Hey. Do you know?
How lucky to be loved you are?
With your brown eyes, brown hair brown skin.

Hey. Did you know?
How lucky I am to be loved?
By the brown eyed, brown haired brown skin.

Hey. Did you know?
I am loved.
By the brown brown brown boy.

I want you to say my name.
I want it to spill past your lips while I run my fingers along the bend of your jaw.
I want you to grab my waist and pull me into you like the world might  take me away at any moment.
I want to feel you gasp as I slide my fingers from the nape of your neck into your soft hair.
I want to make you desperate for me in so many ways aside from physical.
I want to be the reason you shudder, sigh and surrender.
Let me be the one, let me be the thought in your head that keeps you up at night.
I want you to be the reason I am needed.

What I want for you:

A boy who would move the hair away from your eyes. Hold your hand in line at the mall and make it all the other girls jealous.

Someone who would sing to you at random moments. A boy who would get mad at someone if they called you ugly or was mean to you.

Someone who would let you gossip to him and would just smile and agree with everything you said. He would throw stuffed animals at you when you acted dumb and then kiss you a million times.

He would take you to the park and put his hands around your waist and give you a big bear hug. He would tell all his friends about you and smile when he did.

You'd argue about silly things and then make up. I want to boy that would count stars with you.

Someone who would tell you you're beautiful but not too often. Who would make you laugh like no one else could.

But mostly, I want someone who would be your best friend and would never break your heart.

Quick hands and light fingers,
trace the dips in my collar bone
and skip stones down my spine.
Touches burned into my skin,
like the scars left on my heart
and on my wrists.

Wet slapping sounds, skin on skin, colliding
accompanied by ragged breathing and moans of pleasure.

It's a dream.

The pressure is building, the smacking sound becoming erratic, the grunts becoming louder.

It isn't real.

The moment is coming they both can feel it the ever rising peak of bliss before the fall in to an explosive high.

I wake up.

My boxers are tight and I am left to lay in a pool of my sweat as the waves of lust rack my body,
And
         Send
                   Me
                         Over
                                  The
                                         Edge

There we were at Lake Tiorati feeling the sun scorch our skin.
Sweat dripped from our bodies at Lake Tiorati and we were parched for a swim.
It was 80 degrees to hot even to breathe,
and still the lake jeered at our pain.
Tiorati lapped at the shore acting a tease,
seductively calling us in.
And then with a snap and a "**** it I'm done",
came the shirt off my back,
and all followed, one by one.
In Lake Tiorati on an 80 degree day, with wet sweaty bodies,
we broke the rules to play.

Maybe I should leave him.
I can see the pain settling in his eyes as he stares me down eyebrows crinkling in pity.
"Why don't you fix your sleep schedule?"
It sounds like code for,
"Why don't you fix yourself?"
I tell him I can't. I tell him that I've been trying.
But he can't see it.
The shackles, the ball and chain.
The shadows that appear even when there is no light.
He can't hear them.
The demons in my mind whispering self hatred.
Maybe I should leave him/
I can't explain to anyone what I am, how I feel, what I'm doing.
I'm tired of trying to explain, exhausted from trying to live a life that I don't want and trying to change.
Happiness.
What a cruel word.
What a sad reminder that pain is all I possess.
I shackled myself and I should leave.
Before I shackle him too.

Mosquito bites and warm summer nights.
Cold beers and unfounded drunken fears.
Sinning in the garage,
Seeing double like a mirage
Driving slow and enjoying the afterglow.
Sweet *** and the afterglow.

We must not raise our fists and fight
We must not shout and scream.
We must not hurt our brother we should not tare him down.
We must not deny our sister we must raise her strong.
We must not reject our poor we cannot let them down.
We must not shame the broken we must not point and stare.
We must not laugh in the faces that know pain.
We must not be slaves.
We must a force without fists we must take up a pen.
We must walk down to Selma we must cross the river grand.
We must hold our mother's withered hand we must help our father.
We must pick flowers for those without we must not shed no blood.
We must walk the path of resistance and we must not resist.

Do not follow the masses, for they are blind.
Do not ask for more, for more will always be less than before.
Do not regret a path once followed.
At one point that path is what you wanted.
Do not fear the night and it's overwhelming blackness.
It is the future unknown.
Chase it.

Do not fear the whisper man,
Do not let him hear.
The rapid pattering of your heart,
Keep your bones from rattling.

Do not look him in the eyes,
Just try your best to pass him by.
Do not fear the whisper man,
And do not let him near.

Her darkness sunk beneath my skin,
took my eyelids and kissed them.
Told my heart in shaky whispers that it was to black,
time to open up the gates, but I.
Keep the gates closed.
Keep the gates closed.
Keep the gates closed.

HE SEEMED LIKE HE WAS PRETTY COOL.
CHIPPED GLASSES AND EASY GOING.
I WAS A FOOL.

Blanket nights and water bottles filled with stolen whiskey from my parents cabinets.
Laying swamped on the docks,
Swaying to my high.
Praying bright lights don't catch me,
Asking the boy next to me for one more kiss.
I grate like sand between your teeth.
I'll drag you into this black water.

Kick back.
Steal a beer from your parents fridge.
Pass it around slowly.
Like it's the bread and wine of the last supper.
**** hops and bubbles rise in my throat.
Eyes smarting around the table,
Blinking away the soft burn gathering in the corners of our eyes.
My first taste of freedom fades to fuzzy shapes and images I can't decipher.
Just a little more to take off the edge.

It wasn't supposed to be, missing you at 2:05 am.
I imagined snorting lines of ******* and cutting my skin.
It wasn't supposed to be, missing you at 2:06 am.
I envisioned a drunken mess sprawled across my bed.
It wasn't supposed to be, missing you at 2:07 am.
I was supposed to be high and stumbling around campus.
I wasn't supposed to be thinking about you.
I wasn't supposed to miss you.
I miss you.

I see the freedom he talks about.
Not in the sky or the way we glide,
Not in the roar of engines or glare of the sun.
In his eyes there is a sky bluer than blue.
And when he talks about his love his words float and his eyes drift to the sky, effortlessly.
His eyes drum with spirit louder than the engine.
And in his eyes small fleets of the sun glow like embers.
In his eyes a thousand things can be found.
In his eyes, maybe I too, can fly.

Around 2:00 pm they start pouring in.
Men? No. Boys.
They choke the hallways and all four floors.
They grunt and kick each other under the table.
Eating their chips nosily.
Discussing last nights game.
Cursing the teacher who gave them home work.
Wheezing laughter and low voices disturb me.
Shut up.
I want to say.
Take it outside.
This is a ******* library.
I'd say confidently.
I keep still.
And silent.

Tonight I wake up, moon light streaming through my stinging eyes.
Thinking.
I used to wake up to you.
Three hours into my past, you lie asleep in your bed.
Do you cry yourself to sleep too?
I sob through hot tears, like something is stuck just under the lid and I can't get it out.
You stay in my eyes like a persistent grain of sand.
Scratching my cornea, blinding me.
I'll patch my eyes with white cloth and go numb to the fact that my tears have turned from water to blood.
When I close my eyes, I think I'm supposed to remember all the happy times spent together.
But suddenly and terrifyingly, those same happy moments,
make me double over, and wail.
How terrifying is happiness when it's gone.