fatigued though i can not rest
because my thoughts are a jumbled mess
weary hearts like mine desire affection,
at 3 am i crave connection
the warmth of tangled legs and beating chests,
pressed against each other in a nest

a feeling of togetherness is something i miss
and the warmth of a kiss
on my forehead and on my lips,
tracing along my fingertips
rough hands intertwined
it feels as though i can rewind
back to that time  
when i felt like everything was fine

3 a.m. has found me again.

I wake, startled, for the fourth time this week, the nightmare played out behind my eyes already fading from my mind. I can still feel its presence, like fog it lingers.

I have fist fulls of sheets as I lie on my back, my eyes closed. I focus all of my energy on catching my breath. I am an anchor in my dark sea of thoughts, unable to move.
Sinking, sinking...  I am drowning.

Then my husband stirs next to me.

I look at him to my left, his back towards me, fixated by his messy brown hair. I feel my heartbeat slow, my mind calm. Suddenly he is all I can see.

After a moment of hesitation, I turn towards him and reach around and touch my cold hand against his stomach. In his sleepy state, he grabs my hand and moves closer to me.

I feel the fog begin to subside, overcome by the light that is sleeping next to me. I can breathe again.

I get it now
They think I'm you

Black
Is only the color of your skin

Black
Is not the culture you love
The people you associate with
The people you share a bed with
The people you represent

Black
Is only your name
Is only where you come from
Is what you claim around family

Black is you
Long as you are the only one
Long as-if there could be such a thing-the best one
Long as you are in charge of the rest

I am Black because Americans don't understand
An African born outside of Africa is still an African

I am Black
I am African
I love the reflection I see because it sees me

Truth be told:
I still love you
Even if you hate everything that stares back at you


© Christopher F. Brown 2017

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Nor is it that we are powerful beyond measure.

Our deepest fear is located in the silence of 3AM
As your mind plays its chords that echo the passage.

Our deepest fear is located in the voids
That can't be filled by the temporary.

Our deepest fear is the realisation that we are what we're scared of.

It's winter again.
That time of year
when I fall victim
to my hopeless
melancholy.
What eases the pain?
Pouring my soul
onto paper at 3am,
while you softly
sleep next to me,
completely oblivious
to the catastrophe
laying beside you
and of course,
alcohol.

for every moment i've spent  by only myself
lost within the waves
of my own thoughts
wish i knew who would stand
by my ground
and have me engulfed
in their arms, to which they would say

"i will stay, it's okay."

       --D