A poem from my 2003 journal:
i am not a dreamer
i am a dream-killer
that is what this blood is, upon these pages
me, trying to exorcise things from my chest
that cause me pain, dreams that
are breaking my heart, things
i no longer believe in.
i have been
completely unable
to inspire vulnerability.
i walk openly
among the wraiths and men
alone.
i am afraid this dream shall never live
shall gestate tremblingly, over my life
and be still born at my death.
i am afraid i do not hold
the keys to my own deliverance.
i wake and walk among you
with doves and stranger birds
beating at the cage
that is my chest
i wake and walk among you
with the smell
of dreams rotting
in my nostrils.
i am a greenhouse
full of dying orchids
i am sorry you were planted here, lovely ones
i do not know why, you do not know why
we know only
each other’s pain
i cannot ease yours
i am crippled
and the world is indifferent
so let us sit here
weeping to the music
let the fears become as blood
at least, at the end
we have each other
to haunt the streets
so try not
to beat your wings
so fiercely;
you break
my heart
i am sorry
the splinters
stick
in your breast
my loves,
i can taste
your blood.
Sarah K Reece 