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I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

It was a story written on the back of a Mona Lisa postcard,
the kind you would get at a small town museum gift shop.
It was a short, beautiful dream, and
if I could remember the whole thing,
it'd be worth telling.

I remember the whales who believed in Buddha,
and insisted on lengthy prayer sessions under the full moon.
They held their beliefs just as delicately as I held you
in my arms.
Only these whales,
they mean better than I ever will.
They know the difference between heaven and
hell on earth.

There are many days that I wake in the morning and
contemplate not getting out of bed.
I lie on cold sheets and stare up at the
fucking white ceiling of my room.

The problem is:
when I am asleep, I dream of waking,
and when I am awake, I dream of sleeping.

I dream of not having to decide between friends and family,

I dream of self-righteous feminists crawling into my bed
and stealing all the covers
because I am too shy and vulnerable,

and rough travelers encouraging me in my habit
of shame by catching my tears before they hit my cheeks.

I always bite my lip before I start crying;
you should remember this.
But to cry I need you to tell me that:
1. We are not as similar as we think
2. you need me to obey no matter what OR
3. this has all been a mistake.

Watch me cry as I sleep, I mean,
the bed is already wet.

You swing me from one side of pain to the other
without even knowing it.
When you are in my body I think of many things;
your back, my thoughts themselves, my feet
and SEX.
Of course I do; I am not perfect.
Who wouldn't?
I wouldn't, had I not such a ridiculous standard set for me before we met.

Sex is a social term, not a medical one.

I had a dream yesterday, but it was more a repeat of the days events.

Middle-men in business suits look best on Mondays,
only because I fucking hate middle-men and Mondays.
I hate anythings that connotates a scam.
Mondays make me sick.
I wake up and think about what my education means to me,
and immediately get stomach cramps.
The fetal position is more familiar to me than my own face is,
but I'm working this all out.
I promise.

And 2am, no one cares about the kitten that died in my arms
in the dream I had last week.
No one will bury her, because I couldn't-
I had to open my eyes and step out of the
beautiful hallucinations of
indigo summers on the lake front.

Lakefront, waterfront, beachfront vs.
mountainside, and poolside.
I'd say that front definitely wins.

Like I told you,
I had a dream.