the space between my dreams and reality
terrifies me, taunts me, tricks me into
thinking i'm living some other life.
last night i dreamt you hated me,
read all my journals and poems
and decided i was filth.
when i sleep i feel wretched,
tossing and turning in my bed
as my dream-self lives a nightmare.
and when i wake up, i'm greeted by
that same sun pouring in, telling me
it's a new day. it's a new life. i'm free.
but if half my time alive is spent eyes-closed
but somehow open, doesn't that count for something?
doesn't my pain in the night become significant?
i don't want to close my eyes.
i don't want to stumble into slumber.
but i give up once more.
*góða nótt
it was one of the most terrifying feelings
i felt like i had a gaping hole in my chest
where my heart should be
where my soul would live
where my sanity is.
you couldn't even meet my eyes,
for more than a second.
that glare broke me into thousands of pieces,
and i became a mosaic of sorrow.
that night it rained and rained,
but the water wasn't enough to wash away the pain.
nothing could clean the cut you left me.
what went wrong?
what had i wrote?
and i woke up, searching for my journals in my
now-awake mind,
tearing up my could-have-been poems,
burning letters i never sent to you.
but then i was at your house, curled up on your bed,
we were listening to kalimba and dancing with our fingers.
happy wasn't something to be questioned.
eleven months and not much pain has arisen,
my heart has not broken.
i love you, asleep and awake.