sjsprWriting

You were born in between the ages of creativity and self doubt.

You were found hidden in the cracks of mystery, hope, and perhaps a bit of carelessness.

I can see you speaking words that sound a lot like me.

Words that fall like fragmented light spilling onto my bedroom floor.

I wish to compare you to a diner at 3 in the morning,

but places like those are usually for the lonely.

At times I see dust particles settle on your shoulders and for a moment they remind me

of the tiny crevices found in imperfect silhouettes.

Metaphors and similes, your tattoos, cover your arms

and etch yourselves upon my skin.

You are my coffee colored boy

You are a deep red of reminders.