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Lucid Dreams

But... my dear... this is not Wonderland. And you are not Alice.


You don’t feel it at your first football game of your senior year in high school. You don’t feel it at your last either. You don’t feel it applying to colleges, or getting accepted to your top school. You certainly don’t feel it at prom. Or graduation, regardless of what you may feel in the moment. That’s not really it. You have no idea what it is at that moment. You may think you feel it when you say goodbye to your best friend and your family. That’s the sneak peek. Moving in is a blur. Your family leaving is numb. Meeting new people is exciting. Starting class is scary. You get used to the class. People in the halls become less friendly once they’ve become satisfied with their friends. The first week of college isn’t forever. You won’t feel it when you break up with your boyfriend of 2 and a half years to “experience college.” Your first frat party is weird. No one there is feeling it either. They just feel the burning of vodka in their liver. So do you, don’t kid yourself. You’re not above them. You only feel it once the high of being in college is over, anywhere from 1 month to 3 months. You feel it once you’re sitting in your room alone, utterly dissatisfied with yourself, crying. You feel it when the frat guy you thought could change lived up to your previous expectations of a frat guy. You feel it when there’s no one to vent to, when no one knows you well enough to say the right things or to let you unload on them. You can’t lean on anyone yet. After a month? No. You will slowly realize that no one really cares about you yet. Not like the people back home. You feel it when you remember your first football game of your senior year in high school. When you remember prom and graduation. And you’ll certainly feel it when you look back on your goodbyes and realize there was so much left unsaid.

Puzzles can be tricky.

Lose one piece and you’ll find a hole

In the beautiful image you expected

When you picked it up

From the store.

Lose half.

You’ll be confused, puzzled, truly!

Is it an iceberg? Maybe a masked lady?

Piece by piece.

Lose them.

What do you have left?

You have the cold ground

On which you built up all of your dreams

Of what could be hidden in that

Pandora’s box.



The Joy of Nothing

Waiting, worrying, wondering is the



Images of sin drown me in

My chair.

Heart beating.


Stronger.       But weaker.

Hope, bliss, ignorance.

Merely a memory while

I wait.

I wait.

The night is passing by with nothing to do,
Because any other night I’d be feeling you.
The clock behind me ticks,
Reminding me of love’s cruel tricks.
If you tell me you love me,
I’ll expect all your love.
If you kiss me,
I want to feel your depth.
If you embrace me,
Let me crumble in you.
It was a prize I had won,
Now my misery has just dragged on.
Love love love.
Is it the thrill of a first kiss?
When stars shoot through their veins.
Or is it the feel of our fingers laced?
The emptiness that 5 fingers hold,
Finally filled with a matching mold.
Could it be nothing at all?
As mythical as a fairytale dragon?  A black swan, the moonlit day, a dry sea? 

In a place I cannot yet see,
But it is the place I’d most like to be.

My pain is my muse,
Oh muse, why do you need to see me hurt,
Before you let me see what I can do?
Do you long to hear my restless heart beat,
Before you fill me with a rhythm?
Are you thirsty for my tears,
And in pay teach me a rhyme?
Muse, if this is what I must face to do what I love,
Then watch me not from the outside but from the inside.
My outside is covered with the mask of normality,
My inside is candid to you.
Rest beside my heart and you will be pleased.
Watch as my heart crumples before you,
And give me inspiration.
Feel the vibration of my heart as it starts to split,
And write me a symphony.
From the inside you may see every tear that is invisible on the outside,
But show me the way of words.
Muse, my soul is yours to take,
But please mend it once it breaks.

I played with dolls and dressed them up,
And drank water in a pink tea cup,
I wore a big pretty dress every day,
And believed I was a princess when I played,
When mommy asked who I wanted to be,
I replied whoever you want me to be.

I got on a big school bus,
Ad saw big kids I wished were us,
I giggled and ran from boys,
Came home and played with toys,
When daddy asked what I wanted to do,
I promised I always want to be with you.

I put on make up and fell in love,
And he was an angel sent from above,
I found a little peace of mind in a little town,
And then I watched it all go down
When they ask me who I want to be,
I’ll cry and reply I only want to be free.

I want to be a bird and soar above,
So I can look back on those I’ve loved,
I want to fly to a new home every day,
Renaming forever as a stray,
Out of fear I’d fly,
Out of love I’d hide,
Out of tears I’d die.

In a sea of darkness there is always a light,
Whether it dim or hidden,
It’s core remains bight,
But wise know happiness it holds be forbidden.
Easy to condone and barely noticeable,
Tears a young girl cries,
To a world so brittle they fall invisible,
Words she speaks are only seen as lies.
The name etched in my brain,
My neck it throws to shame,
Such a fear to make me insane,
That you will return and toss me in your game.
A new name I’m calling,
Unfamiliar it sounds but hopeful it rings,
Still afraid of not falling,
Attached but only by strings.
In a sphere so vile and a game unfair,
I’m left with nothing but my heart and a prayer.

My rose is wilted.

What used to be ruby red is now the lowest brown

but all is not wasted

because now I can successfully say

I have held a rose and placed it in my heart.

 My hands have become acquainted with it’s thorns.

I’m no longer stunned by it’s beauty.

My hands are no longer pure.

They are scared

And torn

 And they have bled.

 They are covered in scars of my rose’s thorns,

And I shall wear them my whole life.

Wilted rose, I love you.

 For you have given me wisdom

 Of how to nourish a rose.

What was once a beautiful sight is now resting on the soil it once

Thrived on.

I cut the stem to put you out of your misery,

And put the delicate remains aside.

There is no more room for a wilted rose in my heart.

Now I only pray

My new rose survives winter.