In my dreams,
We hold hands as our eyes drop miniscule oceans
Each teardrop holding a story
Of pain built up over years,
It’s shed long due.
I am safe, to be here with you.
I am comfortable.
I wipe away your stories, you wipe away mine.
Our hands, intertwined, gripping tighter and tighter
As we witness our dog take her last breath.
We don’t separate because we know we need each other’s strengths.
We don’t separate because we understand each other’s affliction.
In my dreams,
You stand below to catch me and
Above to pull me up
It doesn’t quite work like that.
We don’t always get what we want.
How strange it is that I’d rather expose vulnerability with someone I’ve known for months or even weeks
When you’ve raised me for 17 years yet still feel like a stranger.
Not all dreams come true.
On opposing sides of the room we sit.
I wipe away my own teardrops drenching my face that hide stories from the past 17 years
My hand, intertwined with my shirt, grips tighter and tighter onto a thin material
That won’t comfort me any more than you do.
As the black sky awakens the stars,
I don’t separate from my poems.
Because i know their imaginary strength understands my dark emotions
that have been intruded by the bright stars shining in on my privacy.
I like that my poems
stand below to catch me
and above to pull me up.
Not all dreams come true. In
my circus like mind forcefully held itself together
As my dog took her last breath.