I can no longer see
the light of day;
I've been blinded by
*My very own darkness.

The people
I hate most
have all
of the qualities
that I hate
about myself

The world may find you left behind,
is not all that it seemed.
These fancies found may be bound,
by all that could be dreamed.
For the more you hide the dark inside,
the more you start to rot.
Your mind takes hold and heart runs cold,
for all you've loved, forgot.

I am the author of stories unwritten.

Of memories forgotten, and love birds smitten.

A lonely puppet on ethereal string,

but beware the lessons my stories bring.



For each story that you devour,

I'll take not seconds, minutes, or hours.

For each lesson learned, two more are lost.

Prime entertainment, this is the cost.



So be wary of words, as sweet as the sky.

For the faster you read, the quicker you die.

Imagine a world you create all your own, right down to the sinew, blood, and the bone.

Now how would you rule this whole world anew, populated by no one apart from you?

Would you make others to not feel amiss, feel the warmth of a hug or the gift of a kiss?

Or remain all alone, to avoid all the hurt. To grow bitter and cold finding hate to exert?

Now me, I don't know, but I know I'd prefer to live life beside others just as they were.

We are the children of 9/11.
We were raised in New York and New Jersey.
We were old enough to remember it all.
It was the beginning of a chaotic journey.

People can come and move to New York.
They can live and flourish here.
I will never accuse them of not being New Yorkers.
But there's a difference between us that's clear.

It's not their fault, but they can never understand.
They can show reverence, but they'll never understand.
For we lived it and breathed it and felt it happen, and saw
The only home we knew assaulted, firsthand.

We were just children on 9/11.
We went to school and kissed our parents goodbye.
We went about our business as children do,
Never thinking that day that childhood would die.

I remember my friends being pulled out of class.
My peers and I noticed the phone calls to leave.
I remember the look on my teacher's face
When telling the news that we had to receive.

I remember the panic in the classroom.
I remember the tears and the fear.
I remember the wishes of the other children
That their parents were safe and would be here.

The children of 9/11 went home that day,
And watched the chaos and waited.
We understood the severity of the situation,
Anxiety built as we contemplated.

Finally and slowly, people returned to their homes,
Most still shaken from where they had been.
Although some of my peers weren't so lucky,
Some would never see their loved ones again.

We know people who had parents never come home that day.
All night, a young man waited for his dad in strife.
The night became days, then weeks, then months,
And now he'll be waiting for the rest of his life.

We are the children of 9/11.
And yet, we are children no more.
Now we are adults in a chaotic world.
One in which there is much to endure.

But many of us grew up determined
To make the world a better place.
For the children of 9/11 are resilient,
And we rise to the challenges we face.

Many of us have since joined our city's finest and bravest,
Others work as our strongest and as teachers.
Some of our greatest even joined the military,
Whatever we do, we are a special breed of creatures.

We've grown into the adults since 9/11.
We are children no longer and no more.
And having that day forever with us,
We fight for the good that we stand for.

Sleep suffers, while writing excels.
Awake but dreaming, nightmarish hells.
I close my eyes to rest a bit,
to find that sleep has robbed my wit.
So ever awake I'll remain,
till dreadful sleep reclaims my brain.