I dreamt or made up that I did
In sweet spot between wakefulness and sleep
giving over to fantasy as bolster against, hard spit of life otherwise
sometimes, you just need spoon of honey stirred in warm drink
reducing disappointment, like when you were ill as a child
someone laid a cool hand on your fever and whispered;
there there, there there
when I was little, I was very disappointed
with empty rooms, lack of interest, invalidating reasons to exist
I learned before I could talk, to fantasize and imagine
sustaining me throughout life, both as warm blanket against harsh reality
sometimes a drug that I used too much to ward away gloom
for when we live inside the rooms of our imagination
we create such spectacular palaces
sometimes, the outside world is neglected
we do not try as hard, if we can imagine instead
I danced with Jennifer Beals in Flashdance in my mind
why then did I need to try?
and reality it is necessary to know, you get nothing without effort
dreams are just dreams, eventually avoir le cafard, leaving you cold.
Once in a while, I still permit myself to
think of a world where everything I want, comes true
what would it feel like?
think of what hurts you the most, turn it into the best scenario, that was my moto
I hated how I looked, so in my fantasy land, I was free of all taint and condemnation
always abandoned, so in my mind, people came to me open armed
as silly and unrealistic that may be, in the cold light of day
lying in my bed, yesterday, I flung my arm out of the covers
into cold air
imagined a lover taking it
kissing my goosepimpled skin with warm lips
until I could hear their words, whispered in my ear
feel their want of me
curling around usually empty flesh
so long I felt, I had mastered the feeling of rejection
I could write a monologue on it
wanted to kill it, leave it dead and bleeding
never again know intimately what it felt like
to be lied to, walked away from, deceived,
never again know, how it felt to make mistakes
trust someone who promised and gave nothing
in my mind, I needed nobody
still they came, as fantasy will
the girl I set my sights on
changing her mind, bending to Fates chant
it was all rather sad, when you thought about it
here I was making up worlds that didn’t exist
when in my own, there was only indifference
but it is, the unbearable likeness of being
sends me to my mind palace, hiding from the world.
As a little girl, when it was cold outside
and rain fell or my own tears, in my prison
and I had read all the books, thrice over
nothing to see out of windows, nobody to speak to, or call out for
the emptiness of days, absent of structure and attention, I was to all, invisible
behind my eyes, I created a world
of being wanted and validated and sometimes
amazing
where lovers spoke entreaties, wonderful things occurred
and as I grew older I could pretend
it was not me who touched myself
but the hand of someone, I only dreamed of
for reality was falling rain
nothing worked the same out there
it stung of let-downs and empty words
even when something seemed real
it would not be me, who it came for
maybe recognizing, I was not worthy
for I spent too much time pretending
not working hard enough in stark light of reality
for I was ever a coward, escaping the grunt of dull living
for the majesty of the fantastic.
On weekends going to clubs full of dreams
just to escape sordid living of emotional poverty
drugs can be snorted or made up, by concentrating
and lovers who did exist, could be magnified
it is said, you do not fall in love with a person
but with passion itself
and I was guilty of that
though always I wanted, to meet the one
and I still believe such things exist
though not for me
I was never a fantasy girl, despite living in the fantasy
and you were my fantasy
though I did not make you up
I may as well have
for you did not want me
I cannot now, recreate you in my mind
you are more than I could ever imagine
now the dream is soured
because I knew you in the real world
and for the first time
wanted to stay there with you
dancing beneath changing trees
for once, I threw everything of me, at making something come true
it only confirmed what I had always feared
it may be true, we do not live without effort
but to risk our hearts and realize we are not enough
doesn’t seem recoverable
it is no wonder
many of us I suspect, live inside ourselves
where we cannot be hurt, by what we want and do not
have
is that selfish?
was it greedy of me to believe?
we are not given these feelings for them to
simply wither
but here I am, so many years later
still dreaming, solitary, untouched by something real
growing it seems, with every year
a little colder and more removed
for nothing is as sad, as going through life unwanted
having to find succor in the promise of our dreams.
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Sorrow
We learned to swim
When I stopped dancing full-time and entered delayed puberty
One
TheFeatheredSleep 