This day is only half real. The wall between my inner and outer world begs to be unlocked. Everywhere I look I see the cold harsh ground overlain with possibilities.The a gauzy sense of how rich and bright things could be, or should be.
You say that I will drown in my utopia. That I will fall asleep inside myself and never wake up, and when faces and words become distorted with hatred and pain, I sure wish I could.
You should know that fantasists like me, we get locked up. Locked and bound with expectations, with drugs and with leathery rules.
Did I hear myself then, beating my weak open fists against the door.
Could I bear my own cries, scratching and begging for something more.
For freedom, for trust, for belief, because I know you only heard rhetoric and gibberish pour out of my mouth.
You say that I will drown in my utopia. That I will fall asleep inside myself and never wake up, and when judgement and blame come raining down, I sure wish I could.
You say I’m wasting my time counting the pink clouds that float across your face, and writing a poem about how the spring wind blows so fiercely through the expectant apple blossoms. How can time spent on enjoyment or expression ever be a waste? You are wasting your time and energy on objects and routines. You are wasting your breath if you think you can change me by telling me I’m wrong.
Don’t keep me locked away. Don’t throw me to the tigers when I can only see kittens. Hold my hand and share my dreams, we can build a bridge between our worlds if you will only hear me.