A fictional world in a real place

 
With the beginning of light
when my thoughts coalesced
my daydreams took flight
with many bright wishes

living between the desires
and the stark reality
loving the vivid imaginings
always zoning into the fictional world

surrealistic colourful scenes
drummed up by a lonely child
of dresses of a princess
cut out from the blue skies

visual arts with vibrant paints
on the doors to magical worlds
where all edibles were present
on many laden tables

laying down on a field
where wildflowers grew
I travel the fantastical world
on wings of a dragonfly

living in the reality
was not always pretty
but the fairies in the forest
kept me alive and interested

memories are now a bridge to the past
my childhood dreams didn’t last
I only remember the gentle play
of a child’s imagination of long ago.

 

I’ve triggered a daze
At least in my vocabulary
That’s what I’ve chosen to call it
Because dissociative depersonalization-derealization disorder
Really doesn’t have the same ring to it

Have you ever read a paragraph but
Realized afterwards you didn’t absorb any of the information from the words?
So you went back and tried again
And maybe this time implemented more focus

That’s what my days have become
Unfortunately time can not be reread more carefully
And my daze steals days again
All because I’ve written about the days my daze first began

And in looking back I face a conundrum
I wonder if my current daze is in the same
Wavelength as my past one
If my mind is taken to the same place
As she was

Or if this daze is far away from the long ago haze
My past self spent years inside
And if I will find myself closer or farther
To her the more I lean into this foggy
Existential dream like world that mimics reality
Is it the same one where she dwelled?

Letting myself slip back there feels like hell

I’ve finally made a safe place for myself
And thought that I could now take the time
To mend all of the pushed down, shoved out, ugly, maddening, atrocious feelings

But then the daze came with them
And I’ve already given so many days to the daze
My own mind doesn’t believe it has the capacity to process my pain
Without feeling this way
And there’s this glaze over my eyes
That looks upon the haven I’ve created
And tells me it isn’t mine

I guess I’ll begin again

*Take a deep breathe*

At the first line

 
I was young when I first saw that array of movement and color
That giant wall of sound reverberating through my ears
It left an impression deeply embedded on my mind and soul
Something that lingered in my heart for many, many years

It was physically demanding and technically challenging
But in those days I longed to improve and make the big leagues
Ensembles weaving together beautifully like poetry and music
Each part moving independently but as one unit at high speeds

Through the decades drills like Z pulls and disappearing crosses
Collapsing boxes, DNA helixes and other unique ideas conceived
From diamond cutters and meat grinders to full company fronts
From paper and pen to the stage you would have to see to believe

I remember sitting there in awe watching this music in motion
Embouchures kept in place while maintaining pitch and tune
Coordinated and synchronized timed to with such a precision
Amazing sights and sounds that still makes this old man swoon

Though I had some experience I was never able to make a team
But every summer I go and cheer and see new generations thrive
I witness the visions and creativities of others being made a reality
Like childhood kaleidoscope dreams and imaginations that come alive

It started in the half-light,
too cold to accept morning  
waiting for footsteps on the stairs,
someone else to set the fire.
 
I stared into the deep weave
of my candlewick blue waves.
The threads opened as I fell through
landing soft and sickly, coughing
away my school days.
 
All left behind as my travels began,
chased and often eaten by giant dust mites,
sailing rivers of spilt milk on rafts of cornflakes,
running for cover in showers of spittle.  
 
I became the map reader of myself
counting to three before I spoke.
It wasn't just the bedspread
I found a way in on wallpaper
staring at the pattern willing it to open.
 
I could leave any situation from any station.
but always followed by a distant drum beat
flexing the thin layers I had created
a murmur for my own inquisition.
 
I lost my talents to puberty,  
forced to listen as I disrupted myself  
and diluted others.
forced to be part of the world  
outside the weave.