I look at him
And see eternity
I feel the warmth of a thousand sunrises
The joy of a thousand smiles drips from my lips
And yet I am afraid
I fear he sees the darkness that hides behind my eyes
I fear he sees the fingerprints on my shatter glass heart left by clumsy lovers
I fear being let go again
I feel him
And the slaughtered butterflies in my belly are resurrected
My spirit longs for his embrace
To be caressed by his love
And yet I am afraid
I fear the road map etched into my skin will lead him to my secret places
That the convoluted labyrinth of my mind will prove to be a cumbersome burden
I fear he'll collapse underneath the weight of my truth
I yearn to be who he needs me to be
For when I see him
He sees me
The small flicker of hope inside me burns bright
He holds me
And washes away my fears
A thousand fireflies illuminate the seemingly endless night behind my eyes
Warming me
Guiding me towards eternity.

It was
And then it wasn't.

And when it was
It was everything.

Nothing else could be because it was

And when it wasn't
It was nothing.

And now I struggle to remember that it ever was.

There are days when I am ashamed of the skin I slink in
This brown body
With scars as red and angry as I was the day they were born
They mock me
Remind me of who I was
Of who I really am
A road map back into insanity.

There are days when I am ashamed of the skin I slink in.
This brown body
With fat hugging hips and thighs tighter than a man ever could
It speaks to me
Reminding me of who I'll never be
Reminding me that they don't make pretty in my size.

There are days when I am ashamed of this skin I slink in
This brown body
A field of land mines
Hidden.
Broken.
Prepared to self destruct at any given moment
And leave nothing but a story behind.

The night does not belong to those in love.
It belongs to those who dared to fall in love and found that there was no-one there to catch them.
The night does not belong to the dreamers.
It belongs to those who have nightmares waiting for them long after they are awake.
The night does not belong to the contented.
It belongs to those troubled souls who carry the burdens of this world on their backs.
The night belongs to the haunted.
It belongs to the lonely.
It belongs to those too busy fighting to even think about rest.
You can keep your sunshine.
Me and mine come alive in the night.

He runs.
His tired hands
Trembling hands
Hold each other to ward off the loneliness that follows him.
He's taught his heart not to love for fear of cutting his lover with the broken pieces that the reaper left behind.
He smiles
But there's a sadness in his eyes
Masochistic love affair with a needle and a pipe.
Fine lines and scarred skin
A never ending map for all the places he's been.
This boy is an artist
He dips his pen in the blood of fallen men
Each word he writes the rebirth of a generation
His lips make love to rhymes and give birth to revolution.
Haunted by the ghosts of the mistakes he's made
Soul heavy burden
He never stays
Once the pain is too great
He runs.
His tired hands
Trembling hands
Find peace within each other.
He's not lost
The space between yesterday and tomorrow
Between what was and what could be
That is where he has made his home.
That is where you'll find him.

I’ve listened: and all the sounds I heard
Were music,—wind, and stream, and bird.
With youth who sang from hill to hill
I’ve listened: my heart is hungry still.

I’ve looked: the morning world was green;
Bright roofs and towers of town I’ve seen;
And stars, wheeling through wingless night.
I’ve looked: and my soul yet longs for light.

I’ve thought: but in my sense survives
Only the impulse of those lives
That were my making. Hear me say
‘I’ve thought!’—and darkness hides my day.