I dreamed
I was unworthy,
that my mind was lost.
Criticism became fact,
fiction, a mindless pursuit
as I molded myself;
folding and squeezing
every surplus part of me,
until I was small,
so small,
that I fitted neatly
into another’s box.
The stars above my bed
cast shadows
on the stage,
where I sat
with my back
to the baying audience.
My inner child
was labeled
too childish.
too much,
too loud,
for their adult world.
The room suddenly
as empty
as my mind.
I flinched
as integrity
tried to embrace me,
her touch alien
to my heart.
Yet her kind words
reassured me,
her breath
brushing my skin,
her accepting touch,
tucking a loose strand of hair
behind my ear,
before leading me back to myself.
Waking me up
from my disloyal sleep,
where I had fallen,
inadvertently,
into the depths
of another’s make-believe world.
shiny pebbles 