This Gun isn't Mine

Waking up from dreams at 4am once again.

Saltwater pistols loaded up one Sunday afternoon in June, you haven't seen me but you will soon.

 

I'm a little snowflake dressed in ice princess glass stilettos that get mistaken for the ones strippers use.  But I'm no fool because I only sport the detachable platforms.

 

 

 

Green eyed chambermaids get me going everytime especially yesterday on the train when I dropped my watercolor secrets on the tips of a french one who told me she was getting paid two weeks too because she forgot to show.  I'm increasingly aware of your stares and it doesn't make me nervous anymore, just lonelier because you are just to weak to say how much you don't love me.

 

I'm running back home someday and it is there I will dream sonnets for you to come home to.

This is my head...(all I own, even that isn't mine).

Author's Note

The only time I write is after a dream, otherwise I'll stay up analyzing the dream and wondering if its an actual message from the universe.

Reviews

[...]

. very beautifully expressed ... fascinating imagery ... and raw power ...

[Skin]

you are just to weak to say
should be too weak-
every time not everytime (two words)

[.quan.011.]

Okay, this is a great peom. A little deep, but not confusing.

[Erin]

Prose poetry is a wonderful thing. I myself can't write it. This is cool. Fancy work. Nifty, if I do say so myself. Good job, and if dreams are the cause of this, then what dreams may come! And bring. You know, poetic deep stuff and stuff. Funny how dreams are, you know?
I didn't see any grammatically wrong with this one. Awesome job, friend.
PBP