I found my books of dreams and cried, and cradled it to my chest. In every well-loved page there was a chronology of me. The true me. No conscious habit or thought to blur and warp, just stories and stories of a girl. Stories anyone and no one can understand. Thoughts I had no control over. Concepts with days of change. The land mines and vines of my own thoughts, simply recorded, with no reference to anything other than relaying the experience. I wept. It was me. I wept.

4 Responses to “Book of Dreams”

  1. 1 gillian August 9, 2008 at 4:19 am

    Beautiful – can you just put chronology of me – this fits with the way you have used language in the rest of the poem. We know it is a representation – you don’t need to say it and the poem is more poetic without this word.

  2. 2 gillian August 9, 2008 at 4:23 am

    Third time I’ve posted a comment….what’s happening. My suggestion is to remove representation because it’s not strong enough. Simply put “there was a chronology of me.”

  3. 3 Rozzi August 13, 2008 at 10:43 pm

    Space before thoughts and a capital I Capital C concepts

  4. 4 gillian August 19, 2008 at 10:51 am

    This is third. The poems are a narrative – it’s quite surprising!

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