3 a.m. has found me again.

I wake, startled, for the fourth time this week, the nightmare played out behind my eyes already fading from my mind. I can still feel its presence, like fog it lingers.

I have fist fulls of sheets as I lie on my back, my eyes closed. I focus all of my energy on catching my breath. I am an anchor in my dark sea of thoughts, unable to move.
Sinking, sinking...  I am drowning.

Then my husband stirs next to me.

I look at him to my left, his back towards me, fixated by his messy brown hair. I feel my heartbeat slow, my mind calm. Suddenly he is all I can see.

After a moment of hesitation, I turn towards him and reach around and touch my cold hand against his stomach. In his sleepy state, he grabs my hand and moves closer to me.

I feel the fog begin to subside, overcome by the light that is sleeping next to me. I can breathe again.

I get it now
They think I'm you

Black
Is only the color of your skin

Black
Is not the culture you love
The people you associate with
The people you share a bed with
The people you represent

Black
Is only your name
Is only where you come from
Is what you claim around family

Black is you
Long as you are the only one
Long as-if there could be such a thing-the best one
Long as you are in charge of the rest

I am Black because Americans don't understand
An African born outside of Africa is still an African

I am Black
I am African
I love the reflection I see because it sees me

Truth be told:
I still love you
Even if you hate everything that stares back at you


© Christopher F. Brown 2017

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Nor is it that we are powerful beyond measure.

Our deepest fear is located in the silence of 3AM
As your mind plays its chords that echo the passage.

Our deepest fear is located in the voids
That can't be filled by the temporary.

Our deepest fear is the realisation that we are what we're scared of.

It's winter again.
That time of year
when I fall victim
to my hopeless
melancholy.
What eases the pain?
Pouring my soul
onto paper at 3am,
while you softly
sleep next to me,
completely oblivious
to the catastrophe
laying beside you
and of course,
alcohol.

for every moment i've spent  by only myself
lost within the waves
of my own thoughts
wish i knew who would stand
by my ground
and have me engulfed
in their arms, to which they would say

"i will stay, it's okay."

       --D

I think about your smile , it made you so alive
My first memory being around age five
She smiled when we watched tv
She smiled when fixing toys broken
I mean she smiled whenever she saw me
Her smile just asked for presence as a golden token
She smiled not only with her eyes to see
Her eyes didn't see faces well
I always pondered how she knew it was me
Was it my walk ,my voice , maybe my scent  or smell
Her hands they smiled too
Though one suffered from nature's permanent glue
Her 97 year old grip being stronger than your household duck tape
And a smile as that gave unconditional love as a cape
We both smiled as " it's all just the saints' blessing" and said goodbye

So one day smiling in a casket her body lie
When thinking of this I try to smile instead of cry
I cover her special hand with a knit black glove
I like to believe she stills smiles from above

I can't sleep.
3 a.m. crawls into bed
next to me,
weighing down the sheets.
Its prying fingers ****
my eyes and pull me
away from tender dreams.
I lay until the earth ticks
and rolls over,
watching as streetlights
become a sun that peaks.
I'm over the edge of the world
lost in thought,
and my soul feels heavy.