3AM

on the three am

it can be hard to pull the dark out of its kiss with the light

it can all be a tempest; swirling 

making it hard to see through those bleary eyes

what's what.

which is real. which is the illusion.

you share your room with you sister 

so you've learned to cry quietly.

the moonlight asks you questions,

or is that just the clash of swords

behind your forehead:

who are you?

who are you?

who are you?

and your heart is a canary

in your chest's collapsing 

coal mine

hurricane head, child. 

oh, you're such a mess. 

on the four thirty am

it can be hard to answer that echoing voice that wants to know

what happened to the you 

you used to know.

sometimes its hard to know who you are,

when everything is so loud upstairs.

when the moonlight becomes venom. 

sometimes you just need to know

who you aren't

you pretty, messy, bleary eyed child. let me tell you.

you are not

those voices

you are not

the fear

you are not

the darkness dripping down from your bedroom ceiling

you are not

the sick feeling in your stomach

you are not 

alone

you are not 

abandoned

you are not

invisible

you are not

unloved

you are not 

unspoken for

it hurts on the five am. when the shy sun flushes the hills pink. 

when you're the only one awake, tangled up in those sweaty sheets

when you hear your momma get up to make the coffee

and you think about your parents 

and you wish you were better,

and you wish you were better for them,

or that things were how they used to be.

oh, love. they love you. they love you. they love you.

and i love you.

and someone far brighter than the sun is reaching through that window 

to fill up those cracks in your heart with kisses. with life.

you are not

unnecessary

you are

essential, child.

essential.

lOVE,

kATE