Dream No. 3

dreams, Internal Poetry, Line Poetry, Poetry, Problems, This Doesn't Feel Right

In my dreams last night,

There was fleeting sex with an evil person whose feel I can’t remember,

On the second floor of a bunk-bed in front of a Netflix screen.

I don’t remember courting, nor the catch-up about what happened after doing each other wrong,

Merely doing each other.

There was snow on the ground,

As if this presence passed through my security

Because I never let go of them in the first place.

I do not feel disgust looking at this,

I stare only with blank eyes.

I need to consult this with the film over my corneas.

What are you doing there in the first place?

I look at my bed, empty in reality.

What were you doing there in the first place?

You’re Not Doing Half Bad

Internal Poetry, Peace, Problems, Questions, The World is Beautiful

I woke up today to the normally scheduled sleep pattern

But I got out from one hell of a dummy dream.

Every now and again, my subconscious likes to trick me into believing

I’ve wasted my time, it all flies before me,

And I can’t hold my own through a paper bag.

So sometimes, it takes the manifestations of my slumber

And injects truly nonsensical moments into the dream,

Where I completely fail at everything I do

And respond with a dumb “Oh well,” before

Moving on to fuck the next thing up.

Amusement park rides and pseudo band camps

Illustrate distant worries and fears that I’ve yet to fully tackle.

But they’re well on their way.

Accountability is on its way to becoming habitual.

My afterburner productivity mornings are on their way to the routine.

I want to make this and continue to be Fabulous,

But the road is long and daunting,

And even my own dreamscape has money against me.

So how In the world do you still love yourself like you’re the champ?

It’s been months since I picked up the “fake it till you make it” mentality

Gathering dust in the corner pile behind the high school prom memories

(I never went to prom)

Even if I am afraid of failure,

I’m nailing the majority of my grades.

I’m creating content left and right across all mediums.

I’ve got a surplus of $ in the bank from things I’ve started this semester.

I’ve turned the month of loose change time we’ve spent here

And turned it into unfathomable memories,

Celestial alignments,

Massive teachings,

Epiphanies, left and right

Friendship congregations

Struggles overcome with patience

Emotional support

And the accountability I was afraid of losing.

I’ve taken victory from the jaws of defeat

And had my cup overflow with merry.

I’ve certainly gotten my money’s worth with investor’s acumen,

And I don’t intend to stop.

So we’ll lace up,

Hit the track,

Hit the papers,

Grab the pen,

Roll the papers,

Roll my Rs,

Roll my steps,

Write the words,

Write to live

Write to love

Write to forgive.

Plant Matter Oracle

Amherst, Internal Poetry, love, Nature, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

I don’t know what it means.

Making my durfee rounds, I reached beyond eye level

To greet the leafy creepers below

And the spindly towers of cascading vines above.

The flowers in bloom at the height of the greenhouse

Looked lonely, as if the sun above were all there was to look at.

I couldn’t surrender to my friends the way I previously did,

Some faint exhaustion from the human power clash still strained my wires.

The bamboo forest housed another, deep in meditation today.

We reveled in the silence of uncoaxed language,

My sockets didn’t hurt and the pebbles didn’t dig into my flesh like I used to.

More and more, I feel like I have a place there. A home with patient friends

Devoid of ego, or coated in chlorophyll deflecting glances from passersby.

As I settled, I began to sleep wide-eyed in lotus.

I saw dreams unfurl to me in consciousness,

Billowing sheets of celluloid texture oscillating off-center from my vision,

In deep pomegranate magentas.

The light that reflected from God knows where

Cast a shadow in a snowy backdrop behind a window,

Of a gruff figure pondering me from the distance.

I wonder how much of this is vibration,

And how much of it is sentiment.

But the moment I could feel myself watched through closed eyes,

I watched back.

I forgot the definition of lucid dreaming in accidental practice.

I can’t tell the difference sometimes between lectures and daydreams.

My mind may be tired, but I feel it expanding with ripe thoughts

Hungry to loose themselves into reality.

I will refine this peace further, because of how damn good it feels.