Nyctophobia
Blair Hill
My mind bubbles up,
like an overflowing
pot of coffee:
scalding to the touch,
black, like the color
of the ocean where
its depths are unreachable,
and full of glass shards
that will cut you
until they reach crimson.
I feel as if all of me is crimson.
My insides are for the viewing,
and I have no armor
with which to protect myself.
Feelings pour out
with no foreseeable end
and a mouth that
lacks a proper cork.
I am without protection.
I am the girl walking alone to her car,
with darkness closing in on all sides.
I am an unarmed black man,
afraid to carry a book in my hands.
I am a young woman
cowering before my father
as I tell him that his son is female.
I have reason to fear.
Rejection haunts me,
naming off all the people
who have refused to love me.
I cry for a future that
I'm afraid doesn't exist.
I am afraid.
I am alone.
Edited by Melissa Brooks
Blair Hill
My mind bubbles up,
like an overflowing
pot of coffee:
scalding to the touch,
black, like the color
of the ocean where
its depths are unreachable,
and full of glass shards
that will cut you
until they reach crimson.
I feel as if all of me is crimson.
My insides are for the viewing,
and I have no armor
with which to protect myself.
Feelings pour out
with no foreseeable end
and a mouth that
lacks a proper cork.
I am without protection.
I am the girl walking alone to her car,
with darkness closing in on all sides.
I am an unarmed black man,
afraid to carry a book in my hands.
I am a young woman
cowering before my father
as I tell him that his son is female.
I have reason to fear.
Rejection haunts me,
naming off all the people
who have refused to love me.
I cry for a future that
I'm afraid doesn't exist.
I am afraid.
I am alone.
Edited by Melissa Brooks
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