24.4.13

poem #24 {dreams}

Dreams

Did you ever think
How weird it is
That at night
We lay in bed,
Our eyes half-open,
Waiting to fall asleep.

Waiting.
Waiting to be
Captured by the
Enticing world of dreams
Where everything
Feels real until you wake up.

And, most of the time,
You can't even remember
Anything. Your dreams
Are nothing. And
The rest of the time,
They're very strange.

But I think our dreams
Are our imaginations
Breaking through the
Surface, saying,
"I'm here, and I'm
Weirder than you thought."

Like, really weird.
Outlandish, even.
And when you dream
About those fleeting thoughts
You had earlier,
You hope you don't sleep-talk.

Because that was one really,
Really bizarre dream,
And anything that would
Have come out of your mouth
Would've been extremely
Embarrassing.


Bekah Joan

12.4.13

post #12 {white}

white

maybe i am
meant to be alive
so that i can show
the suicidal ones,
the depressed ones,
and the discontent ones
a beautiful life.

could it be possible
that the world needs me?
can i make a little
difference in this
crazy, strange world?
it would be nice.
i like having a purpose.

i suppose that i could be
the yellow light in the sea
full of black, utter darkness,
leading the hard but worth it way
to the white. because i am captivated
by this white, and i can't
stop staring at it.

so maybe i can show
others this glorious white,
so they too can stare.
stare in awe, with mouths open
in shock, at the beauty that
we humans have been given
to cherish and call our lives.


Bekah Joan
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