I can hear it at midnight
I’m on stage
with my publishing team
my family, friends
I look into the crowd and say
there’s someone here who isn’t on my team
she may not have my last name
but she is definitely part of my family
Somebody who pulled me out of a rough time
and became the best friend I never deserved
but desperately needed
and everything glimmers in gold –
the lights, her skin and the eyes
of the ever-adoring crowd I imagine
when only the moon holds precedence
over the night and self-doubt, itching
self-loathing, disappears
within the pale silver,
the curl of her smile
She’s here today
If you didn’t know it before
Well, tonight you’ll learn her name
In the midnight hour, something stirs
Still beating heart full of love
Somehow she’s escaped every attempt
because love is fickle
no matter what you make it
no matter how many colours you mix
and paint it
I feel obliterated, I seem desperate
The only time I’ve ever felt such passion
So I write about her, lie awake in her
The midnight hour dazzles me with the mirage
Pink tie-dye shirt and ripped jeans
Will always devour my dreams
Seeing her and someone else, never mine
Each day I catch her, held captive by my pen
Is it a measure of vengeance, or a sin?
is it a calling from above
or a guttural grief residing within?
how many thieves will exist
before I touch her? kiss her?
say thank you for living
life as if it is worth living –
for enchanting me with spells
she was never taught, with spells
she cannot even name
because all of this appears then
vanishes within the twilight of night
So in this midnight hour I feel tears again
Disappointment or expected tragedy?
Buckets of discordant melodies on my back
I’m not sure if I’ll ever get on the right track
I’m scratching as I’m turning, nothing sings
The memories sting, and I’m still alone
I love myself, but we sound so much better
If we sung and loved each other, together
until then the applause is empty,
the trophies nothing but copper
to be melted and melded into things
which are lesser than you, than us,
than the dream I live every time
the clock strikes twelve
and my Cinderella heart foolishly hopes
for more than a second chance.
Normal text: Devereaux Frazier
Italics: Kristiana Reed
Read and follow Frazier’s work here and on Instagram.
Thanks for writing this with me! I loved your parts 🖤
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