We don’t know each other You know my darkness
You know my past
But we don’t know each other
Not really, not completely
You’re just learning how crazy I really am
And with every new quirk
Every nutty thing I let you see
I am inspired
I have never had a muse before
But every time I explain my little crazy quirks, the beauty of them, the way I see things
The words, the emotions, the beauty… I just… I need to get it out… I need to get it all out
So, my muse, this is to you and all the beauty that you bring forth
Why does it seem to always hit in the evenings? Taunting me until I numb myself to sleep.
I used to be a social butterfly, you know? Nowadays, everyone seems to have their own lives,
left behind the old…
left behind me.
I don’t blame them.
I have my own life, My own future
but the nighttime is when it hurts.
When it gets quiet
and I don’t mean during the middle of the night
because those are the best hours to be alone
but at the end of the day.
Those are the worst.
Everything, winding down.
So much buzzing through your mind
and no one to share it with.
Those are the moments when you need someone the most.
Even if just one soul reached out,
into my darkness….
-B. Summer 2017
You’re words drip from your lips, like the dew drops on the tips of blades of freshly cut grass.
Pulling me closer into your madness, your storm…
and I, I have lost control.
-B. Summer 2017
Sometimes, you need to shut out the noise of this world, this life. You need to
the noise coming at you from everything in your life…it serves you no good.
If you, don’t shut it out once in a while, you’ll miss the beauty of things, the little things.
Like, the cracks in a sidewalk where a blade of grass will pop up and grow because nature decided to fight back.
The grooves and cracks in the bark of trees; where there are thousands of little secrets waiting for you.
The dew drops that grow on the tips of the blades of grass, on a cool misty autumn morning.
The way the air smells, when you breathe it into your lungs after a summer shower. The way the sunset turns purple when the seasons turn colder.
These are the things we miss because of all the noise.
-B. Summer 2017
In a sense, people, the ones you talk to about your day, your hopes, dreams, your secrets, your past, your entire life…The people you let into your world
The ones you let see every nook and cranny
Those people, those rare, amazing people…
they are like journals, in a way.
The ones you talk to, to figure things out… but really you are having a conversation with yourself
They don’t judge nor look at you funny
They just listen because you are the story that fascinates them
You are the story that they will remember
And one day, when you are gone, the words you spoke to them, will resonate, deep in their hearts, in their souls… because they are the unwritten journals you chose to trust in
They will be the ones who write your biography
They will keep you alive…
You led me into your bedroom I was nervous, scared
You knew of the trauma I had incurred
But you didn’t pressure me
You didn’t do any of that
You laid with me
Talked with me
Then, like kindred spirits
Like the puzzle pieces we are
In our own little world
Just you and I
And you, amazingly you, made me feel safe
You started making funny faces
Funny faces with those amazing blue eyes
Funny faces reminiscent of ones I too would make
Because in that, little world, where time stopped
It was ours
Our little, weird world…
I’m not the brightest star in the sky You’ve seen my demons faces more often than I’d like
You’ve stayed up with me, checked up on me, when my darkness tries to consume me
You’ve heard my story, my past, my battles, my journeys through hell
When you look at me, you don’t see any of that
In your sky, I’m not a dim lit star
You look at me, listen to me and you understand
I know you do because you know my darkness
And I, I don’t see you as a dim star
In my sky, you are the brightest star
Our beginning, a rocky start
But it’s our beginning
You told me, “you want this.”
After all you’ve seen
So maybe we aren’t the brightest stars
But in each other’s sky, we are…
remember, you said?
Maybe, ones made of stars…