Last night before I fell asleep,
I dreamed of brightly painted toenails
Barefoot in green, summer grass;
A spark in my eye and dirt on my hands.
I felt fresh air in my lungs,
My own words on my tongue.
I dreamed of running til my scrawny legs collapsed
Cause every field was complete without a fence;
Of tipping my hat at the past as it passed
And meeting the future with the thrill of a first kiss.
I dreamed of thousands of flowers always in bloom;
Staying up late to fall in love with the man on the moon,
The kind of head over heels you don’t recover from,
The sort of knowledge you don’t need to touch
To be certain is true.
Last night I got the faintest taste
Of a hope that makes you new.
I dreamed of climbing trees to the top,
Never being worried for a second I’d fall.
I imagined long, enchanting stares with our God,
The ones that make you feel suddenly small
And invincible all at the same time.
I laughed until my stomach hurt,
And you can be absolutely sure
I never colored in one single stupid line.
I woke up wondering what it’d be like to not live
Attached to cement anchors, trapped in black and white walls,
With doors firmly shut and windows with bars on them,
Paralyzed with nameless, shapeless fears.
You see, last night I got a glimpse of freedom
And ever since I can’t stop thinking
That there’s a place I belong, but that place isn’t here.
I know you’re worried,
That I’m coming unglued,
But trying to make my heart
Recite answers it isn’t sure are true–
Well, it’s like going out dancing with
Feet too big for my shoes;
It’s like singing a song
When I can’t remember the tune.
Sometimes I feel like I’m
Caking on layers of make up
In a sloppy attempt to
Cover up the freckles on my nose;
Or trying to go swimming in a pond
When all the water’s froze.
It isn’t a terrible amount of fun,
And all I end up as is cold
The pain hits me in the pit of my stomach
When I see it in your eyes
You’re trying but you don’t recognize
Me like you once did.
I would be a liar if I said
That I even know who’s there when I look in the mirror.
But what if it’s not supposed to be crystal clear
At only 21 years old?
What if I didn’t spend so much of my life
Fretting over your fears of my reflection
And spent more of it inspecting
The avalanche of dreams that’s begun in my soul?
If I did, do you think I’d find my way home?