Dreamer

A poem about my anxiety

Dreamer

Fransivan MacKenzie

I call myself a dreamer
because I do not know how to stay grounded.

It doesn't mean I have wings.
It's just that I can't be still.
My mind is always in another time
and another place -
a realm I can't seem to stitch my flesh into
no matter the needle of reality I use.

There are no clouds here,
just a horizon as endless as the future
I won't possibly witness fogless.

It is not flight, darling.
Don't look at me like I'm a goddess of some sort.
I borrow the light from the moon
and even she trades with the center of the universe.
I am not an aviator.
If I was, I would have steered myself
into a better sky -
the one that doesn't get run over by nimbus clouds,
and am I not a woman of storms?

It is a crooked levitation, a curse,
an island hovering into the air,
not knowing if it will crash or safely land,
if it will meet the ground at all,
or if it will turn to mist right there -
in the suspension, the unknown.

There's nothing good here,
but sure, I can pretend.
Don't label me as Anxious,
don't tell them I can't stay exactly where I am,
that Still is a word I can't tackle,
that time doesn't fit right in my watches
but perfectly in my head,
call me Dreamer instead.

Reviews

[Fatma :)]

yo you are so talented .. like woah