dreams

i. i’ve got so many dreams, all stuffed in my chest that sometimes, it hurts just to breathe. i’ve got so many dreams, sharp and aching, like splinters i can’t remove, not with tweezers or a needle or sheer force of will. dreams so bright and aching, they must be a curse, because what kind of cruel god would make me spend years, painting daydreams of a life i might never touch. let me tell you about dreams, the kind that fill me up in such a fucking rush. 

ii. like jumping from a plane right down into the abyss, i’ve got a dream that makes me cry, that keeps me up in my bed, twelve o’clock. that i die my hair, or cut it, or let it grow long. we live in a house near the water, near something that breathes. and it’s not me, it’s us, it is and always with be. like daylight constellations, like saturn and mars. maybe i’ll grow strawberries, and maybe you’ll teach me about the stars, and i swear it’s not much. a car for us to drive, a landscape of possibilities. a sleepy kind of peace, like a slow lullaby. i don’t  linger in bed every morning. i don’t want to say goodbye.

iii. like a knife through my fucking chest, lightning white-hot agony of things i’ll never reach. i write and i write and i write until i hit rock buttom, i dig into the rockface with broken fingertips. i have a dream that i don’t dread what i do every morning, i have a dream that there’s some little kid, and she doesn’t turn out like me ‘cause of some stupid shit i said. and maybe it’s just one person, but it’s worth it.

iiii. i have a dream that i don’t have to give a shit, about student loans and afternoon jobs and whatever people decide they wanna think of me. that i’m just a little bit softer when i look in the mirror. and i’m less like whoever you want me to be. that i stop seeing spiderwebs and trip-wires every time i speak. and i’m a little bit less like my grandmother, a little bit more me.

iiiii. i’ve got so many dreams, they’re stuffed inside my cheeks like chocolate chip cookies. like clouds passing by. the nails in the coffin i will never quite learn how to exorcise–believe me. i’ve tried. to cauterize the wound while surgery’s still possible, to take the road less travelled by. i’ve got so many dreams, my heart fucking aches, aorta at the verge of bursting. but with a fresh coat of paint, a secondhand dress. a terminal diagnosis of sinking or swimming–i’ll dull the ache. i’ll starfish float on 20-foot waves. play it again.