A chorus of snaps. Blaine’s head starts spinning and he can feel the pressure in his lungs building as his eyes began to water.

Snaps.

That is the first slam poem Blaine ever wrote. He wrote it a year after his Sadie Hawkins dance. Whenever his Mom tries to contact him, Blaine performs this at open-mic nights. It’s always an audience favorite. Blaine loves being the center of attention, but only onstage. Off stage, he keeps to himself.

He is a man of many words. He has a talent, a niche, for drawing people in, holding them close, and hypnotizing them with what he has to say. Blaine is an artist, poet, and a novelist. (None of which were any of his works ever published). He has a sacred connection with literature.

Blaine lost his boyfriend to a hate crime and his father to a heart attack all in the same week. When he heard the news, he sat there on his floor and stared at the ceiling for three straight hours until his mother came sobbing through his bedroom door. He couldn’t look at her; he could barely breathe as it was. He waited for her to leave before he grabbed a journal from under his bed. Brand new 5-Star Notebook he had never opened. He peeled off the cover sticker and opened to the first page.

Blank. There was nothing but a crisscross of blue and red lines. They were calling to him and challenging him to write upon them. He tried four times before he got it right.

One simple word and Blaine felt his spine tingle.

And that’s how it started. One simple four lined poem and Blaine knew what he wanted to be.

A Poet:

Someone who challenges you.

Someone who speaks about life.

Someone who is unafraid of their own opinion.

Someone who changes the lives of others through words.

Blaine Anderson.

“Fuck censorship. I can say anything I fucking want to just as I fucking please because this is a free fucking country.” Blaine says, lying on the green grass in the middle of Central Park. He stares up at the clouds until the uncomfortable silence creeps up on him. He turns his head and raises an eyebrow at his friend, Tina.

“Blaine, aren’t you afraid that maybe, I don’t know, one day the government will censor poetry? Or books?! I mean, public library’s all over America are banning “50 Shades of Grey” because-”

“As they should,” Blaine smirks, “Horribly written porn if you ask me.”

“Okay well what about the banning of Harry Potter in public schools?”

“Outrageous! It’s completely unnecessary and total fucking bullshit.”

Tina sighs, “My point exactly.”

“Whatever, you’re high anyway.”

“So?!”

Blaine chuckles. Before he goes to shoot back a smart remark, something catches his eye. There’s a man sitting on the black bench right across from where Blaine is. Blaine’s jaw drops. This guy is gorgeous. His face is made up of soft delicate features, his skin is pale and his cheeks are rosy. It gave him a look of innocence, but most importantly, of striking beauty. He is wearing a white button down and black dress pants. His tie dangles loosely around his neck. The man looks frustrated, while on the phone, and Blaine jumps as he hears the man’s voice get louder and harsher until finally he hangs up and throws the phone in his bag.

“…Blaine? BLAINE?!” Tina shakes his shoulder.

He whips his head to her, “What?!”

“Stop gawking and get up we have to get to work. Our shift starts soon.”

Blaine checks his watch and sighs, “Alright well let me just-”

He turns back to the, now vacant, bench and frowns. He stands and pats the dirt off of his jeans. He looks around the park but mystery man is nowhere to be found.

“Sorry, lover boy.”

Blaine smacks her shoulder playfully, “Oh shut up and let’s go.”