an island of misfits

Born, bred and hidden away

under a cynical, fearful thumb

Give us this day, our daily bread, no, mustn’t forget

Intimacy breeds contempt

yet from the confines of the tree line

I felt something pulling me from my bed

Fear is not what makes a man

as we have asked ourselves the age old question

What is the meaning of it all?

I could tell him the answer was always there

beyond the tree line.

In the girlish giggles of our youth

the twinkles, the sparks, the fire

in the shade of misty green from across the room

In fights and flaws and pains of growth

in the aches and sobs of a difficult road

Hands are meant

to hold, strength is lent, but

never sold.

In the hours where I knew my absence would go unnoticed

days where pain was a stone, deep to the chasm of my chest

sleepless twilights, echoing with a deafening silence

I would not have survived

but for the comradery of full seats around a broken table

beer and stories spill, whiskey and laments are shared

An island of misfits, carrying each other through the night

A soft, sweet scented embrace

she knew not from where my tears fell

but she caught them anyway

A jacket around my shoulders in the evening chill

comfort was not in the warmth

rather the depth of the gaze that held mine still

grounding me to him, to them.

Life without you, my dear friends, would be hollow

the current beneath our fingertips are meant to touch, and I—

live to know, and be known by you.