Darkness. 

I fancy myself as one who knows darkness. 

Not that darkness is something wonderful to know, 

In fact, it comes like a thief in the night and steals. 

But the thief lives in my soul, and the door it busts down 

To ruin my life every night --

My will. 

 

They say I am a survivor

That every night I live through the darkness

Is another feather in my cap. 

And to be a survivor must mean that you possess commendable strength. 

They say I am a fighter

And that it will only get better

And that I will only get stronger

When, in my reality - what is real and true to me - 

I am not a survivor

I am a victim.

I am not strong

I am sick. 

I am not a fighter

I am a coward. 

 

But there is something I can take from the darkness, 

That it cannot take from me - 

One thing that it, in fact, gives me - 

Humanity. 

I can be confident that I am the most human human anyone ever knew. 

I have known dignity as well as dilapidation. 

I long for bondage as well as emancipation. 

 

In my own, I don't know which I want more. 

To others, I don't want anything. 

I say, "I am who I am."

I tell them I fancy myself as one who knows darkness, 

And play it up

As if every night that almost kills me is another joke

Another feather in my helmet

But as long as I let darkness bust down the door, 

I will do more than know darkness, 

I will be darkness.