Dream, always in dream, the past
The past returns, for me to change
And shape into a new future
At eight years old, I didn’t stick up
For dirty Benji Brown
At night, my eyes go wild
And I help him fight the fifth graders
He asks if we can be friends
At night, afloat, I smile and tell him thanks for asking
At sixteen years old, I wanted it so bad
So often and with everyone
At night, my lids tremble
And I take it slow and with curiosity
I make it like a sacred circle of trees
At night, under covers, with the bedroom windows open, it’s holy
At twenty-four years old, I thought I knew death
Was sure it had something to do with ego
At night, my temp drops
And I only hope to wake up in balance
And still breathing
At night, surrounded by pillows, I imagine life free of measurement and rulers
Dream, always in dream, the past
The past awaits, to shape me
Into these unknown, bifurcated futures
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