Google

To tell us what to do

What is true

I can’t even listen to you

Because I’m busy watching Hulu

And Facebook and YouTube

Snapchat and Instagram

Filling our internal inbox with spam

Trash, spiritual poison

But will we have a spirit when all this is done?

Because the internet has come

And is slowly replacing our ability to love

And connect with each other

With nature

But we think we are rising above

Yet is it better?

We will never be the same

We can’t go back from where we came

I feel in my body, not in my phone

Yet I don’t want to feel alone

I want likes, mentions, and tweets

It feels like coming home

To technology

We are being conditioned

To accept this rendition

Of humanity,

Of love

But when does the video stop?

Maybe when we drop

Our willingness to spend the money

When it slowly destroys our humanity

When we are replaced by virtual reality

When we lose our presence, our sanity

When we no longer have the ability

To be still

Now Instagram catches your eye

Not the pretty lady walking by

Or the thought that you’ll die

Not ever seeing

Seeing with your eyes is no longer enough

But tell me, what do you see?

Through your screen?

Garbage

Urine.

Garbage, you know.

Roasting, rotting food. Rats scampering, summer trash days in New York City. Piled high on the edges, masks to mute the smell. Walk faster, past the piss and garbage shit smells. The most expensive city. Trash. Filth. Layers upon layers of dirt, rot, excrement. Layers of an onion. Rotting onion.

Spilled drinks, dog shit, human shit, homelessness, digging in the trash. Pretend like you don’t see it.

A model walking down a trash runway. Dancing down the dirty, smeared sidewalk in a suit. Trash art, street art. In style.

Body odor on the subway. A slow trickle on the floor. Rat smashed in the door. Stand clear. Don’t say anything. Eyes down.

Outdoor dining in trash. Fine dining. Hungry?

Chinatown, hosing down that sharp fish smell.

Garbage.

You get used to it. I only see it for a few days and then it becomes normal. Ease into it like a cold bath. It’s still shocking, the first day. Then fades away. Every time I come back it’s shocking.

Close-toed shoes only.

I love this city, I say on a crisp evening in Brooklyn, it really feels like home. A piece of trash is lifted up by the summer breeze and hits me in the face.

Is this natural? To live in trash? It’s expensive, desirable, you know. I wonder if everyone sees it. Is shocked by its unending presence. The first day. But what do you see?

Ignore all the things that offend, at every glance, every smell. It’s fine. Don’t you feel the energy? Close your eyes.

It’s the greatest city in the world, you know.

Garbage.

Yellow