the dreamer

i am filled

with the possibility of fear unsure of how to move, of how to breathe, yet with the rise of the sun i become a master performer, one foot in front of the other taking note of the rise of the chest, i move in slow agony plowing through life

not a dreamer i settle for the sleepless night, eyes glued to the blue walls unable to whisper a prayer into my thirsty hands

i lay wide awake

the need to cry grabs and holds me captive

all is well is well,

all is well and the breaking commences, the hands attentive to the need to collect every single laughter into a bottle


nothing rises. nothing sounds

so i turn to face you and watch as you attempt to dream with the restlessness of youth and i become a prisoner to your black curls

this life hurts to breathe into, the pockets sagging with each rejection, you begin to think the world’s air is polluted, and begin to wonder what would your dream taste like, will there be a hint of spice to highlight the need for a breath?


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