I’m standing in the middle of it
but I don’t really believe I’m here.
It’s all around me but
I pretend it isn’t.
I’ve never been able to think of it
this way
even thought I’ve always
dreamed of One Day.
One Day came some time ago
and yet
in my heart
it never came.

I am afraid.

I am afraid to hope
afraid to think
that it’s actually mine.
That I actually have anything I’ve
ever wanted.
My heart doesn’t believe what
my mouth speaks and
what my tongue says so glibly.
I’ve noticed that I never call it by what
I ought to.

My roots were cut so long ago
shoved into a tiny container
like a Chinawoman’s feet
into child’s slippers
and now that they have so much room
to spread out
they can’t.

I live in fear, assurance, that
this, too, will pass.
It will pass away just like
all the others
as I flit from this to the next.
Always on the move
never resting
or coming to rest.

I cry over my
I have my dream so why
do I shun reality?
My dream is made real in
brick and mortar
in beams and gypsum.

I have always run from my dreams.
That is why I have a house
and yet I am


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