Pen to paper

blinking cursor

all reminders

of a time

frozen in my mind

I've taken up in hiding

hope subsiding

peering around 

black curtains

at the world

around me.

The sunlight 

sears my skin

as if my shadows

are appearing from within.

I'm made allies

with them; 

I habor them

and they provide me

protection

When I step outside

I'm cloaked in my demons

and although I am shrouded

in darkness

nobody can see past

the shadows

to get to my heart.

"Black people don't write about butterflies, yellow hearts and moons.

We got real sh*t to deal with!"

Were the next words

spoken on the mic

after my last piece.