When I was really young
I used to always sleep
With my face toward the wall
And my back toward the rest of the room.

I remember always being afraid of the dark.
As if something or someone else was always with me in the same room.

I never turned over when I heard a noise or saw a shadow.
I was always scared that I'd see "someone" or "something" standing in the corner of my room looking directly into my eyes through the thick darkness that devoured my bed room.

I was only 7 years old.
I had no idea that monsters and fairy tales were all makeshift beliefs for people's entertainment.

Trying to sleep every night was pure hell.
Always thinking that every sound was made by a ghost,
Every shadow was casted from the boogie man
And that every feeling or sensation my nerves collected from anything other than the bed was the demons and monsters touching me, waiting for me to fall asleep.

If only I knew then what I know now.
That every fear and nightmare I ever had
Was actually something to laugh about.

A cold autumns night.
Trains and coyotes whine in the midst of dead silence.
Thoughts strewn about like leaves on the front lawn,
Dead and soon to be weathered away into thin air,

Happy thoughts weathered away in the wind,
gone with the breeze goes the last shred of sanity I had left.
Back to bullying and prejudice,
where the word “gay” gets slung around to anyone who likes to dress different.
Who does the school play instead of the football team,
who didn’t get the nerves to talk to the girl he likes because he knew she wont even listen,
but he’s tranquilized by her poison and that poison is the look she gave him in class today.

But all he hopes for is someone to give a **** about him.
For someone who will actually be there and care about him.
Life savers surround people with compassion and care,
but the preserver is just hung up to dry when his eyes are wet from dragging others out of the sea.

a boy whose never had a good thing to say about his own skin but a million things to say about anyone else’s.
He gets lost sometimes too and manages to find his way home,
like a blind puppy in the woods,
scared and alone in a scary dark world,
he walks and walks until he’s not bumping into trees any more and he feels the soft grass underneath his feet.
Only to find out he is walking into a trap dug by his own thoughts that capture him and drag him underneath the soil,
with the reaper dumping shovel load by shovel load of sand on top of him saying “Don’t worry, you’re home now”.

He cries with the trains and the coyotes on the cold autumn night.
Alone in the woods by himself with nothing but his thoughts,
a weapon of mass destruction to his own mind, and he doesn’t even know it.

You'll occupy my bed,
for a day or two,
regardless of whether or not
I am in it.
//
Then you'll leave.
For a few days,
a week,
a few weeks.
//
While you're gone
the coffee will still be made,
the showers will still be taken,
and bed time stories will still be read.
//
However,
my body will shiver
without your heat,
and I'll go to bed earlier,
without your heat.
//
I may not play my guitar,
and I may not memorize my lines
while you're present.
But God ******, you're present.
//
//
The sun shines
and it will continue to shine
and the clocks tick
and they will continue to tick
and my love yearns
and it will someday cease yearning.
Cease burning.
Cease.
/
Just as your presence has
ceased.

She is warm blankets on a cold Sunday morning.
She is the reminder of better days to come on a Monday.
She is the late-night Tuesday jam sessions.
She is the unexpected "hello" on a boring Wednesday.
She is the cold coffee you grab on your way out the door Thursday.
She is the anticipation of the weekend on Friday afternoon.
She is the confidence lacing up your shoes for a Saturday night.
She is everything you want, and nothing you can have.