It is what it is

Pixalated to most, the images in my head

Clear through the window, everything I've said

I hear them laugh

It doesn't hurt

Like tiny puppets dangling from strings.

A constance dance, sometimes they sing.

The light, it shines as it finally appears.

I feel it happening, even through my tears.

So fresh

So new

So different

I can't make them sit still.

Infinite movie in my head, new images, reel after, reel.

Sewn together, seam after seam.

These, which I call my dreams.


-Heather K.
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