We sit
fingers wrapped tightly
around each other
as the sky falls in
around us

but it’s okay
because we hold stars
in the palm of our hands

and taste moon dust
on our tongues

who needs the sky
when we are complete
in a midnight moment

We are all prisoners to our fears
and the power to set yourself
free, lies in the palm
of your hand,

an invisible key of courage,

but the thought of breaking
out of this cage,

a combination of misery
and comfort, torment and safety

overwhelms me completely,
and so I stay behind bars
eating scraps of other emotions
writing poems on the walls
in black crayon

I am not courageous

Of the million faces I have seen
I remember every line and crack
of yours,

ocean blue eyes,
those gentle waves
that swirl around
your ink black
pupils

I can paint from memory
the freckles on your cheeks,
a dot to dot map
that leads me home
when I am lost,

Of all the million faces I have seen
I would give up the rest of my life
to see yours, one more time

Shame twists like a serpent
in my stomach

absorbing every bit of nourishment
I try to give my body

I am left weak -
and desperate

for air

to breathe without weight on my lungs
to taste air that isn’t poisoned

but the serpent grows,
restricting every breath

until I am clinging onto life
with my fingernails
seconds away from

slipping

I do not know what
makes you beautiful

maybe it’s that your arm
stretches around me
like a wave

and the thump of your heart
is as calming as the pulse
of the ocean

but why try to explain
the impossible
when you know it
will lose it’s magic

I pretended to be somebody else
it was easier that way
acting a part in a different play

I became addicted to the roar
of the audience
the standing ovations
for a character I merely inhabited

then I met you
and suddenly I became
real

the pores of my skin
uncovered
the awkwardness
of my personality
became a quirk
not a shame
to shy away from

and I started to live
a different act
the act of us

I used to think
that writing
released my pain
and my shame

but all it does
it make it real

glaring back it me
inky black
on crisp white sheets of paper
that my pen
should never have
tarnished

I don’t even know
what release looks like

but I know I don’t want it
to look back
at me

like a reflection of words