I have disappeared.
Slowly fading away, like the early
morning mist, drifting away into the
unknown, with no path, no destination
in sight, I simply faded away into the darkness.
I was beautiful once, I swear it,
full of life, passion, and dreams,
I sure was a sight to see.
But something went cold inside of me,
late one evening when sleep seemed like
something I had only read about, but could
never fully grasp, I laid awake, staring at
the cracks in the ceiling, wondering why
my life seemed so empty.
At one time I was loved,
it was my warm and caring heart,
my smile that lit up the dark city streets,
and the wild dreams my mind would conjure,
I made it easy for men to love me.
But there is a difference between lust and love,
and I found myself sleeping alone each night
tangled in cold sheets, wondering why I had
made it so easy for men to leave me.
So I began to fade, drift, dissipate, become smoke
and disappear into the darkness of corners,
silently transforming into a transparent girl,
the illusive, absent lover, the one that years ago,
you longed to make your own.
I ran away from the city, from the light,
and to be honest, I ran from myself, my fears.
And now I will remain to you, only a memory,
the shadow, the foggy image of the painted dreamer
the girl you once loved.
It took me a while to forget you,
who am I kidding, it took me a lifetime,
weeks, months, years, to repress the sweet
memories of your face, the taste of your kiss.
But I remember the exact moment, where
I finally let you go.
I had met someone else, who had
bright hazel eyes and created the most
magnificent words with the twist of his
wrist, a writer, a dreamer, a passionate lover.
And we shared our secrets, poured our hearts
out, whispering dreams to the empty bottles
of whiskey that laid before us, but something,
oh, there was something that felt so strange.
It was almost as if you were there with us,
you were trapped in my mind, and even with
someone else opening their chest to me,
running their fingers through my hair and
kissing me so lightly, with their eyes shut
so tightly, I couldn’t shake you from my sight.
But there was this moment, I’ll never forget it,
when he and I were sharing a glass of wine on
the porch, watching the stars, when I thought
of your face, except it wasn’t your face anymore,
no, I couldn’t remember what you looked like.
And then I tried to think of your kiss, or the
warmth of your touch, and those memories had
escaped my mind too. I thought I should be sad,
but the absent images of you lightened my stride,
lifted a weight from my heart, as if I could finally
give it away to someone new, a person who
truly deserved me.
It took me years, but I finally let you go,
like a nightmare, you will remain just a
sheer thought and a reminder of the pain
I had to endure to find true love.
They didn’t believe in me,
plain and simple.
Told me to take my head
out of the clouds,
bring my sight back
to the concrete nightmare
under my feet, where
I’ve heard the Earth is
spinning, but sadly,
I can’t feel a thing.
They called me a dreamer,
a wisher, a thinker.
As if that was something
I should be ashamed of.
I felt lost and alone,
like I’m the only one
who dreams in color anymore.
I refuse to scour these
streets with tears in my eyes,
and a darkness in my chest
that I only soothe with the
burning liquors I find at night.
Maybe I won’t change
the world, perhaps I’ll
never make a difference,
but that won’t stop the
words that flow from
my heart and make their
way onto these pages.
Keep calling me a dreamer,
it’s the only thing I’ve ever known.
The City Beautiful, or
at least that’s what the
billboards call this town.
But I feel trapped in
this concrete jungle,
surrounded by drifters
begging for some sort
of direction, but sadly,
even though I’m a dreamer
I’m just as lost as you.
I’ve heard a lot of things
from strangers in this town,
saying we are living the dream,
that the Earth is spinning,
but this isn’t what I paint
behind my lids at night.
Maybe I live in my mind,
where everything just
makes sense.
Perhaps I’ve been wishing
on stars each night,
waiting for the clock to
chime at 11:11 to close
my eyes, and think of you.
But with these disapproving
stares, the pointed fingers,
the noses raised to the sky,
I’m known as “different,”
avoided like the plague,
forced to conform.
I’ll hang up my hopes,
lock away my desires.
I’ll live for the future
where nobody dreams.
He asked me what I did,
with that sly grin where his
lips would still cover his ivory perfection.
The same smile I fell in love with.
I told him I was a writer and a dreamer,
but he pressed on,
What do you write?
So, I simply said, “Words?”
my pitch rising to accentuate
my confusion with his question.
I explained how I threw words
together, hoping that they will
somehow make sense of the
thoughts racing through my mind.
But why?
His prodding seemed endless.
That’s when he finally
struck a cord of sensitivity
embedded deep within my chest.
Why do I write?
That’s like asking someone,
Why do you breathe, or eat?
I write because I have to.
It’s the only thing that’s ever
made sense to me in this
mess of a life I call my own,
and I struggle, still searching
for words to express the thoughts,
the screaming in my skull
that keeps me awake at night,
and gets louder with
every burning shot of whiskey.
I write because my heart is
full of the most magnificent of words
and I’m convinced, that if I’m
cut, I’d bleed ink.
He stared at me with that
blank expression, his eyes
glassy and lifeless.
I knew then that he had
never heard of dreams before.
I used to be a dreamer
with my head stuck
in the clouds, and my
nights spent wasting
wishes on stars.
I thought once, I could
change the world with
the pen in my palm
and the words
in my heart.
But now, here I am,
trapped in this bar.
The stale stench of
rotten whiskey, sweat
from the overweight man
seated to my left, and
a slight hint of vomit
stinging my nostrils.
I’ve been here before,
with the men spitting
beer when they speak,
the wasted youth
slipping off barstools,
the bikers with an
appetite as sight,
feasting on my
skin and bones.
I’ve sat in this same
dim sanctuary
where the dreamers
like me, have gone for
some inspiration, kissed
each bottle, and
lost their souls.
