why are you so enchanted by the light?
why do you keep on sticking to bright streetlamps
when strolling
through cold, quiet streets
bare of any living being?

(with their fingers crossed behind their backs
and knives hidden in their smiles)
the creatures mischievously sneaking around in the dark
are given the benefit
of spotting you right away

they easily observe you
(and see through your hesitant footsteps and shivering arms)
from a safe distance
and wait
for the chance to pounce

what is it
that makes you so
terrified
of the darkness?

is it because of the stories your mother told you
when you were a wee, little thing?
when you could barely understand the words coming out of her mouth?
when all you could believe in were your mother's words?

"Remember this: always walk under the streetlights, so the monsters don't chase you. They're terribly frightened by the light."

child,
do not be afraid
of slipping in the darkness.
do not be afraid
of what kind of unknown being lurks inside.
do not be afraid
of breathing the same air as your predators.

why not blend with them
as they search through their surroundings
all terribly confused
as to where their prey was
as you observe
(and see through their hesitant eyes and shivering backs)
from the shadows
and wait
for the chance to pounce?

/ after all,
creatures of the dark
rarely expect the attack
coming from their own side,
don't they? /

1.) i don't want another kid to feel the same way i did.

2.) some kids just really want to be hugged and told that they are loved.

3.) some kids need to know that someone cares about them.

4.) some kids are too sad that they become misunderstood—

5.)—i want to understand.

6.) i want kids to grow up not thinking that they wanted to die every time they woke up.

8.) i want kids to understand that violence will never be the answer—

9.)—nor is self-harm—

10.)—and most especially, not suicide

11.) i want kids to grow up feeling happy with themselves even though the adults around them can't.

12.) i want kids to grow up thinking that they are beautiful and worth every single breath they are given.

13.) i want kids to accept themselves for who they are, not for what their parents want them to be.

14.) i want kids to learn how to love not only others, but especially themselves.

15.) some kids struggle to trust the people around them because of adults (who are supposed to reassure them and make sure they are safe).

16.) living *****, and kids especially need all the help they need.

17.) i want kids to feel hope inside of them—

18.)—to feel like they're living instead of simply existing.

19.) i want them to know that there is and always will be hope for them—

20.)—regardless of grades, race, gender, ****** orientation, age, physical appearance, clothes, hair color, piercings, etc., etc.—

21.) —because those things don't—shouldn't—matter to others at all.

22.) i want kids to feel and know that there is someone who wants to listen to them—

23.)—someone who isn't "too busy for their whininess and angsts".

24.) i want them to feel as comfortable as they are in their own bodies—

25.)—not want them to rip their eyeballs out of their sockets or to starve themselves until their weights drop faster than a rollercoaster because they "weren't good enough".

26.) i don't want them to grow up thinking of "all adults are awful" as an amazing alliteration.

27.) i want them to know they are worth every single day they wake up.

28.) i want them to learn the meaning of "love"—

29.)—agape, most especially.

30.) i want them to believe in themselves.

31.) and i want them to keep on believing in this world.

(because we're all just people broken in many different ways trying to survive in this world, aren't we?)

love is in the little things.

the way a couple would hold hands and smile softly—not minding the snow gently falling around them nor the cold harshly reminding them of their time limit—because it was enough for them, wasn't it? the warmth between the molecular spaces of their fingers entwined together.

the way he would wake up first and press a chaste kiss on her forehead. the way she would open her eyes and giggle after he leaves the room.

the way their eyes would sparkle when they catch the other looking at them.

the way their hands would subtly brush by each other and slowly intertwining as one, finger by finger.

the way he'd leave the horoscope page of the newspaper spread open on their coffee table with their signs both encircled in red. the way she'd leave a small bit of poetry right where he left the newspaper, letting him see through a little piece of her.

the way she'd lean her head on her shoulder as they both gazed at the stars. (even though they know that their own personal star was right beside them.)

the way he'd put his head on his lap as the other worked through their balances on the floor of their tiny apartment.

they way they'd carry the other to their bedroom, seeing as their significant other fell asleep on the couch (probably waiting for them to come home).

love may be a coup de foudre—a wild hurricane with passionate storms.

but love is also the earth—solid, steady,
home.

there will come a time
when you'll find yourself lost
in the blazing throes of passion,
and you'll forget what the meaning of right is
because you know what you're doing is wrong,
but it just feels so **** right.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.