rainless morning, awoken by comforting delicate taps on my window
velvet curtains lifted and fragile opalescent feathers revealed
the hummingbird sings songs for you
and my heart flutters in time with the tune

she looked in the mirror with tears in her eyes
and she couldn't even recognize
the face that was staring right back at her
when had all her innocence left her?
and she knew she would regret it as she dragged across her skin
the knife of a soul broken once again
she heard in the depths of her shattered heart
a voice calling out through the dark, saying,

don't you give up, don't you let go
I am with you, by your side, I'm by your side
you're amazing, you're beautiful, and
I promise you that I am here, I'm always here

blood like tears ran down her arms
and splashed onto the tile floor
a quiet reminder, proof of the lies,
the only thing she felt she could do
she had so many friends but they were all fake
she knew not one of them really loved her
she was standing right beside them but her soul was somewhere else
and she could not come back to earth, she heard,

don't you give up, don't ever let go
I am with you, by your side, I'm by your side
you are lovely, you are so worth it,
I promise you that I am here, I'm always here

in her darkest moment she heard it again,
she was ready to give up, she wanted to let go
she hated herself and what she'd become
so she held that knife to her skin...

Darkness is what the young boy awakened to.

It surrounded him making his fear rise

He began to cry out for his mother.

Silence is the only answer he got.

'Where's mama?' The boy thought

He scrambled to get up from his makeshift bed.

On the floor in the kitchen of their Chicago apartment is where they slept.

Always slept in the kitchen because mama said the demons wouldn't get them in the kitchen.

The boy listened in the dark for any sounds to indicate where his mother might be.

Hearing a faucet running from the bathroom sink.

Finding his way out of the kitchen he got out into the hall to find the bathroom light was on.

As he got closer he could hear his mom mumbling. "Mama?" The boy started to open the cracked door wider.

"Stay away boy! Boy. My boy Alek. Away. Go away. Evil beings with daggers say go. Go away." His mother was shrieking again.

He didn't like when his mom got this way. It was happening more and more.

She use to take him out to the park. Out to get get food.

She hadn't taken the boy out in days. He'd been having to go out by himself.

Asking for food from one of the neighbors.

There were papers getting slid under the door daily that read eviction notice.

He kept bringing them to his mom but she kept tearing them up.

He was really scared this time as he gazed at his mama where she crouched in the corner of their small bathroom.

Both the bathtub faucet and the sink faucet were on full blast.

Her hands were over her ears as she muttered about things that the boy couldn't comprehend.

Feeling scared and uncertain the boy went back to the kitchen and got under the blankets.

Covering his head and ears. Trying to block out the sounds coming from the bathroom.

Eventually everything became silent.

The silence bothered the boy more than anything.

Shaking, he arose once again and made his way to the bathroom.

He could hear the water still running, but his mom had gone silent.

Fear settled around the boy like a old friend, making his trembling worse.

He knew something wasn't right.

Nothing ever was right.

But now he knew for certain that something bad had happend.

Dread hung heavy in the air as the boy stepped into the cramped bathroom, his feet wet with water.

That was the first thing the young boy saw. It was gushing out of the tub.

Out of the sink. Running out of the tiled bathroom floor to the hall.

He rushed over to the bathtub to try and turn the nozzle off like he had seen his mama do before.

His tiny hand slipped at first, not able to firmly grasp the nozzle.

Eventually he grasped it and turned it till the faucet gave one last gurgle and drip before finally shutting off.

Then he ran over to the sink where he saw his mom's shirt was stuffed into the drain.

Preventing the water from going down. He removed it before shutting off the sink.

His mama had done this before. She always said the dark man wants the water. He never knew what she meant.

Couldn't understand the dark man was in her mind.

That she was in desperate need of help.

But nobody around these parts got help when it came to mental illness. Not if you didn't have any family.

And the woman only had her young son.

Who was currently crying and screaming at what he had found.

His mom crouched over in the corner, not making a sound

Bloodied wrists. A razor blade lay near.

Sickening to think that maybe if someone cared she could've gotten help

But that was not the Fate of the woman who only had her son.

Instead she took an out, leaving the young boy with no one.

I noticed the moon was hanging on a wire, right before it swung down from the sky
Dangling right before my eyes, I grabbed it
******, the worthless thing is plastic
And the stars are just the glowing eyes of strangers, telling me they're pleased to meet me

Swinging my arms through the night's sky, I get covered in ink
Black and blue on my skin from the thoughts that I think
The galaxies are writing stories on my flesh and singing songs into my mind for only my insides to hear
The lyrics are vocalized in a multitude of languages, pitches, and tones
And I feel sick now

I keep hearing your voice in the night when I look to the sky and I stare at the light
The sun has no place here, no meaning at all
She must stay hidden away and only seen when she's wanted
Winter is my favorite time of year because the nights are always longer

12 drafts later
And this poem is still ******* garbage
I tried to say something profound
But I had to start by Googling the definition
Plan B
Say something honest
So I wrote a verse about young love
But I have the soul of an old man
And I’ve never had a girlfriend
Dead ends
I want to write
I really do
But I’m lost for words
And the more I try to write about myself
About who I am
About what I’ve felt
About what I feel
Socrates
The only thing that I know for sure
Is that I know nothing at all
I heard someone say that once
Not sure what it meant
But surely it must fall under
“Having intellectual depth or insight”
Profound [Def. 1]. (n.d.). Merriam-Webster Dictionary
**** it
I’m not a poet.

You stand there and you stare
And you aren't being seen
They don't see you
They will never see you