Good news, good news! The number of siblings I have in my life has gone up to three!
There's my sister, and I've written and read here about my Charlie, my younger brother... but did you know I have another?
I have another brother!
Ah, but this modern tale of sibling discovery has a twist; for there was no tryst. No teenage mishap fading into the mist.
My newfound brother does more than live in my heart, he lives in my town!
I have another brother... every time I think it, the tears threaten a flood.
If you've been to my open mic before, his voice, you've heard its sound.
I have a big weird brother, but not by blood.
I'm a strange kind of blessed, I pick the nuts that go in my family tree.
I'm doing better, though I'm still depressed, I know my brother is there for me.
I remember the night I met him, it was my first open mic.
He knows my soul has had nights dark and dim; he knows now what he didn't then- that he saved me from my own dark whim.
If you've been here some time, you know our open mic group hosts all kinds, musicians, poets, and even another writer.
He's brainy, eccentric, and above all so very shy and kind.
He loves Björk, he can dance, he can sing, the only thing he isn't much of is a fighter.
I think you've met my brother; a tall, shy man with heart-stopping, brilliant blue eyes.
He's an Author, that special kind of madman; a nut like me, in love with dreams and ink.
I think you've met my brother, his name is McCallum, but for the sake of this sappy poem, I can call him Mac.
We hide away in the corners, like birds of a feather- maybe bats?
Probably bats...
Bats.
There's a story there, I promise you that.
Isn't that the strange beauty of brothers beyond the bond of mothers, the friends who become family?
The people you can relate with, lean on, cry to... you can make one another laugh, even if you don't really try to.
But to circle back to the fact of bats...
(I see you smiling Mac.)
I have lived my life a bat.
Hidden away in my caves, spurning the lights of day, I'm bright and most alive from when the sun dies to just before it rises.
I lived my life disliked.
Dark and misunderstood; angry being held.
I lived my life thinking, "Nobody likes bats."
Then there's Mac.
Arguably, he may be a bigger bat...
(Hey, I love you, you know that.)
He likes bats; loves them.
From their tiny teeth, their little gossamer wings...
To their ability to inspire stories like "Dracula" among other things.
I think you've met my brother; heard his soul play in the way writers do on hearts and strings.
You've seen him be brave, an Introvert onstage, a bat out and about during the day!
He doesn't drink blood, (he doesn't like people that much) but he thrives on coffee and tea, on Vinyl and strange bands. Passes his time with paint on his hands, longing to visit again strange green lands.
I think you've met my brother, isn't that grand?
He's the kindest person I know, to see this soul-scarred bat and say "I understand."
The kindest person I know, brave enough to hold out open arms where words have failed and action is left to speak.
Kind enough to listen, even when all this frantic bat can do is squeak.
My brother is a writer, an author, a wordsmith, story builder, world weaver, an artist with more backbone than a book has spine.
My brother is a man who has saved a life with just his words alone; tell me if you can say the same before you dare open your mouth to muddy his passion or his name.
I have a big weird brother; he's been more than a best friend.
For what it's worth coming from the lips of a heathen... I'd call him a godsend.
