I'm reading this book,
"Last Night I Sang To The Monster"
And it hit me. Hard.
Here were the words I couldn't find.
This kid was feeling exactly the way I do.
But that's ridiculous,
since he has a reason for it,
a story behind it.
Me? I'm just miserable
for no reason at all.
It's not rational, this unexplained pain.
I don't even know where it hurts,
just that it does.
The kid in the story, Zach,
he loved people so **** much
but he was afraid of feeling like that
because he kept getting hurt:
by the people he loved,
or the people he loved got hurt
and not all of them got a chance to heal.
He loved broken people,
and people who broke,
and he was both of those
and it was tearing him apart.
And it feels like me,
but it can't be, can it?
His childhood was ******* up,
but mine wasn't, mine was perfect.
His family was ******* up,
but mine isn't, mine's fantastic.
So why do I feel like this?
And too afraid to share it.
I tried, once.
It didn't work out so well.
And of course I can write it here,
because who on here will confront me with it?
Who on here can and make me answer for it?
I am aware my emotions, my pain, are completely irrational.
But I can't convince myself that they're not real.

h.f.m.

ambassador to the land of my soul, please let me know.
how is my fair land progressing?
this exile's heart aches for news
and longs to see those familiar fields once again.

ambassador of my spirit, oh, let me hear it!
what is happening in the country named youth?
these weary pariah's hands clasped before you
wish to tend to their old gardens once more.

ambassador of the nation of my mind, why keep me blind?
why keep your silence sternly as i weep?
every scintilla of my being screams with desire
to even set foot in my own form one last time.

ambassador, please.
this yearning tears me in two.

h.f.m.

my fair infant-highness,
thine ebony skin of dusky twilight,
thy gold-flecked smoke-shrouded eyes,
bring me such joy as cannot be described

my sweet young prince,
dost thou comprehend the lengths of my care?
is thy failing health truly the last of thee i will see?
wouldst thou allow thy alluring laugh to fade as thy breath?

my serene little princeling,
what shall i do to return thee to my arms?
three days and an hour thou hast survived this cursed health,
what is even another minute that i might see thee again?

my beloved royal
the mere thought of thine own existence brings me peace
but following on its heels is the fear of thy passing
how hast thine eyes already gripped my soul so?

my tranquil blood-kin,
thou didst not cry once, not even at thy birth
thine eyes rested on mine sedately
thy smile, charmingly dimpled, was tender

light of my heart
why must my spirit cry out to thee
even as thy pulse stills
and thy tiny chest cease rising?

h.f.m