A poem dedicated to someone awesome:
Dreams were a gift to escape my constant fear.
Enter some abstract world where I wasn't scared.
My dreams couldn't claw at my mind with "what if this and what if that's."
I could watch the sun breath its last breath, without fearing darkness.
You lay beside my bare body, searching for a place to rest your fingers.
I examined every bone, wiping an eyelash from your eye.
Kissing my forehead, running those fingers down my cheeks,
I sank my head deep into your side, only for a moment.
Catching your eye was like catching fireflies when I was seven.
Watching them glow was comfort; I hated opening that mason jar.
You remind me of my childhood, not because your tempers like my fathers,
before I was I was terrified of the hiccups, afraid of being alone.
You are the hot fudge piled on top of every sundae,
a red starburst in a sea of orange and yellows.
The comfort a baby knows when sucking on its thumb.
A playground when the swings are empty.
Dreams: once a gift to escape constant fear.
I wrap myself in cotton sheets, my head grazes the hair on your arm.
I fight with my eyes like I did with my parents,
when they called me home after hide-and-seek on a summer night.
My hands reach for you one last time,
our lips find their way through the shadows.
I once was scared of being alive.
Now, without you, I'm scared to dream.