My brother is as much Apollo as I am Artemis,
The days are his domain, and he leaves the nights to me.
He traps sunlight in his hair, and I keep stars safe in my eyes.
The sun sets and he begins to yawn,
The moon rises and I feel alive.

We coexist as the sun and the moon,
Only crossing each other’s paths at dawn and dusk.
We pass each other in the doorway,
One whisking in,
Another flickering out.

Not often, but sometimes,
You can catch me in his sky,
Faintly but surely watching him shine.
Sometimes he rises early in mine,
Reminding me that I must come home.

He strums his lyre,
And I hunt my prey,
I’m the clearest of nights,
He’s the brightest of days.

All I can taste is blood.
I don’t know if it’s mine, or yours, or even hers.
I do know that my morning tea has not yet washed away the taste of your lips.
No, no it must not be yours.

You lost yours wings, and fell,
As I gained mine and began to ascend.
You passed me on your way down
and your eyes caught me,
Pulling me down with you.
I saw the pain in your eyes as you saw your wings were gone,
So I took a knife to mine,
Today is not the day I die.

We have matching scars now,
And I kiss your shoulder blades whenever they are exposed to me.
You’ve never done the same to me,
But I don’t mind.
You see yours as a curse,
And sure,
Mine are a burden,
But let it be known,
I will do almost anything for you.
I won’t die for you,
But I’ll live for you.

I don’t know if you’ve ever held hands with a boy.
If you have,
Maybe you’ve noticed how his hands are rougher than your own.
They show the scars of life,
So contrasted to my own,
Which don’t even crack in the winter.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had a boy tell you he loves you.
He might blush and look away.
You might blush and pretend he didn’t say it.
It doesn’t matter.
Neither of us mentioned it,
Even years later.

I don't know what hurts more.
The fact that I let go,
Or the fact that you didn't have to.

He's holding your hand,
But he loves her,
Not you.
He's kissing your lips,
But he's thinking of her,
Not you.
He's comforting you as you cry,
He wishes it were her,
Not you.
He's laughing with you,
Cause you're here,
She's not.
You convince yourself that that's enough to make him
Love you,
Not her.
But he doesn't.
You're not her.

I am a poet,
But you are not a poem.
Still,
I find the Caribbean ocean in your eyes,
I find the constellations in the freckles and blemishes on your skin,
Beneath the dark void of your hair,
And of all the scars on your skin,
That you find ugly,
Are some of your most endearing features
That so few know of.
Your voice has become my favorite song,
And that says a lot.
I am a poet,
and although you are not poetry,
You mean the world and more to me.

Why do you have to be you?
Why do I have to be me?
Why do I have to think what I do?
My friend’s all know I’m in to deep
I’ve beat us all black and blue,
Wilder than the raging sea
I’m a ****** person but so are you.

Hello my old friend,
It’s been a while hasn’t it?
I’ve never been too far away,
oh my dear,
I’ve always been here.
Unspoken traditions
are coming apart at the seams,
And you are you,
And I am me,
And there’s no one else that we could be,
So, my dearest, oldest friend,
Remember,
I’ll be here till the end.