I Used To Have These Dreams About You...

I need love and water

Freedom is a lie  If I ever wake up and feel free I’m going back to sleep and try again because I need to be for someone I have to belong to something

In an alternate universe Nefertiti has a tattoo of 2pac on her chest. 👑

I’ve been cursed with a vivid memory. I remember everything. Mistakes I’ve made, people who hurt me, that girl in the 4th grade who told me we would get married at 28, all the criticism I’ve gotten, the bad things my friends say about people when they’re not around, the text message I accidentally read when I looked over your shoulder last night, and everything in-between. A vivid memory is unforgiving. The world can be a hard place to navigate when you’re constantly being reminded about all of the things that didn’t go right, or trying to smile at all of your critics. Sometimes I just want to shut down and close myself off, and take a break from pretending. Acting like I don’t remember what happened yesterday, or last year, or when I was 8 becomes exhausting. 

"Don't believe in Kings, believe in the kingdom" 👑🔑

A Poem About Cheese

If your heart was a cheese, what kind of cheese would it be?

I’m sure my heart is made of brie. Hard on the outside, but once you cut it open it oozes all over the kitchen counter like butter. It’s an introverted cheese. Some people like the moldy rind and some don’t, but brie never makes any apologies. It’s the cheese you put out for holidays when you want to impress people. My heart is like the holidays.

I’m pretty sure her heart is made of cheddar. Just as sharp as her tongue. As yellow as the sun that shines through the blids onto her cheek in the morning.

Or swiss. Full of holes because she gives too much. Or blue cheese because she’s always cold and her heart crumbles whenever I try to take a piece for myself.

She told me my heart is probably made of gruyere. Old and cracked and mostly good in fondu. The kind of cheese you melt down and make a party of and share with friends, and then regret that you didn’t save more for yourself to give to someone special. A type of cheese that likes to please. That melts too easily. Goes good with beer and cider.

I disagreed. I prefer red wine, myself.

She said her heart is made of pepper jack. Mild, but spicy when it needs to be. Versatile. The type of cheese you fall in love with instantly and will love you back just the same, but every now and then in the middle of the night it will wake you up and remind you, you’re not as young as you used to be. You have responsibilities… like no eating spicy foods past 10 p.m.

I'm always here for the people I hurt.

Ever since I read The Alchemist I have always associated wandering the desert with searching for your dreams. It’s a book I come back to over and over again, each time leaving me a little more confused, but I keep reading expecting one time I’m going to figure it out the same way I keep coming back to the desert expecting to find… something. But every time I come I leave a piece of myself, each time bringing more and more of me to share, and every time I leave I take a piece of the desert back for me until one day I have it all figured out, or until the desert and I eventually swap places.

This may be a bit intense...

Every day without you is like a week without rain, to survive, I’m forced to drink the blood of the other loves I’ve slain.

Look how you’ve changed me. I’m a vampire, I’ve died but still remain here in a castle that’s haunted by the absence of you. You’re the real monster though you have no claws, no fangs.

Every night I stare into the waters of Lake Pontchartrain as the sun sets, then I dive in and swim to the other side without taking a breath as I search through swamp and suburb counting each and every one of my steps, holding out hope that I will find your footprints left behind, and I’d follow them blindly off the edge of this earth while I fight off beast and thief as I search for a sign that you may not be as far as I think you are.

Though I am the hunter and you’re on the run I have armed myself with flowers and gave you the gun so when I find you my fate is yours to choose, and if you reject my apologies I’ll drag my bloodied and lifeless body back across those slain beasts’ and thieves’ bones making sure I leave a trail of these flowers and bleed all the way home just in case you change your mind and want to love me back to life again you'll know where to find me.

If not, I’ll gladly die knowing that the night is not as frightening as what I see every morning when I wake and face the dawn.

I asked her who she voted for in 2004, we were discussing politics and religion and that was the first election I was old enough to participate in. I said, Gore, she said that was the year she stopped believing in anything, but she still went to church just in case. She still voted in every election after that just to be safe because she didn’t want to be blamed when things went wrong, and things always went wrong. And knowing she wasn’t the reason why helped her sleep at night. I asked her how she’s been sleeping lately.

She asked, why do you put so much pressure on me to dream when I’m still stuck between feeling lost and feeling free? Forced to get along with those who arm themselves and dream of harming me. Sold me a house with a lawn and picket fence, but made copies of the key so you can come and go as I sleep at night and my dreams can be policed.

I told her I had been struggling with these dreams of my own, on the verge of packing up and selling everything I owned, but it was still too comfortable to pretend.

She told me I sounded like a politician campaigning for an election I knew I would never win, and American woke up a while ago and wasnt letting anymore new dreams in.

But I was just trying to get her attention…