Demons.

You say you’ve got demons

Well baby, so do I.

They don’t always scream, but they sure do sigh

Lurking low in the belly of a laugh,

Or curling up in the corners of a tired eye.

We’ve both got ghosts who don’t knock before saying "hi."

Yours may wear boots and

Mine may wear lace

But they both leave the same scuff marks in that one sacred space.

I see you —

Not just the you that jokes through the pain,

Or the you who can breathe when the forecast says "rain,"

But the you behind silence,

The half-worded truths,

The long thoughtful pauses where your pride and fear call "truce."

You don’t have to break open for me,

Just crack the door.

I won’t barge in,

I won’t ask for more,

But I’ll wait on the step with your name in my chest

And a patience carved deep from the weight of the rest.

You say, “I’m fine,” like it’s your sworn disguise,

But old friend, I know the weather behind those eyes.

Storms don’t scare me.

Hell, I’ve danced in worse.

I’ve sung lullabies to my own kind of curse.

So when you feel like you’re too much, or just not enough,

When your mirror speaks in cruel tongues, 

And the going gets rough, 

Let me be the one who never will flinch.

Who won't turn away at the instinctual twitch

Of that ancient pain rising like smoke from a spark.

Let me stay at your side

Even when you go dark.

I won’t fix;

You’re not broken.

I won’t preach.

I won’t pry.

But I will listen 

To every tremble, each why.

And if words fail, then I’ll hear in the quiet

The unsaids,

The breaths held, and

The moments unseen.

I'll still be right beside you

When your wounds

Need be cleaned.

So when you say you’ve got demons,

Yeah, baby, so do I.

But maybe sometimes,

We let ‘em sit nearby,

And just be two people,

Still here and still trying,

Still soft beneath the scars; 

Still defying and trying

To heal our old hearts.