Dreamers

Description

Dreams occur to anyone and lots of people might choose this theme. But I just think it's something that not all people recognize even though its this irritating mystery why we dream.

Synopsis

Poems that defines dreams and why we dream.

Poems
Monna Innominata [I dream of you, to wake] by Christina Rossetti
Dream Variations by Langston Hughes
it was a dream by Lucille Clifton
Making the Bed by Burt Kimmelman
The Land of Nod by Robert Louis Stevenson
The Sandman by Margaret Thomson Janvier
The Song in the Dream by Saskia Hamilton

Texts

Tapping and tapping.
My fingers tripping over the keyboards.
I felt my heart beat getting faster and the blood rushing to my face.
SENT
Brrr. The phone vibrates. My fingers snatch the phone up.
All I see are blurry black blobs. I drop the phone and melt into my bed.
Everything is blurry. Everything is filled with sad remarks.
Dont apologize. A voice in my head argues with Just say sorry.
I wait and wait.
Another sad remark.
I am never going to have a fight on a text.
Fingers that were lingering over the cell phone grab it.
Sorry.
That was it. Period.

This day feels longer.

Another hour of fatigue.

Eyes droop, fingers drum.

Edgy tapping of pencils.

Immigration, here I come!

PENCILS (Life)

People working constantly.
Every minute, they're tiresome. Work is shedded away and so is life.
No one lives without pain. Like they say No Pain No Gain. You need pain, to make yourself brighter. Better
Can you not work? Can you just be held in someone's care all your life?
Ignorance. Ignored and left, where you rest, alone and dark. Peaceful.
Looking around. Our lives get shorter. Our mistakes rubbed out, paid off.
Soon, we get satisfaction. Soon we shed until there's no more. Everything is worth it. The pain. The work. The constant pressure.

IMMATURE

I'm mature right? Right, of course I am.
Most people act like cool, modern kids. It will be telling a pig trying to be skinny.
My old friends. Who thought they were cool. Just embarrassed me. Just go with the flow. Just be yourself. Right, that was a big success. Not.
Always going to go with that flow. Cracks form on me. My true self leaks through. Like a dam breaking.
The people around me pretending they know all the lyrics, to some song.
Usually, I roll my eyes. Now, those kind of people are everywhere. Blah, blah, blah. Hard to ignore.
Right now, I'm painting over those ugly cracks, trying to ignore it all. Was I like that? Oh...right. I was, wasn't I?
Everyone's like that at some point. Now. Now is just the time to paint over those ugly cracks.

POETRY

People stare. I had in my three-paged homework. I turn red. Everyone else has less than two pages. And I know what they're thinking. Teacher's Pet.
Of course, I don't always do my homework with three pages. Yeah, I can be normal.
Everyone's staring now. I have a tendency to blush all the time...now was one of those times.
Time is starting to go slow. Was the clock made to go so slow? I want to hide but my teacher is showing it to the class now. My poem. My homework. Oh, god.
Remember. Always remember to NEVER write big. It makes you look like a smarty pants. It makes it longer. Trust me. I learned this the hard way.
Yeah, so technically, I am a cured patient from smarty pants-itis. Okay, so I still do three-paged homework and "Teacher's Pet" things. But how can you tell a dog not to bark?...exactly.

Balboa

Bustling and pushing students fill hallways. The burning in my thighs as I trek up the stairs. People laughing about something they did. This is the start of our school day.
Almost everyday's the same. We struggle through class. Everyone glances at the clock every three minutes. This is the classes of our school.
Listening to the teacher. I stop. And start talking. We look at things that people had bought and chat until there's nothing to chat about.
Boys here are rough and some are tall. People are jostled and pushed into lockers. We hate boys.
Only a few boys are okay, but that's another story. Students wait for the bell to buzz...BEEP! Teachers yell the homework at already escaping students.
All the time, we have fun. There isn't a boring day at Balboa!