In the dimness of my bedroom
Morning creeps across the floor
Hoping it can wake me early,
Planning to trap me one more time
In the dream world that I live in.

The room is cold, but I am warm
Under the goose down of my duvet,
Striving to paint over dreams
That left me naked and ashamed.

Dreams that ever play in reruns
Of my failures and shortcomings,
Constantly reminding me that I
Am not the person I profess to be.

That all the good deeds that I do
Can not erase the darkness in my soul
That I refuse to recognize
Or let escape the cell I’ve trapped it in.

Oftentimes the morning Sun
Will aid me in escaping
From those dreams into the life
I work so hard to purchase

With effort and the exercise
Of what I’ve learned the hard way,
In hopes that on a distant day
I’ll be who people think I am
And I can dream of butterflies.
ljm