okay, this is what I made.
this is what I'm -- made of ?
I can't specify
reality anymore.
there is no difference to me
between the edges
in life and the edges in dreaming
sometimes.
do you ever wake up
when you're already awake?
more like my consciousness
will occasionally splash me in the face with mortality
and a deep sense of presence
and unease.
anyway
this dreaming thing's got me thinking
feeling a little bit maybe
like i haven't woken up in weeks
and I wonder every day.
you know, when I was younger, I had a dream
that I smoked a cigarette.
the sensation was so real,
that although I'd never actually had one
I woke up believing that I was addicted to cigarettes.
the sensation was so real
so like the real thing.
when I was even younger, I had a
reoccurring dream about a house.
I was so young that I couldn't comprehend.
I was fearful and I could not move.
the earth was shaking and
I felt gravel in my skin and
something
was blocking my way to safety.
to safety, to the house.
I would wake with a start and run to
my mother's arms for comfort.
I recently stumbled across a photo
of a house.
a bombed out shelter somewhere in palestine
a very similar house.
and of course now I can't find it
but it haunts me...
--do you ever hear the music?
the music the earth makes when
everything is silent?
it's a kind of humming
so soft and complex that nothing
quite compares.
this is the music that I dance to.
so when I say I don't dance
I only mean that I don't dance for you.
I end up longing for moments
that I've failed to find here.
a sort of nostalgia
for things that never happened
or perhaps for the future.
for a painting I never made
a person I never met.
I forget sometimes that longing
is only that.
but nevermind.
whatever I was
I am no longer.
and that's fine.
I find that I don't recognize
my reflection, my expressions
anymore.
I'm drawing conclusions about who I am
from an outdated sense of self
a person I let go
when being her wasn't an option anymore.
and I lost a few things
in the move, so to speak.
a little patience here and there
some of those calloused morals that kept me quiet
and a handful of doubts that had been lurking
in the corners of my mind.
I'm almost at a loss.
If you were to ask me who I am
I would tell you to ask anyone else
or maybe that I'm a decorative houseplant