Separate Things

I live in a host of dreams
Peculiar fantasies wrapping themselves
Around my mind like so many
Colorful jellyfish, tentacles stinging
Bringing light and pain and summoning
Into impossible moments and alternate
Realities than what I wake up to
I dream in sizes too big for
Who I am meant to be
Leaving me breathless and agitated
A runner without a finish line in sight
Looking for a goal that I can reach
Extraordinary nights spin into
Listless days as my mind frantically seeks
What little there is of dreams that remain
Life looks so dull to me when measured
By the shine of false dreams
That shatter constantly in the truth
That belongs to me, and
I am reminded each time, brutally,
That what I want and what I’m entitled to
Are traditionally separate things.


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