YWP

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Everyone knows my dreams are weird,
But this one pretty much tops the rest…
It’s about the YWP conference.
Everyone was there,
Mango,
Usagi,
Squeejay,
Apples,
Everyone.
Apples came with me to the conference
And the first person we met at the door was Mango.
She looked just like her picture,
But she was short,
So short that she only came to my knees,

I'm afraid of
loosing my
writing,
my passion,
the connections
I've made,

but
I'm also
starting to
forget
my music,
my art,
my
time.

I can't even
remember
the last time
I
meditated.

My responsible side
keeps reminding me
of priorities.

And sometimes,
I have to
admit,

this feels
a little too much
like a soap opera.

Are these really
just poems?