I am scared of a lot of things.
I used to build my clubhouse out of books
Whenever I needed an escape,
But my eyes still held the darkness
Like an open tomb—
Like a wall without a light switch,
So I close my eyes and try to whisper,
“I am not alone in this darkness,”
But all I can manage is,
“Why?”
It’s like my world seemed to tip on its axis—
Like any second
I could fall beneath the surface.
I let the night hit against my vocal chords
And cried,
“Give it back!”
Give me something real.
When last night became tomorrow morning—
And don’t say good-bye.
Don’t give me another blank stare.
I want to shatter this image,
But instead
A broken mirror takes its place
And leaves glass in my hands.
A constant imprint
That I am not yet who I want to become.
A constant reminder that I have to hold my scars
And move forward.
A Poet's Pen 