I was raised by her
lullabies are sweet
it reaches your brain
and soothes it
but what comforts me the most
is the hold on
to reality
when it is cold
like the rail of the operating bed
when it is tangible
and is the ground you stand on
when it is the chair you sit on
or the bed you lie on
I don’t need someone to tell me fantasies
just so I can believe
I like to believe in my own
fantasies
not the ones I am told
I don’t trust people
why
trust their stories
so don’t sing me
dreams
about
cottons
and eternity
tell me how the bed sheet feels
tell me what you think about skies
remind me the texture of woods
and the taste of bitterness
tell me about the times you cried
I’ll tell you how I hate the world
and how I can’t stop loving it so
I’ll tell you when I was slapped
and when I was hugged
I’ll tell you I love you
but don’t ask me why
