Dreams
To
You
Turn
And
Darken
And
Turn
You
To
Dreams

She is unfinished stories and dog-eared adventure books. She is adorned with string lights and stray cat toys, an overflowing junk drawer and a perfectly loud laugh. She is kind brown eyes and witty comments. She is first.

He is pastel tears and bird feathers. He is Twenty One Pilots' lyrics and faded polaroids. He speaks in hushed tones and drinks mint tea. He will hold and let himself be held. He is empathy.

She is firey spirit and winged eyeliner. Glitter and badassery. She is scarred and beautiful. She protects and yells. Cries and laughs. She is ***** jokes and black clothes. She is who I am too timid to be.

He is a lone flame and endless darkness all at once. He is a sharp blade and subdued smile. Strong coffee, pop-tarts, and ripped jeans. Tae kwon do and boy scouts. He is too often forgotten.

She is buck teeth and Greatest Showman lyrics. Stubbornness and freckles. Conceals her self-consciousness with mock confidence. Funny faces and the best dance moves. She hides my things and steals my clothes. She stirs up trouble in the best way.

He is soft smiles and lego armies. He loves cats and make-believe (though video games are his first love). Creates pillow forts and mysteries, art and movie magic. He wears glowstick necklaces and no shirt proudly, as he should. He loves my heart.

She is willow trees and afternoon tea. Gentle rain and improv games. Quirky and polite, she is decorated with her gap-toothed smile and childish style. She hands out stickers and strums her ukelele with affection. She inspires me.

He. Oh God, he. He is summer skies and skateboards. Braces and freckles. He is a shell-collector and songwriter. He loves the stage. Compassion and hand-holding, cheek kisses and free smiles. He is devotion.

They hold me, and I hold them. We cry, we laugh, we hate. We sing and we dance, we talk about our dreams. We depend on each other. We love one another. Many would not be here without me.

And I couldn't be here without them.

Sun sick, drinking
Gatorade, and
washing down
a sleeping aid;
a Dramamine for
dizzy dreams, and
vitamins with
herbal tea.

God forgot you
long ago,
and He will miss
your funeral;
He’s working
nine to five these days
at just above
the minimum wage.

The panic starts.
Your life will end—
you never saw
the pyramids,
or stood below
a waterfall,
(the movies made that
look so cool).

You had a kid, though,
raised her right;
she made you laugh
on chemo-nights—
and she’s a mirror
of her dad,
(but she’s always
had your laugh).

There is nothing
to be learned,
the end must come
for all of us;
but you feel strong
despite your fear—

and you could live
another year.