I Dream, I Write

Location

I dream of filling pages, 
but I never seem to have the words. 
I dream of being clever, 
to make people turn their heads 
and whisper, "how did she do that?"
I want to leave them awestruck. 
So I put pen to paper, 
and I write. 

I write for the vines 
that have somehow twisted themselves
into my bones, rooted as deep as
the summer flowers that grow around me.

I write for the leaves that change colors
with every spin of the earth, 
the reds and greens and oranges
that scatter underfoot. 

I write for the frostiness of every December,
for my breath materializing in front of me,
for the flurries that land and sparkle
in my hair. 

I write for the strange and lonely sea,
with its enormity and its big gray waves
that forever try to pull people and things in,
hoping they'll stay. 

I write for time and
how it slips through fingers 
as easily as sand at the beach 
where dreamlands were once built.

I write for all of these different things,
hoping one day I won't fade 
and my words might mean something 
to someone. 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741